Page 54 of The Girl on Hallow's Eve

I marvel at the sight. There’s got to be hundreds of dollars here—no, thousands. And this is just the first one.

“What are the initials on the belt buckle?” George asks.

Sam looks at it. “L. W.”

“Lincoln Warren,” George says. “Missing for thirty-two years. He was last seen traveling through this area and mentioned stopping at the tavern for supper.”

My heart jumps. I know this is what we were looking for, but searching for something and finding it are two very different things. It means my suspicions are right. It means something I don’t want it to mean.

We spend another three hours on the grounds of Briar Hill before darkness drives us off. I have calls to make and a very long hot bath to take before we’re back at dawn.

One of those calls is to James Morris. Another is to Elias.

When the very first light of morning hits the sky, we’re on our way back to the land. The equipment we rented is set to be there in an hour, which should be just in time.

Elias is already standing at the very edge of the property when we get there. I walk up to him carefully, extremely aware of the heightened emotions. The air around him feels volatile. He stares into my eyes with all those years and I feel the weight of them press down into my heart for a second. I feel like if I look into them long enough, I’ll see myself.

I wish I could. I wish it was as simple as cupping his face with my hands and staring into his eyes so that I could see my grandfather again. So I could watch him scoop me up into his arms and carry me over to the horse or hold my hand and walk me through tangled green vines to pick the perfect jack-o’-lantern pumpkin.

I don’t remember the vines. I don’t remember coming here and picking the pumpkins with him. But I remember the jack-o’-lanterns. My grandfather was a master at carving pumpkins. He could create elaborate designs and whole scenes so they were like storybooks sitting on the front porch. I always wanted triangle eyes and a crooked square mouth.

Every year he would sketch out patterns and come up with wild new ideas. My father egged him on to make them even more impressive. And every year the neighbors would stop by just to see the spectacular pumpkins lit up on Halloween night.

And every year, nestled in the corner, was my perfect round pumpkin with triangle eyes and square teeth.

“Why did I have to come here?” he asks. “I never wanted to be in this place again.”

“I know you don’t,” I say. “But it’s important that you are. You own this land. I need you to be a part of this. Please.”

“Emma, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want anybody to…”

His voice trails off.

“You don’t want anybody to know?” I ask softly.

His eyes well with tears. They aren’t just his. They’re tears he’s been holding onto for many years, for many people.

“Emma,” Sam says.

I turn around and see two vehicles coming up the dirt road. The first is the backhoe. The car following behind it is James Morris. He parks close to my car and I walk over to meet him.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to be here.”

“Yes. I’ve waited thirty years. I’m ready.”

“Before we start, could you come with me?” I walk him over to Elias. “This is Elias Carver. Elias, this is James Morris. Thirty years ago, his brother came here to work with horses.”

Elias draws in a sharp breath, his body sagging slightly like he’s going to collapse. Sam rushes up beside him and supports him.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asks.

“No,” Elias says defiantly. “I should stand for this.”

I turn to James and take a small piece of cloth out of my pocket.

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