Chapter 11
Lana
I watch as Julia leans forward, eagerness written across her face. There’s something almost childlike about her excitement, making it hard for me to maintain my suspicions. But years of experience have taught me that the most dangerous people often appear the most innocent.
“Well,” I begin carefully, “it started with a note addressed to Caleb that someone left on the porch.”
Caleb nods and picks up where I left off. “The note mentioned something valuable hidden on Jake’s property—something people would go to great lengths to obtain.”
As we take turns explaining our discovery of the ammunition box, Thomas Wolf’s journal, and the coordinates, I closely study Julia’s reactions.
Her eyes widen at all the right moments, she gasps when appropriate, and asks intelligent questions throughout.
Either she’s genuinely hearing this for the first time, or she’s an Oscar-worthy actress.
“So you think there’s actual gold bars hidden somewhere on the property?” she asks, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch.
“That’s our working theory,” Caleb replies, shifting to ease the pressure on his leg. “Based on Wolf’s journal entries, he extracted and processed a significant amount of gold before the mining company dispute turned violent.”
“And this Margret person—you think she’s after the gold too?”
I nod. “She’s definitely interested in something. The way she showed up at the barn, how she knew about Caleb’s leg...”
“And those cinnamon rolls,” Caleb adds darkly.
Julia’s brow furrows. “You think she poisoned baked goods? That’s hardcore.”
“We don’t know for sure,” I admit. “But Scout didn’t like her, and that’s enough for me.” I reach down to scratch behind the dog’s ears, and he leans into my touch, his eyes half-closing in contentment.
“Animals know,” Julia agrees, her expression serious. “At the clinic, we had this one cat who would hiss whenever this particular delivery guy came in. Turns out he was stealing prescription meds from the supply room.”
The clock on the mantel chimes at 10:00. We have two hours before the meeting at the mill.
“We should prepare,” Caleb says, pushing himself to his feet with a barely concealed grimace. “I want to be there early, get a feel for the place before whoever left that note shows up.”
“I’ll help,” Julia offers immediately. “What do we need?”
“Warm clothes, flashlights, the journal and map,” I list off, standing as well. “And Caleb’s going to bring his gun, whether I like it or not.”
Caleb gives me a look that’s half-apologetic, half-stubborn. “Better to have it and not need it.”
“I know,” I sigh. “Just... be careful with it.”
Julia glances between us, a small smile playing at her lips. “You two are cute together.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I busy myself with gathering supplies to avoid responding. Caleb clears his throat awkwardly and mumbles something about checking the UTV’s fuel level before disappearing outside.
Once he’s gone, Julia helps me pack a small backpack with essentials—water bottles, energy bars, and a first aid kit.
“So,” she says casually, “How’d you two meet?”
I hesitate, caught between maintaining our cover story and my growing sense that Julia isn’t a threat. “It’s... complicated,” I say finally.
She nods, not pushing further. “The best relationships usually are.”
We work in silence for a few minutes before she speaks again. “He really cares about you, you know. I can see it in the way he looks at you.”
The comment catches me off guard. “We haven’t known each other that long, actually,” I admit before I can stop myself.
Julia’s eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t seem surprised. “I figured. The chemistry between you two is too... fresh. Too electric.” She smiles knowingly. “Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. But whatever’s going on between you two... It’s special. Don’t waste it.”
I’m saved from responding by Caleb’s return, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “UTV’s ready,” he announces. “Snow’s starting to melt a bit with the sun out. Roads should be clearer than we thought.”
“Great,” I say, perhaps too enthusiastically. “Let’s get going.”
We gather our supplies and head out, locking the house behind us. Scout bounds ahead, clearly excited for another adventure. The sun glints off the snow, almost painfully bright, but the air is crisp and clean in that special way that only comes after a heavy snowfall.
The UTV handles the terrain well, with Caleb driving carefully to avoid jostling his leg.
I sit beside him, with Julia behind us and Scout at my feet.
As we follow the plowed main road toward the mill, I can’t help noticing how Caleb’s profile looks against the winter landscape—strong, determined, somehow both hard and gentle at once.
“There,” Julia points ahead as we round a bend. “That’s where my car went off the road.”
Sure enough, a small sedan lies half-buried in a snowbank, its front end crumpled against a tree. The sight of the damaged vehicle, suddenly and undeniably, makes her story real.
