Page 30 of The House on Forgotten Hill

And how the conversation hadn’t ended until she’d come walking down the street.

When I finished, Estelle folded her hands in her lap, but she said nothing.

“I think Preston’s text message was his way of reminding me that he knows more about me than he should,” I said.

Estelle nodded. “That sounds like Preston.”

I reached for my handbag. “There’s something else. Before Preston stopped me in my front yard, I was on my way to your house to show you something my contractor found this morning.”

“Oh?”

I pulled out the newspaper clippings and the notebook, setting them on the table.

Estelle bent over them. “What am I looking at?”

“A metal box was found hidden beneath some wood planks in my father’s office. When I opened it, this is what I found inside.”

Her eyes widened. “A hidden box? My goodness.”

Estelle picked up the clippings one by one, reading about Christy Meyers and Melinda Bellamy. By the time her eyes landed on the article about Lara, her face had gone pale.

She picked up Lara’s article with trembling fingers. “I can’t believe it. I haven't seen an article like this one in years.”

“There’s more.”

I handed her the notebook, and she opened it, flipping through its pages. Halfway through she stopped, pressing a finger to her lips. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“It’s my father’s.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“He never said a word to me about … well, whatever he was trying to do or figure out,” she said.

“I think he was trying to figure out what happened to these women.”

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he say anything to me?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

Her eyes drifted back to the notebook. She traced a finger across the page where my father’s handwriting had become hurried. Then she stopped, her finger coming to rest on Preston’s name.

“I always knew your mother believed there was something wrong about the accident that killed your father,” she said. “I don’t know what he was investigating or why, but it seems he may have come close to finding the answers he was looking for, and those answers may have cost him his life.”

I removed the roll of film from my bag, turning the canister around in my fingers. “This was in the box too. Photography was one of my dad’s hobbies, and he owned a camera with a long lens. I can’t help wondering whether whatever is on this roll might answer some of our questions. But not knowing what’s on it makes me nervous to have it developed.”

Estelle moved a hand to her hip. “I think I know someone who can help.”

“You do?”

“My nephew, Caleb. He owns a photography studio over in town. And he’s old-school. He still develops his own film. He’s one of those people who refuses to let the old way of doing things end. For years I’ve teased him about hanging onto outdated equipment. Today I’m glad he did.”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life. When Lara was alive, those two were inseparable. Like me, he’d go to any lengths to find out what happened to her.” Estelle reached for her phone. “I’ll send him a text message and see if he’s around.”

A minute later the message was sent.