Read Chapter 23: A Call in the Night

The rain came in off the Atlantic like a grudge, hard and cold, slapping against the lighthouse windows in furious sheets. Maya had spread the journals across the kitchen table, her father's old survey maps weighted down at the corners with coffee mugs, when her phone buzzed.

Unknown number. Local area code.

She almost let it go to voicemail. But something—the hour, the storm, the weight of what she'd just read—made her answer.

"Dr. Ellison." A man's voice. Low. Flat. No accent she could place. "You're asking questions that have already been answered."

The hair on her arms stood up. "Who is this?"

"That's not important. What's important is that you understand something." A pause, and she heard what sounded like a boat horn in the background. "The cove was dredged in '68. It was dredged in '82. It was dredged in '99. And it will be dredged tomorrow. Not because anyone's greedy, but because that's how it's always been done. You dig up old bones, you're going to find things you don't like. And those things have a way of burying the people who dig them up."

Her grip tightened on the phone. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm giving you a courtesy. The last two people who had those journals didn't get one."

The line went dead.

Maya stood frozen, the phone pressed to her ear, listening to the hum of nothing. The rain hammered the windows. The journals sat open on the table, their yellowed pages documenting men who had disappeared—one in 1971, one in 1986, one in 2003—all within weeks of their final entries.

She checked the locks on the doors twice. Then she called Jack.

He arrived in twenty minutes, drenched, his truck skidding to a stop in the gravel drive. He didn't knock. He pushed through the door and crossed the room in three strides, his hands finding her shoulders, his eyes scanning her face.

"You okay?"

She nodded, then shook her head. "I don't know."

He looked at the journals, then back at her. "Tell me exactly what he said."

She did. Every word. When she finished, Jack pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling the police."

The station sent a patrol car. A young officer named Delgado took her statement with the kind of patient skepticism that made her feel like she was reporting a UFO sighting. He wrote down the number—burner, he said, probably untraceable—and the content of the threat.

"And you're sure you don't know who this could be?" He glanced at the journals, at the maps, at the stacks of documents covering every surface. "You're doing some kind of research project?"

"Historical research," Maya said. "Coastal erosion patterns."

Delgado nodded slowly. "Ma'am, I'm going to be straight with you. We get calls like this. People get spooked by anonymous calls, they get worked up. Usually it's a prank. A wrong number. Someone's ex-boyfriend."

"This wasn't a prank."

"Do you have any evidence of that?" He clicked his pen. "Any specific threats of violence?"

"He said the last two people who had these journals didn't get a courtesy."

Delgado's pen stopped. He looked at the journals again, older and more careful this time. "And who were the last two people who had these?"

Maya hesitated. "Keepers. Lighthouse keepers. They—"

"Disappeared," Jack said. "One in 1971, one in 1986, one in 2003."

Delgado's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted. He wrote something down that he didn't read back to them. "I'll file the report. We'll do a drive-by tonight, and I'll flag the number with the telecom company. But I want to be honest with you both—without more to go on, this is going to be hard to pursue."

"Hard," Maya repeated. "Or unwanted?"

Delgado met her eyes. "I grew up here, Dr. Ellison. I know what this town's like. I know who's who." He pocketed his notebook. "I'll do what I can. That's all I can promise."

After he left, Jack locked the door behind him and stood with his back to it, arms crossed.

"You don't trust him."

"I trust that he's a cop in a town that's been managed by the same families for fifty years." Maya sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "I trust that he filed a report and that report will go to someone who might not want it there."

Jack moved to the window, peering out into the storm. "I'm staying tonight."

"Jack—"

"I'm not asking." He turned to face her. "I'm not leaving you alone here with those journals and that call still ringing in your ears. So you can put me on the couch or you can put me on the floor, but I'm staying."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him she was fine, that she'd handled herself for years, that she didn't need a man to protect her. But the truth was, her hands were still shaking. And the truth was, she was glad he was here.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He nodded and pulled out his phone again. "I'm ordering cameras. Doorbell cam, two for the exterior, one for the basement access. They'll be here by morning."

"You don't have to—"

"Yeah, I do." He sat down across from her, close enough that she could smell the rain on his jacket. "Maya, whoever made that call knows about the journals. Which means they know about the pattern. Which means they know about Whaleback Cove and what we're planning to document tonight."

"Tomorrow," she corrected. "The dredging schedule was pushed to tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow, then. They're trying to scare you off before we get eyes on it. That means we're close. We're on the right track."

He reached across the table and took her hand. His palm was warm, calloused, steady. She didn't pull away.

"I should have told you the truth sooner," she said. "About my father. About the deed. About all of it."

"You just did tell me. That's what matters."

"But there's more." She looked at him, at the trust in his eyes—trust she hadn't earned yet, not fully. "There's a sealed envelope. From Whitfield. It has the name of the person who ordered the file purge. I can open it now—I've forgiven the debt, the board announced it this morning. But I haven't opened it. Because I'm afraid of what I'll find."

Jack's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "We can open it together. Tomorrow, before the dredging. Whatever's in it, we face it together."

Together. The word settled in her chest like something warm and unfamiliar.

"I'm not going to let them bury this," she said. "Not again. Not like they buried my father's survey and those keepers' journals. These names need to be brought into the light."

"Then we bring them into the light." Jack let go of her hand and leaned forward, his intensity electric. "We don't wait for the select board. We don't wait for Whitfield. We hold a public forum. We put the journals, the diary entries, the names—all of it—out in the open. Let the town see what's been happening under their feet for sixty years."

"Tonight? The storm—"

"The forum, not the storm. Tomorrow afternoon. Before the dredging. We call every news outlet, every local blogger, everyone. We set up in the community hall." His eyes were bright with purpose. "If they want to bury us, they're going to have to do it in broad daylight, in front of everyone."

Maya's heart was racing. It was reckless. It was exactly the kind of move that could get them both in serious trouble. It was also the only move that made sense.

"You realize what this means," she said. "If we do this, there's no going back. They'll come after us."

"They were already coming after you." Jack's voice was gentle. "The only choice we have is whether we face them alone in the dark or together in the light."

She looked at the journals, at her father's maps, at the sealed envelope sitting on the shelf above the sink. The storm raged outside. The lighthouse beam cut through the dark, steady and sure, the way it had for a hundred and forty years.

"Okay," she said. "Tomorrow. We do it tomorrow."

She didn't sleep. Neither did he. They spent the night planning, their voices low, their heads together over the table as the rain finally began to ease.

At dawn, the cameras arrived. Jack installed them while Maya made phone calls.

The last call she made was to Evelyn.

"Aunt Evelyn, I need you to do something for me. If anything happens to me or Jack—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Evelyn's voice cracked. "You're going to finish what your father started, and you're going to be fine. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Good. Now tell me where the envelope is."

Maya told her. Evelyn wrote it down.

And for the first time since the call in the night, Maya felt like she might just make it through the day.