Beryl let out a soft laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Bribe him? For what? I don’t need to bribe a man who’s already drowning in debt. He would have sold to me eventually. I was just waiting for the right moment. The idea of me bribing him is absurd.”
Sam studied her for a moment, searching for any cracks in her facade. Beryl was smooth—too smooth. But her casual tone and lack of hesitation were enough to make him doubt Derek’s version of the story. Still, there was something off here. Something that didn’t sit right.
“And Marnie Wilson?” Sam pressed. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
For the first time, Beryl hesitated, her expression tightening. She glanced away briefly before meeting his gaze again, her eyes sharper now. “Marnie? We’re acquaintances. Friends, if you can call it that. I supported her campaign, just like any other concerned citizen would.”
Sam didn’t buy it. He remembered Wyatt’s report. The envelope he’d seen Marnie carrying from Beryl’s office couldn’t have just been a campaign contribution. Sam had a creeping suspicion that Marnie wasinvolved in something deeper than a mayoral race. “Friends, huh?” he asked, his tone skeptical.
Beryl’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”
“Just curious,” Sam said, shrugging lightly, though his gut told him there was more to dig into. “If you’re just acquaintances, then why are her name and yours tangled up in all this mess?”
Beryl’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, unreadable look. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sam. Marnie and I have nothing to do with Garvin’s murder. If you’re smart, you’ll focus on the real threats.”
Sam held her gaze for a long moment, weighing his next words carefully. He knew he wasn’t going to get much more out of her—not now, anyway. But he’d be back. He wasn’t done with Beryl Thorne, not by a long shot.
“Thanks for your time, Beryl,” Sam said finally, his voice edged with sarcasm as he stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
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 unevenground, 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 sharpsnap. 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 IDcard.
“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.”