He claimed that the original railway ownership documents had been deliberately removed from the county archive.
And he knew who had ordered it.
Not Cole Dempsey.
Not Arthur Voss.
Someone inside the county administration.
A senior official named Richard Mallory.
The name stunned Sheriff Carter.
Mallory had served as county planning director for eighteen years.
He had been responsible for reviewing development applications and coordinating property records.
He had also attended several private meetings with Arthur Voss.
The investigation had just reached the heart of Cedar Hollow's government.
And Walter realized that the people who had tried to take his home had been operating with help from people who were supposed to protect the community.
He looked at Gabriel.
"How many people knew?"
Gabriel shook his head.
"We don't know yet."
Walter sighed.
"Then we'd better keep looking."
The following morning, Walter received another letter.
This one was different.
It was handwritten.
The envelope contained no threats.
Only a short message.
Mr. Briggs,
You don't know me, but I worked for your father many years ago. I have information about what happened to James Miller and why the original records disappeared.
I am afraid to speak publicly.
If you want the truth, meet me at the old mill on Thursday at six.
Come alone.
Walter read it twice.
Then he handed it to Gabriel.
Gabriel's expression immediately hardened.
"Absolutely not."
Walter smiled.
"I haven't said anything."
"You don't have to."
Mara examined the handwriting.
"Could be a trap."
"Probably," Gabriel answered.
Walter looked at the letter.
"But it could also be someone who knows something important."
Gabriel shook his head.
"We'll give it to the sheriff."
Walter nodded.
"Agreed."
He looked at the clock.
Thursday was only two days away.
For the first time since the storm, Walter felt that the story was approaching its final confrontation.
But he was wrong.
Because the person who had written that letter knew something even more disturbing than the truth about the railway.
Something that connected the death of James Miller to the conspiracy.
And something that would force Walter to confront a secret his own family had kept for decades.
The letter remained on Walter Briggs's kitchen table long after everyone else had gone to bed.
He had read it so many times that he could almost recite every word.
You don't know me, but I worked for your father many years ago. I have information about what happened to James Miller and why the original records disappeared.
I am afraid to speak publicly.
If you want the truth, meet me at the old mill on Thursday at six.
Come alone.
Walter sat beside the fireplace, listening to the wind moving through the orchard.
He had spent seventy-eight years in Cedar Hollow. He knew its roads, its farms, its abandoned buildings, and the stories people told about the families who had lived there before him.
He knew the old mill.
He knew the railway bridge.
He knew the men who had worked the land when the county was still young.
But he did not know who had written the letter.
And he did not know what that person meant by mentioning James Miller's death.
The thought disturbed him more than the threat of losing his property.
James had been a good man. Quiet, practical, and loyal to his family. Walter remembered him helping repair a fence after a winter storm. He remembered the two of them sitting beneath the trees, drinking coffee while their wives discussed the garden.
James had died unexpectedly.
At least, that was what everyone had believed.
Now someone was suggesting that his death might have been connected to the railway land.
Walter rubbed his forehead.
"You're going to get yourself into trouble," he whispered.
Duke lifted his head.
"Don't look at me like that. I know."
The dog stood, walked toward him, and rested his head on Walter's knee.
Walter stroked his gray fur.
"Your job is to stay out of trouble."
Duke wagged his tail.
Walter smiled.
"That's what I thought."
The following morning, he called Sheriff Evelyn Carter.
He told her about the letter.
She asked him to bring it to the station immediately.
By ten o'clock, the sheriff had examined the envelope, photographed the handwriting, and arranged for an investigator to review the message.
Gabriel arrived shortly afterward.
He was carrying two coffees.
"One for you."
Walter accepted it.
"Thank you."
Gabriel sat down.
"You're not going to that meeting."
Walter raised an eyebrow.
"Is that a request?"
"It's a decision."
"Then you've made it without consulting me."
Gabriel sighed.
"Mr. Briggs, somebody is threatening you. Someone burned your barn. Someone followed Mara. Now an anonymous person wants you to meet them alone at an abandoned mill."
Walter took a sip of coffee.
"When you say it like that, it sounds unpleasant."