Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
The old dirt road twisted through the woods like a scar, rutted with years of neglect.
Kevin’s truck bumped along the uneven terrain until the path narrowed to little more than two tire tracks swallowed by grass and underbrush.
Jo leaned forward, gripping the dashboard, her eyes scanning the dense forest pressing in on either side.
“This is it.” Kevin pulled the truck to a stop. The engine cut out, and the quiet of the woods rushed in. Jo climbed out first, her boots crunching in the snow.
The land ahead was a mess. Large swathes had been dug up, the ground churned and scarred by bulldozers during the FBI’s investigation of the Webster property. Piles of loose dirt and clay were scattered around like forgotten monuments to a gruesome past.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Bridget muttered, stepping out and crossing her arms against the chill in the air.
Jo nodded. She couldn’t blame her. The memories of what had been unearthed here lingered like the stench of old secrets refusing to fade.
And it still left a hole that the body of their sister, abducted all those years ago, wasn’t one of the ones found.
“At least we’ll be able to dig. The ground would be frozen if not for being recently disturbed. ”
Kevin grabbed three shovels from the back of the truck and handed one to Jo and another to Bridget. “You think we should call Sam?” he asked as they started toward the woods.
Jo paused, weighing the decision. “Not yet. Might be better if he doesn’t come out. We wouldn’t want anyone to think he’s letting me investigate while I’m suspended. Let’s find out if anything’s here first, then we’ll call him.”
Bridget glanced around nervously, her eyes darting toward the tree line. “I don’t like this, Jo. What if whoever left those notes is watching us right now?”
Jo rested a hand on Bridget’s arm, her voice calm but firm. “Stay close. We’re not splitting up. If anything feels off, we leave.”
They moved carefully across the uneven ground, stepping over deep grooves and patches of overturned soil. Kevin checked the GPS app again, adjusting their path slightly to the west. The coordinates led them to a small clearing where the ground had been freshly dug and partially refilled.
“Right here.” Kevin stabbed his shovel into the ground, the blade slicing through the soft dirt with ease. Bridget and Jo followed, their movements swift and methodical. The scent of damp earth filled the air as they worked in silence, each shovelful revealing more of what lay hidden beneath.
Kevin grunted as his shovel hit something hard. “I think we’ve got something.”
Jo dropped to her knees, brushing dirt away with her hands. A metallic edge glinted in the faint light filtering through the trees.
“It’s a box,” Kevin said, excitement creeping into his voice.
Bridget leaned in and pulled the box out. It was a stainless steel document box. Her fingers found the latch and pried it open with a sharp snap. She hesitated for a moment, then she lifted the lid.
The contents were preserved despite the years underground. Jo reached in carefully, pulling out a worn leather wallet. She flipped it open, revealing an ID card.
“Tommy Callahan,” she murmured, reading the name aloud.
Bridget stepped closer, her voice uncertain. “Callahan? That’s… the skeleton in the well?”
Jo nodded slowly, her mind racing. The implications hit her like a punch to the gut. “That’s him. The reporter Mick told us about. The one who disappeared decades ago.”
Kevin leaned on his shovel, his face tight. “But what’s his wallet doing here, in this box, buried on the Webster property? This box has to be as old as he is.”
“Decades,” Jo agreed, her voice quiet but firm. “Which means whoever killed him put his wallet here on purpose.”
“Trying to send a message, maybe?” Kevin asked.
“To who? I don’t think anyone else dug this up before us,” Jo said.
“Maybe someone put it here to gain some sort of leverage, but they never needed to use it,” Bridget suggested.
“Or were killed and couldn’t use it,” Kevin said.
Jo rifled through the rest of the box, pulling out a small stack of photographs. One of them was a surprise. It showed an image of a young Beryl Thorne shaking hands with a man Jo didn’t recognize. Another photo showed Beryl near what looked like a construction site.
“This connects Beryl to something,” Jo said, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“To what?” Kevin asked.
“I’m not sure, but it must be something important,” Jo said.
“And something someone wouldn’t want anyone to see,” Bridget added.
Jo’s mind raced ahead to the implications of what they’d found as she closed the box.
She stood, brushing dirt from her hands. “Now, it’s time to call Sam.”
Kevin straightened, glancing toward the trees. “We should get out of here first. This place doesn’t feel right.”