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Amy nodded, her pulse quickening. The last time they’d dug into this house’s hidden spaces, they’d unearthed things much darker than the shadows—things that implicated people in murder. She reached automatically for the relic, but Sully shook his head gently.

“I’ll carry it,” he said. “It’s half rotten and full of snake eggs for all we know.”

She didn’t argue.

The crew watched as they left, curiosity sparking in every glance, but no one was bold enough to ask. Amy managed a professional smile. “Good work. Let’s keep quiet about this for now. I’ll let everyone know what it is once we’ve looked it over.”

Upstairs, in the quiet of her office, the two of them set the bundle on her drafting table. Sunlight from the tall window threw pale stripes across the frayed fabric.

Sully pried the clasp gently open, the metal giving with a faint snap. Together, they unwrapped the layers until the shape beneath revealed itself—a wooden box, small and remarkably intact, its lid etched with the faint pattern of what might once have been initials.

“Handle’s brass,” Sully murmured, brushing away dirt. “No lock, though.”

Amy’s throat tightened. “Go ahead.”

He lifted the lid carefully. Inside, a faint whiff of age and mold drifted up, like the ghost of seawater long evaporated. Folded papers filled the box, some tied with ribbon gone gray with age. A narrow leather-bound journal sat on top. Its cover was cracked but still pliant.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Letters.”

Sully read the faint script on the uppermost page: Verity Blackwell.

He raised his eyes to hers. Both of them were silent for a long beat, the name igniting a thrill of discovery.

Amy exhaled slowly. She picked up the journal, careful not to smudge the fragile ink. The handwriting was slanted and ornate, looping across the page in a style that required patience to parse.

“This is Kaitlin’s territory,” she said at last. “She’ll know how to handle these without causing further damage—and she can decipher them.”

Sully nodded. “We should keep it quiet for now. Tell her, but no one else.”

“Especially not Mason,” she agreed. “If he gets wind of this, he’ll want footage of one of us discussing the findings. Once Kaitlin’s seen them, she can tell us all what we’re looking at and maybe involve Matt, just in case what’s inside is… evidence of something. Or connects to those older remains.”

“Well, there you go, could be a one-stop shop,” Sully said, nodding his head.

Amy pulled out her phone, typing quickly: Can you talk? Need your help with something old and delicate—handwriting. I’ll explain.

Kaitlin’s reply came almost immediately: Home today, working. Come by anytime.

Amy glanced at the clock—barely past ten. “She’s working from home. If I go now, maybe she can look at them over lunch.”

“I’ll put this lot back to work in the meantime,” Sully said. “Text me once you’ve talked to her.”

Together, they slipped the letters and journal back into the box and wrapped the decayed cloth loosely around it. Amy tucked it into a plain brown paper bag that hid the fragile documents from view.

At the doorway, Sully caught her wrist and brushed his thumb lightly across her skin. “See you later?” he whispered.

Amy answered with a quick kiss. “Later.”

Outside, the sun had climbed higher and conquered the morning fog. She crossed the gravel toward her car, then buckled the bag into the passenger seat beside her. The mansion receded in the mirror like another century folding into itself.

Kaitlin and Matt’s house sat on the edge of town, its windows open to the breeze and the scent of coffee drifting through the screen door as Amy pulled up.

Inside the bag, ink and paper murmured secrets that hadn’t seen daylight since Verity Blackwell’s hand set them down. And whatever story they told, Amy felt certain it was one that would change everything. Why else had it been hidden all this time?

Chapter 25

Kaitlin met Amy at the screen door, her face already flushed with anticipation.“I can’t believe you found something new!” she said, ushering her in. “If I have to scan one more stack of tax ledgers, I might lose my mind. You just saved my day.”

Amy laughed and set the paper bag gently on the kitchen table. “Well, then you’re about to have the best day ever. This,” she said as she unwrapped the brown paper, “might have belonged to Verity Blackwell herself.”