Page 53 of The Girl on Hallow's Eve

“But why take so long to decide that? Colby died thirty years ago. Martin went right after that. Why would he take so long to decide to leave the land if it was that important to him?” Sam asks.

“Maybe he just needed the right offer. Something to make it make sense to him.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, he has money. I have a feeling he saved well over the years. That’s not a problem for him. He said he didn’t care about the money. He didn’t care about the deal or any of that.”

I stop.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“His contract. Does anyone know what’s in it?”

“Didn’t he give you a copy of it?” George asks.

“Yes.”

I realize I haven’t looked at it and I scramble to find where I put it among the other documents and pictures he gave me. It’s a predictably long and complex legal document, but I find exactly what I was looking for at the bottom of the last page.

“What?” George asks. “What did you find?”

“Hey, guys,” I say. “Anybody up for a treasure hunt?”

A call to Eric and another to Dean get them using their own skills and resources to hunt down the last bits of information I need. With that underway, I get in touch with the police department and then it’s a trip back to Cherry Hill to visit a hardware store much larger and more comprehensive than the one on Main Street in Sherwood. I wasn’t positive they would be the destination to find what’s on my shopping list, but half an hour after arriving, we’re heading back out to the car with our new metal detectors and shovels, and an order for a backhoe rental.

“Are we really doing this?” Sam asks as we make our way deep into the farmland to a place so far behind the mall the building isn’t even visible anymore. I glance at him across the car. “Don’t answer that.”

He trusts me. That’s one thing I will always be able to say about my husband and our marriage. He trusts me. He very frequently prefers that he didn’t, but that doesn’t change anything.

Here everything is calm and peaceful still. We’re following a map and George’s memory, and eventually, we end up on a heavily overgrown dirt road.

“This is it,” George announces. “This used to be the driveway. Go up a bit and it will open up.”

I follow his instructions and drive through thick woods for several yards before we end up in a partial clearing. Young trees have grown up and what looks like remnants of buildings are being reclaimed. But there are still areas that are flat grass and dotted among the blades are small gatherings of headstones.

“How big is this plot exactly?” Sam asks.

“Twenty-eight acres,” George says. “Long and narrow.”

He holds one arm in front of him and one behind like he’s indicating the stretch of the land.

“That was the barn,” I say, pointing to the dilapidated building.

“Yes. That’s where Colby died.”

I was finally able to see the pictures the police took the day he was found dead. I now understand what George told me. There was so much blood and the spatter wasn’t a pattern consistent with a horse kicking someone in the head. Even being trampled wouldn’t create that kind of pattern. A contemporary medical examiner would take one look at those pictures and know that man had been beaten to death.

“And the original house?”

He points in the direction of another clutch of trees in the direction of the larger segment of land.

“Where was the fire the night of the killings?” Sam asks.

“At the far end of the property,” George says. “It’s just a small section that’s easily accessible and kids sometimes party there. Very few people, if any, are left that know this part even exists. It’s a lot of space that has been forgotten.”

“Then we better start searching.”

We each pick up our metal detectors and I head straight for the barn. I can’t get inside until the heavy equipment has demolished what’s left of the building and clears the ground. But for now, we can check around the area. It doesn’t take long for the alarm on Sam’s detector to go off. He sets it down and picks up his shovel. Soon, he’s unearthed an old burlap sack. It’s small, likely once a sugar sack, but it’s far heavier than sugar. He grunts with exertion as he pulls it out of the hole and sets it down on the dirt. A quick release of the drawstring reveals a massive cache of coins and jewelry that sparkle in the morning air.

Sam lets out a whistle. “Jackpot.”

---