Brianne physically cowed at the dismissal and practically bolted from the room.
I settled in at one of the empty seats, across from Florence. Cade dropped into the spot beside me.
“So?” he asked, eyes on Graham. “Where are we? Any progress?”
Graham flipped open the file folder that was laid out in front of him and tapped a finger against the top page. “Welles spent last night scouring old land records, trying to chase down who lived in that cabin. He can start us off.”
I looked at the other end of the table, where Mr. Man-Bun himself was seated. He’d leaned all the way back in his chair, looking relaxed. But his hazel-gold eyes were alert. When they snagged on mine, he shot me a playful wink.
Cade scoffed.
Welles heard it. His lips twitched as he began. “Did some digging into old town zoning. The cabin where we found Rory was one of a whole string of other cabins just like it. Seasonal places, for the most part — no heat, no running water. Mostly used by local families for fishing and bird watching, from what I read in the official records. Some of them were razed to the ground back in the 1990s, but most of them were just left there to rot away.”
“But why?” Florence interjected impatiently.
“In the early ‘80s, when the state laid those new railroad tracks through town, the road that led out there was cut off. The whole strip of salt-marsh became inaccessible. I guess they figured it was easier to relocate a few families than re-route the whole train.”
I thought of the vintage car rusting on the dirt road that led to the cabin. Someone had left it there decades ago, and never come back for it.
“Is that legal?” Gwen asked, head tilted to one side. A long red tendril fell into her face. “How could the town just decide to cut off access?”
“It’s called eminent domain,” Graham explained, reaching over to tuck the tendril behind Gwen’s ear. “Basically, the law gives the state the right to claim property — even private property — whenever they see fit, so long as they have proper justification. Happens more often than you’d think.”
“So, the cabin was abandoned…” I murmured, mind racing. “What about the families who lived there? Is it possible someone stayed behind, even after the land was seized?”
“That’s where our story takes an interesting turn,” Welles said. His eyes flickered to Sawyer. “You want to take this part?”
All gazes snapped to the blond behemoth. His blue eyes were not piercing like Cade’s. They were dazzling. Dreamy. It was like looking into a Van Gogh painting.
“Nope,” he said succinctly.
Man of few words.
Got it.
Welles looked past Sawyer to the corner of the room, where Keir was leaning. “I know better than to even ask you to chime in.”
Keir’s only response was the slight curl of his mouth at one corner, lifting into a half-smirk.
Suddenly, my own mouth felt remarkably dry.
“Wowza,” I heard Florence whisper under her breath from across the table.
She could say that again.
Welles snorted, and our gazes swung back his way.
“Since no one else is feeling verbose…” He continued. “There were a few stories in the paper. Most of the families who were evicted were all too happy to take the money and run. But one or two tried to fight.”
He cocked his chin toward Graham, who was in the process of pulling an old news clipping from the folder in front of him. He slid it across the table to Cade, and I leaned over to get a look at the bold black letters across the top.
HOPES DERAILED: SHRIVER FAMILY LOSES FIGHT AGAINST STATE IN EMINENT DOMAIN BATTLE
Beneath the headline, there was a photograph of what I could only assume was the Shriver family. A man, a woman, and one small child, all dressed in simple clothing, and standing in front of a familiar cottage. The little girl was no more than four or five years old. She was leaning back against her father’s legs, holding her mother’s hand. I stared at her tiny features, pixilated beyond recognition by the deteriorated paper. Her dark hair, long and wild even then.
My throat felt clogged.
“What is it?” Gwen asked, straining to see from across the table. “What does it say?”