“Looks like you were lucky,” Caleb comments, slowing the UTV to get a better look.
Julia nods soberly. “If I hadn’t found your place...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.
We continue past her car, and soon the mill comes into view—a hulking stone structure, partially collapsed but still impressive against the snow-covered landscape. Its water wheel is frozen in place, icicles hanging from the wooden slats like crystalline teeth.
Caleb parks the UTV in a stand of trees, partially hidden from view. “We’re about fifteen minutes early,” he says, checking his watch. “I want to scout the place before anyone shows up.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say immediately.
He nods, then turns to Julia. “Can you stay with the UTV? Keep an eye out for anyone approaching?”
She salutes playfully. “Scout and I will be your lookouts.”
Scout wags his tail at the sound of his name but stays firmly by my side when I exit the vehicle. Caleb retrieves his gun from beneath the seat, checking it discreetly before tucking it into his waistband at the small of his back.
“Be careful,” Julia calls softly as we head toward the mill.
The snow crunches beneath our boots as we approach the ruins. Despite the sunlight, there’s something eerie about the abandoned structure—a sense of watching eyes from the empty window frames, of whispers in the creaking timbers.
“Stay close,” Caleb murmurs, his hand occasionally brushing against mine as we pick our way through the snow.
The entrance to the mill is a gaping doorway, its wooden door long since rotted away. Inside, the air is noticeably colder, with patches of sunlight streaming through holes in the roof.
“Look at this,” I whisper, pointing to the floor. Fresh footprints mark the dusty surface, leading deeper into the mill.
“Someone’s already been here,” Caleb confirms, his expression grim. “Recently.”
Scout’s ears perk up, his head turning toward the back of the mill where a staircase leads to an upper level. A soft growl rumbles in his chest.
“What is it, boy?” I ask quietly, my heart rate accelerating.
Caleb reaches for his gun, his movements slow and deliberate. “Someone’s here,” he breathes, barely audible.
The creak of a floorboard above us confirms his assessment. We freeze, eyes locked on the staircase. Scout’s growl deepens, his hackles rising.
“Hello?” a voice calls from above—a woman’s voice, but not Julia’s. “Caleb? Is that you?”
I glance at Caleb, whose face has hardened into an unreadable mask. He positions himself slightly in front of me, gun now drawn but pointed at the floor.
“Who’s asking?” he calls back, his voice steady.
Footsteps approach the top of the stairs, and a figure emerges from the shadows—a woman in her late fifties or early sixties, with silver hair pulled back in a practical braid.
Margret Holloway.
“I’m glad you came,” she says, her eyes moving between us and lingering on Scout, who continues to growl softly. “Though I did ask you to come alone.”
“You didn’t sign your name,” Caleb replies coolly. “You know, you didn’t have to be all secretive; you could have just come knocking on the door or told us yesterday when you brought over the cinnamon rolls.”
Margret’s lips press into a thin line. “I couldn’t risk being seen at Ella’s place for too long. There are eyes everywhere.” She begins descending the stairs, each wooden step creaking beneath her weight. “And I had no way of knowing if your house was being watched.”
I stand my ground beside Caleb, feeling the tension radiating from him. Scout stays pressed against my leg, his growl a continuous warning.
“You could have called,” I point out. “Never mind, they were out.”
Margret reaches the bottom of the stairs, keeping a respectful distance. “That they were, and phones can be tapped. Especially out here where everyone knows everyone’s business.” Her gaze shifts to Caleb’s gun. “You can put that away. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
“I’ll decide that,” he replies, though he does lower the weapon slightly. “You said you had crucial information about Wolf’s treasure. Start talking.”
Margret sighs, looking suddenly tired. “You found the ammunition box, didn’t you? By the creek?”
I exchange a glance with him, silently debating how much to reveal. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
“Yes,” I admit. “How did you know about it?”
“Because I’ve been searching for Thomas Wolf’s legacy for forty years,” she says, her voice taking on a passionate edge. “My great-grandfather worked with him in those mines. They were partners until the mining company forced them out.”
The story sounds plausible, but I’m not ready to trust her yet. “If that’s true, why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us from the beginning?”
“Would you have believed me?” Margret counters. “A stranger showing up at your door with tales of hidden gold?” She shakes her head. “Besides, I needed to make sure you were the kind of people who would do the right thing with what you found.”