Page 83 of The Golden Hour

I’m sure most of the people outside the tent think I’m nuts for requesting this. At least a few probably resent me being allowed here at all—a civilian digging through a potential crime scene. I’m lucky Wilson has the clout she does, regardless of whether she attributes that clout to me.

Finn hands me a water bottle, a not-so-subtle suggestion to rest. The tent is a sauna. I’m dripping sweat. Despite the small hand shovel I’m using, my fingers are raw from the old, dry soil, my cuticles near bleeding.

“Are you sure you don’t want a metal detector?” asks Wilson for the umpteenth time.

I shake my head. “He wouldn’t put it in something that would rust or with seals that might degrade.”

Wilson shoots Finn a concerned glance. He touches my shoulder. “Maybe we should take an actual break—grab some lunch. What do you say?”

“Ten more minutes. Please.”

He scans my face, eyes soft. “Okay, princess.”

We dig.

When my shovel hits something plastic, I don’t immediately rejoice. Old drip lines run inside the bed, most of them damaged, and we’ve had several instances of false hope this morning.

Dropping my shovel, I dig with my fingers, brushing and scooping until I see white PVC.

The drip lines are black.

“Finn.”

Registering the excitement in my voice, he joins me just as I pull a sealed tube from the ground. Wilson is a second behind him. Once she sees what’s in my hands, she whistles.

“Would you look at that. Don’t open it. I’ll be right back.” She runs from the tent.

Laughing, I hold up the thick, six-inch tube. “Thank you, Uncle Ant, for being so paranoid.”

Finn grins. “What do you think is in it? The letter?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Vivian wanted that letter my father sent from prison, and she believed I knew where it was. Plus, Ant said that something in my head—my memory—was a danger to the family. This was the only place I could think of. It was special to me. To us. Before my visits, Ant would bury little trinkets in here. Digging for treasure was the highlight of my weekends as a kid.”

“He sounds like an awesome uncle.”

My eyes sting with tears. “Yeah, he was. I just wish he could be here.”

Finn strokes sweaty hair from my temple. “I know.”

“Here we go,” Wilson says, jogging into the tent. Two detectives and a forensic tech follow.

The tech squats beside me. “May I?” he asks, holding out a gloved hand.

I give him the tube. Wilson hands him pliers. With one strong tug, the cap pops off. The tech trades pliers for tweezers, and seconds later removes a small, rolled piece of paper. Brows lifting, he looks at Wilson.

“This is all that’s in it.”

Wilson pulls on gloves and takes the piece of paper. I grab Finn’s hand as she carefully unrolls it.

“What is it?” I whisper.

A moment later Wilson looks up, her eyes wide and… laughing? “Take a look,” she says, her lips twisting comically. “No gloves necessary.”

She hands me the paper.

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve uncovered the final, biggest treasure of all! Your prize is a bowl of cotton candy ice cream, courtesy of your favorite uncle. Don’t forget to clean your feet before you come in the house. And put away your tools!

Uncle Ant

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