The Quiet Room
What the Yard Kept

Corinne

Detective Naomi Bright had a way of asking questions that made Callum feel like a suspect and a widower in the same five minutes, which he supposed was the job.

"The medical examiner will need time," she said, standing at the edge of the taped-off rose bed in the gray hour before sunrise, "but I'll tell you what I can. The remains are consistent with an adult female. There's a fabric match to a coat reported in her missing description. We'll know more in seventy-two hours."

"It's her," Callum said. Not a question.

Bright didn't correct him.

He hadn't seen more than the coat and the shape under it, and that was already more than he'd carry easily for the rest of his life. What he learned later, sitting in a folding chair in Bright's office with a paper cup of coffee going cold in his hand, was worse in a different way.

"She wasn't buried alone," Bright said. "There was a sealed plastic sleeve near the body. Documents. Water-damaged, but our lab's pulling what they can. Spreadsheets. Account numbers. A name on the letterhead — Harborlight Wealth Partners."

Callum's stomach dropped somewhere below the folding chair. "That's Roland's company."

"We know."

"She buried financial records with her?"

"No," Bright said, and something in her voice sharpened. "Someone buried them with her. After. Like whoever did this wanted them gone too, and this was the fastest hole in the ground."

Callum thought of Corinne at the kitchen table two years ago, glasses pushed up into her hair, going line by line through some spreadsheet, the same careful posture she'd bring to anything she didn't trust. He hadn't been able to picture, until that moment, what could have made a woman who'd never missed her mother's birthday disappear without a word.

Now he could.

She'd found something in Roland's books she wasn't supposed to find.

And whatever it was, it was still out there — because the papers in the ground were water-damaged, incomplete, a fraction of whatever Corinne had actually seen.

Which meant somewhere, the rest of it still existed.

And somebody else knew exactly where.

Continue the story Part 6: Harborlight →

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