But he isn’t a farm dog, I thought, but didn’t correct her as he continued growling, positioning himself between Margret and Caleb, who was watching the interaction with sharp interest.
“Those smell delicious,” Caleb said smoothly, breaking the tension as he nodded toward the covered dish. His voice was pleasant, but I noticed how his eyes never left Margret’s face, studying her with the intensity of someone memorizing details.
“Old family recipe,” Margret replied, handing me the dish. The warmth seeped through to my fingers as cinnamon and sugar scents wafted up. “Nothing welcomes folks like homemade treats.”
“Thank you,” I managed, trying to ignore the dog’s persistent growling. I placed the dish on the coffee table, noticing how Margret’s gaze swept across the room, like she was memorizing every detail.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” she said finally, adjusting her coat. “I’m headed into Pinecrest to pick up some supplies before this weather turns. They’re calling for a doozy of a storm tonight.” She glanced between us. “Need anything while I’m in town? Groceries? Medication?”
The casual mention of medication made me wonder if she was fishing for information about Caleb’s injury.
“We’re all set, thanks,” Caleb answered before I could. “Jake stocked us up pretty well before he left.”
Margret nodded, her eyes lingering on his bandaged leg. “Smart man, that Jake. Always thinking ahead.” She turned toward the door, where Scout still stood guard, teeth slightly bared. “Might want to keep that dog inside with the weather coming. Wouldn’t want him to get caught out in it.”
“We’ll do that,” I said, moving to open the door for her.
Margret paused on the threshold. “You two enjoy those rolls now. Nothing like something sweet to make a place feel like home.” With a final forced smile, she stepped out into the cold.
I closed the door firmly behind her, turning the lock with more force than necessary. Through the window, I watched her trudge back to her truck, climb in, and drive away, her taillights disappearing around the bend.
“Well, that was interesting,” Caleb said quietly when I returned to the living room.
Scout had finally stopped growling but remained alert, ears forward as he stared at the door.
“He sure didn’t like her, did he?” I asked, kneeling beside Scout and running my hands through his fur. “I’ve never seen him do that with anyone.”
“Dogs know things we don’t,” Caleb replied, reaching for his phone. “I’m going to check out those coordinates on the map, then call my contact about her. In the meantime—” he nodded toward the cinnamon rolls “—I wouldn’t eat those if I were you.”
I looked at the innocent-looking pastries. “You think she poisoned them?”
“I think we don’t know enough about her to risk it.” Caleb’s expression was grim. “And Scout clearly doesn’t trust her.”
I picked up the dish and headed to the garbage, where I dumped the entire thing, including the dish. “I’ll just tell her I broke it and will buy a new one,” I said as Caleb just sat there looking at me. “So, what now? You think she’s connected to the note? To whatever’s hidden on Jake’s property?” I asked as I sat down on the couch beside him.
“I think it’s one hell of a coincidence that she showed up twice today, both times fishing for information.” He shifted his weight, grimacing slightly. “And I don’t believe in coincidences.”
I nodded and stood. “I’ll go get the box. Be right back.” I got it from its hiding place and brought it to the coffee table. “We need to figure this out, and fast. Because I have a feeling Margret Holloway will be back, and next time, she might not bring cinnamon rolls.”
Caleb nodded, already opening the box and taking out the map. As he typed the numbers into his phone, he said, “If these locations are what I think they are, we’ve just stumbled into something much bigger than a simple threat to Jake’s farm.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, though I didn’t want to know the answer.
He looked up, his expression deadly serious. “A treasure hunt. Likely one with high stakes.”
I raised my brows at him. “What kind of high stakes?”
“The kind that gets people killed,” Caleb said, his voice low.
“Do you mean like the MacGallan family? Like the mafia?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s organized crime. This is something else.” Absently, he added, “But I’ll check with Declan in a day or two to be sure.”
He turned the notebook toward me, pointing at a series of numbers that didn’t match the coordinates. “These look like surveyor’s markings, and according to Google, Jake’s property sits on what used to be mining land back in the late 1800s.”
I leaned closer, studying the cryptic notations. “You think there’s something valuable underground?”
“Could be. Again, according to Google, the Wolf Creek area was known for copper deposits, maybe some silver too,” Caleb tapped one of the X marks on the map. “These could be mine shaft locations that were never officially recorded.”
