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“Kaitlin! Thank God. Come in, please.” Amy waved her forward, then called after the retreating contractor. “We’ll finish this conversation later, Sullivan!”
“Is there an issue?” Kaitlin stepped into the cluttered space.
Amy’s laugh held no humor. “The usual. Sully thinks historical preservation requirements are just suggestions.” She gestured at the scattered papers. “He wants to tear down walls that are not up to code, and they do need to come down to open the space, but I need documentation that they are not part of the original structure before he can proceed.”
“Sounds like you two are always at odds.”
“Pretty much.” Amy rubbed her temples. “He’s a good contractor. The best. But he has zero patience for bureaucracy. Thinks I’m being unnecessarily difficult.”
Kaitlin settled into the plastic chair across from Amy’s makeshift desk. “Actually, I wanted to apologize for the early wake-up call this morning. I hope I didn’t disturb you on my run.”
“Early wake-up?” Amy’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t—oh, you mean Ollie’s barking? He was quiet as a mouse this morning. Slept right through until my alarm.”
“That’s odd.” Kaitlin felt a chill. “I saw that older gentleman again, the one with the golden retriever. I usually see him on the driveway into the mansion. But this morning he was walking right past your cottage, and his dog ran into your garden. But you say Ollie never made a sound?”
Amy’s eyes grew more alert. “That is weird. Ollie goes ballistic if so much as a squirrel crosses the property line.” She leaned forward. “What does this man look like again?”
“Seventies, maybe? Silver hair, navy sweater, khaki pants. Very proper, very polite. I assume he has a house on the road out toward Kelsey and Mac’s.” Kaitlin searched for the right words. “He looks like he belongs here.”
“An islander? And you’ve seen him before?”
“A couple of times now. Always early morning, always with the dog. He seems to know the property well.”
Amy tapped her pen against the table, creating a nervous staccato rhythm. “There aren’t any houses between us and Mac’s house, and I haven’t given anyone permission to walk the grounds. With everything that’s happened, maybe I should take security more seriously.”
A chill swept across Kaitlin’s skin and she shuddered. “Didn’t you just install security in the mansion?”
“It’s a budget-friendly basic system, just to monitor the mansion.” Amy’s expression grew thoughtful. “I was actually considering expanding coverage to include the cottages. This might be the push I needed.”
“That sounds wise.”
Heavy footsteps on the main staircase interrupted their conversation. Sullivan’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Amy! You need to see this!”
Amy sighed. “What now?” She pushed back from the table. “I swear, if he’s found more problems with the electrical—”
Sully appeared in the doorway, his work boots caked with plaster dust. In his massive hands, he held what appeared to be an old pillowcase, yellowed with age and bulging with contents.
“Found this in the wall I was talking about. Someone had jammed it into an air duct.” He set the bundle carefully on Amy’s table.
Amy stood, studying the package with interest. “Which wall?”
“The dormitory partition on the second floor. The one you won’t let me tear down. Yet.” Sully’s tone carried a hint of sarcasm.
“Interesting, I wonder how old it is.”
“At least thirty years,” Sully answered.
Kaitlin watched as Amy carefully untied the pillowcase’s drawstring opening. The fabric was brittle and caked with dust.
“Should we be wearing gloves?” Amy asked.
“Probably.” Kaitlin glanced around the cluttered office. “But I don’t have any here, and I’m too curious to wait.”
The pillowcase opened to reveal a small collection of personal items: a tarnished silver locket, a few yellowed photographs, and a leather-bound journal no larger than Kaitlin’s hand.
“Personal effects,” Amy murmured, lifting the locket carefully. “Someone’s treasures.”
Sully shifted impatiently. “Any chance this changes your mind about the wall? It’s absolutely a Sheetrocked wall. Put up sometime in the 50s.”
