“About the note and envelope,” he replied, keeping his tone gentle but firm. “We need to get someone involved. Either the sheriff or the ESI guys could look into it, check the cameras in town, see who might’ve left it in your truck.”
Harper stiffened slightly, her gaze darting away. “Cas, I—”
“Just hear me out,” he cut in, holding up a hand. “I know you want to handle this on your own, but whoever did this might be more serious than we thought. I just don’t want you to take any risks.”
Sighing, she crossed her arms. “I get that, but the sheriff? I’m not sure I want to involve the police just yet.”
He nodded, already expecting her hesitation. “Okay, what about ESI? You already met a few the day you arrived. They’re discreet. We could have Sadie and Dale take the note and envelope over, let them handle it quietly.”
Harper looked torn, her brow furrowing as she weighed her options. After a long pause, she finally nodded. “Okay, ESI. I’d rather keep this low-key for now.”
Cas smiled, relieved. “Good call. I’ll let Dale and Sadie know.”
As if on cue, Dale and Sadie walked out of the back of their house and headed their way.
“Look what the cat drug by, Sadie,” Dale said with a grin.
He shook his head and quickly explained the plan. Harper handed over the envelope and note, her expression guarded but resigned.
“Don’t worry, Harper,” Sadie said, giving her cousin a quick hug. “We’ll get this sorted. ESI will know what to do. I trust them with my life.”
Dale nodded, tucking the envelope into a secure folder using a latex glove. “You guys focus on the library. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Harper’s gaze and smile were full of gratitude.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, squeezing her shoulder gently as they faced the other couple. “Let’s meet up later and see what everyone finds.”
With that, Cas led Harper to his truck next door, then they headed toward the Harland County Library. As they drove, the tension in the cab slowly ebbed, replaced by the shared sense of purpose. Glancing over at his silent companion, he caught her in a rare, unguarded moment as she stared out the window, her mind clearly racing.
“Hey,” Cas said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? One step at a time.”
She turned to face him, and her smile was small but genuine. “Thanks, Cas. I needed that.”
They arrived at the library, an old brick building that had stood in Harland County for over a century and a half. He remembered coming here for several elementary school field trips. Then tostudyfor a high school history test, which was code for making out with the head cheerleader in the archive section.
Inside, the familiar scent of aged books and polished wood greeted them, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights casting a soft glow over rows of shelves. Cas led the way to the archives, glad Harper didn’t ask how he knew where it was located. Dusty binders and boxes of old newspapers were neatly arranged on metal shelves.
Almost immediately, she dove in with her usual determination, pulling out records and flipping through them with a focused intensity. Cas joined her, scanning dates and headlines, searching for any mention of the tragedy Mary had written about.
After about an hour of digging, Cas found an article from 1937 that caught his eye.
“Hey, Harper, look at this,” he said, sliding the newspaper toward her. “There was a fire at the old church on April 12th, 1937. It says here that a group of people had gathered for a late-night meeting, and something went wrong. Three people died.”
Her sucked in breath cooled the air between them as she leaned over to read the article with wide eyes. “A fire. This could be what Mary was talking about. The flames, the shouting match what she wrote in her diary.”
She pulled the book out of her purse and flipped to a marked page, and together they read the entry that indeed matched the article perfectly.
Cas nodded, feeling a chill run down his spine. “That’s it.”
Before Harper could respond, an older gentleman who had been browsing nearby approached them. His silver hair and neatly pressed shirt gave him an air of quiet authority, and he held a cane in one hand, leaning on it lightly as he walked.
“Excuse me,” the man said, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity. “I couldn’t help but overhearing. Are you looking into the old church fire?”
Harper nodded, surprised lifting her brow. “Yes, we’re trying to learn more about it. My great-grandmother, Mary, mentioned it in her diary.”
The man’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a deep sadness. “Mary,” he repeated, his voice lowering. “I remember her well. She was a kind soul. I was just a baby when the fire happened. My father was one of the men who died that night.”
“Oh, I’m so very sorry. Mr…” she said, looking expectantly at the man.
