“I’ve been keeping notes,” she said simply.
Matt opened the folder.
Inside were pages of Aggie’s distinctive, looping cursive, dated entries stretching back for months. License plates, vehicle descriptions, overheard snippets from the post office, Violet’s Café, the county planning office. Tucked in the back were printed public records and meeting agendas from the previous spring and summer. A “regional corridor study” for the Sweetbriar River valley. One August item mentioned a completed property assessment study. Aggie’s red-inked note beside it:Requested under public records. Denied. Cited ongoing confidential negotiations.
Matt read in silence, jaw tightening as he absorbed the details. “Aggie,” he said at last, “how long?”
“Seven months. Give or take.”
“Why didn’t you—” Becca began.
“Say anything?” Aggie met her gaze evenly. “You had enough weighing on you, sweetheart. I wanted to be certain before I raised alarms.” She stroked Gerald. “I’m certain now. Something is happening.”
Becca stared at her aunt for a long moment, then reached across and covered Aggie’s hand with her own. Aggie’s expression softened.
I looked away and caught Gram watching me with that knowing look she’d worn since I was little. She raised one eyebrow.
I shook my head faintly.
She returned to her tea, content.
Becca and I gathered the dishes and cleaned up. Matt spent the next hour methodically reviewing Aggie’s notes, cross-referencing on his phone, photographing pages with care.
Gram listened without comment.
We spoke little. Becca passed me mugs and plates, and I dried them. She gazed out Aggie’s small window at the campground, expression thoughtful and distant.
“Waiting to share what we know is smart, in theory,” she said quietly. “Matt will want to trace everything. The detective, the LLC, the planning commission, before anything goes public.”
“He’s right. You don’t show your hand until you know what cards you hold.”
She handed me the last mug. “But the next episode is already in my head. If I wait too long, people could sign things they shouldn’t or miss notices without knowing why they should look closer.”
I understood the reasoning. I also felt the instinctive tug—not yet, not until it’s safe—and pushed it down. This wasn’t entirely my decision to make.
“What would you do?” she asked.
“Not name names yet. Just ask questions on the record. About the planning documents, the denied records request, and what a corridor study could mean for valley properties. Tell people to watch their leases. And tie it back to what I saw at the river last night.”
“Matt will say sit on it.”
“I know, and he has a good point about waiting. He’s not wrong.”
“I know that too.” She studied my face. “What do you think?”
I took a breath. “I think it’s your call.”
She held my gaze, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I have opinions,” I said. “Some are about keeping you safe—you know that—and some I probably shouldn’t lead with. But it’s your platform, your choice. I’m not going to talk you out of something just because it makes me uneasy.”
Something shifted in her eyes.
“But,” I added, “I want to be in the room when you talk to Matt. Whatever you decide. I’m not trying to interfere. I just want to know what’s happening.”
“Okay,” she said. “Of course.”
Matt’s assessment came exactly as predicted.
