Page 40 of Skin and Bones

Brooks nodded, throat working visibly. “I always assumed it was Milton who arranged it. He had the authority, the connections to cover it up.”

“But Milton’s in prison now,” I pointed out. “And someone broke into the sheriff’s office looking for Elizabeth’s diary. Someone who’s still very interested in keeping these secrets buried.”

“Paul Cromwell is dead,” Brooks contemplated aloud. “Milton’s locked up. That leaves?—”

“Clinton Harrington,” Hank finished. “Or his son, who took over the business.”

Brooks ran his thumb along his jawline before nodding. “Harrington Construction has flourished since Clint Jr. took over. He’s transformed it into one of the largest developers on the coast.”

“Let’s back up a moment,” I suggested, watching Brooks intently. “What happened after Clint confronted the two of you?”

Brooks drummed his fingers lightly on his desk blotter. “After he left that night, Elizabeth was shaken but also more determined than ever.”

“And the last time you saw her?” Hank asked.

“She came to my office on July fifteenth,” Brooks recounted, his gaze drifting briefly to the harbor view. “She was different—calmer—almost resolute. Said she’d taken precautions in case something happened to her. I told her we should have dinner and talk it over, but she said she had things to see to.” His voice remained steady, but his knuckles whitened around his pen. “The next morning, she was found in the harbor. I never did find out what precautions she’d taken.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Brooks reached for his tea, taking a small sip before setting it down again.

“What happens now?” he finally asked, looking between us.

Hank straightened in his chair. “Now we build a case. Elizabeth deserves justice, even after all these years.”

“Her father is dying,” I contributed. “This might be his last chance to know the truth.”

Brooks was silent for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression. Finally, he opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a business card, writing something on the back before handing it to me.

“This is my private number,” he revealed. “Not the office line. If you find something concrete—something that can’t be dismissed or buried—call me. I should have helped Elizabeth when I had the chance. Maybe I can make up for that now.” He handed me the card.

Hank studied him for a moment, his gaze thoughtful rather than accusatory. “Twenty-eight years is a long time to carry this burden, Jason.”

Brooks glanced at the photographs on his wall—the smiling images of himself with powerful men. “It was only supposed to be a fling.” The was sorrow and regret in his voice. “But I fell in love with her. It was impossible not to. It’s time to right any wrongs I may have committed. I’ve spent nearly three decades building a career on the foundation of my silence,” he confessed quietly. “I’d like to spend whatever years I have left being able to sleep at night.”

As we made our way back to the car I asked Hank, “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

“Too early to draw conclusions,” he cautioned. “Right now, all we have is his word that there was a relationship between them. We need corroboration and evidence. That’s how justice works—facts, not speculation.”

We made our way back to the car in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. As we pulled out of the parking garage into the bright Charleston sunshine, I checked my rearview mirror, half expecting to see the dark sedan that had followed me before.

“Clint Harrington Jr.,” I declared as we merged onto the highway heading back to Grimm Island. “We need to talk to him.”

“Agreed,” Hank concurred, buckling his seat belt. “But we need to be careful. If Brooks is right, and Elizabeth was killed for what she found, Harrington might be more dangerous than we thought.”

“Let’s talk to Sheriff Beckett and see what he thinks,” I said, the idea sending a thrill of anticipation through me.

“Good idea,” Hank said. “I’m afraid I have more questions than answers after that meeting. After nearly thirty years, why is someone still desperate to keep Elizabeth’s discovery hidden? Financial fraud has a statute of limitations. Murder doesn’t.”

“The question is what exactly did she find?” I pondered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “What secret was worth killing for then—and still worth protecting now?”

We fell silent for a while, both lost in thought as the highway stretched before us. The weight of it all—a young woman’s death, a father’s dying wish, a decades-old cover-up—settled around us like a heavy fog. To calm my nerves, I found myself doing what I always did when anxiety threatened to overwhelm me.

“You must remember this—A kiss is just a kiss,” I sang softly, the familiar melody soothing my frayed nerves. “A sigh is just a sigh…”

Hank smiled faintly, his eyes on the road ahead. “Casablanca,” he said. “Eleanor’s favorite. We saw it on our first date.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the coincidence. “Patrick’s too,” I admitted. “We had our first kiss during that scene.

“The world will always welcome lovers,” I continued singing softly, “As time goes by…”

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