Page 94 of Buried Secrets

“Not second thoughts, exactly.” Amy sighed, closing the laptop. “Just… concerns. The media coverage has been relentless. ‘Murder Mansion Becomes Wellness Retreat’ was the headline in the Portland Press Herald last week.”

“Bad publicity is still publicity,” Matt offered, though he understood her concern.

“Is it, though? Would you want to come to a meditation retreat at a place where two women were murdered?” Amy’s voice grew more frustrated. “I’ve already had two booking cancelations since the story broke.”

Matt considered his response carefully. Amy had invested everything in this project both financially and emotionally. The last thing she needed was false reassurance.

“You know what I think?” he said finally. “I think people may be more fascinated than frightened. Everything that happened was over thirty years ago, the recent press will die down. You’ve made this place beautiful again, given it a new purpose. That has to count for something.”

“Maybe.” Amy opened the laptop again, cycling through the camera feeds. “I just keep thinking about those women. They came here looking for help and instead found…” She shuddered. “It has to impact the mojo of the place. That reminds me, the third set of remains. Any conclusions from Samira?”

They’s been through the details of the case already, except for this one outstanding item. From Matt’s standpoint, the case was closed. Although both perpetrators were long dead, their absence didn’t prevent the surviving family members from filing wrongful death suits on their estates. Something that would be settled in a civil suit. Apparently, that was in part what Agent Cook was trying to prevent, as he stood to inherit his grandmother’s substantial estate. Matt figured the money paled in comparison to ruining his career over it.

“She’s still not gotten a full conclusion, but the remains are extremely old. Over a hundred years, at least. So it’s likely they were here for some time, maybe around when the mansion was first built. Old enough not to impact the—what do you call it? Mojo?” He smiled at the term. “For the others, someone had betrayed their trust. That’s not this place’s fault. That was one man’s evil, and it ended with him. What you’re doing here, helping people heal, find peace—that’s the opposite of what he did.”

Amy’s expression softened slightly. “When did you become so wise?”

“I’ve been learning,” Matt admitted, thinking of his own journey over the past few months. “Sometimes the best way to heal is to move forward, fill life with good intentions.”

“I hope it impacts this place.” Amy glanced at her watch. “Anyway, shouldn’t Kaitlin be back from her run soon? We can test the front camera’s motion detection.”

“Any minute now. She’s been doing longer routes lately, exploring more of the island.” Matt smiled at the thought of his girlfriend’s growing comfort with her new home. After months of living together, he still felt a small thrill every time he used that word, home. Their home.

The relationship had settled into an easy rhythm of shared mornings and quiet evenings, of work that often brought them together and personal space that kept them interesting to each other. Kaitlin had thrown herself into the town clerk position with characteristic thoroughness, modernizing systems that hadn’t been updated in decades while somehow managing to charm even the most change-resistant islanders.

“There she is,” Amy said, pointing to one of the camera feeds.

Matt leaned forward to look at the screen, expecting to see Kaitlin approaching the mansion from the main road. Instead, he saw her standing in front of the building, but she wasn’t alone.

Or rather, she appeared to be alone, but she was clearly engaged in animated conversation with someone. Her hands moved expressively as she spoke, and she paused frequently as if listening to responses. She even laughed at one point, the kind of genuine laugh that meant she was enjoying herself.

“Is she on the phone?” Amy asked, squinting at the screen.

Matt looked closer. No phone visible, nor wireless earphones. And Kaitlin’s body language was all wrong for a phone conversation. She was facing someone, making eye contact, gesturing as if the person were standing directly in front of her.

“What the hell?” Matt muttered, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine.

“Maybe she’s practicing a speech? She’s giving that presentation to the historical society next week.”

But even as Amy offered the explanation, neither of them believed it. Kaitlin was clearly interacting with someone, someone who wasn’t showing up on the high-definition security camera.

“I’ll go check on her,” Matt said, already rising from his chair.

Matt stepped outside, where he could see Kaitlin more clearly. She was about twenty yards away, still engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. When she spotted him, her face lit up with a welcoming smile.

“Matt! Perfect timing,” she called out, waving him over. “I want you to meet someone.”

Matt approached slowly, his instincts on high alert. There was no one else on the mansion grounds. He could see the entire area clearly, and Kaitlin was definitely alone.

“Kaitlin,” he said carefully. “Who did you want me to meet?”

“This is the gentleman I’ve been telling you about,” Kaitlin said, gesturing to the empty space beside her. “The one with the golden retriever I always see on my runs. We finally got to chat properly.”

Matt felt cold despite the mild afternoon temperature, a chill that settled deep in his marrow like frost on buried bones. “Honey, there’s no one there.”

“What do you mean?” Kaitlin looked confused, glancing between Matt and the apparently empty space. “He’s standing right here.”

“Kaitlin.” Matt’s voice took on the gentle but firm tone he used with people experiencing mental health crises. “I need you to look around carefully. Do you see anyone besides me?”