“About what?”
“A death.”
Reed's expression changed.
“Whose?”
Evelyn reached into her pocket.
She handed him a folded document.
He opened it.
His face became still.
At the top was a death certificate.
JONATHAN VALE.
Date of death:
Sixteen years earlier.
Reed looked at Evelyn.
“Your husband?”
“No.”
“Your father?”
“No.”
“Then who was he?”
Evelyn's voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“My brother.”
Reed looked back at the paper.
“And why are you searching for a dead man?”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“Because Sheriff…”
Her hand trembled.
“…I don't believe he died.”
THE NAME BENEATH THE VEIL
Sheriff Thomas Reed locked the courthouse door behind them.
The records room smelled of dust, leather, and old paper.
Shelves filled the walls from floor to ceiling.
Mercy Hollow had existed for nearly fifty years, and every birth, marriage, land transfer, arrest, and death had been recorded somewhere inside those shelves.
Thomas placed Jonathan Vale's death certificate on the desk.
“You're saying your brother didn't die?”
“I am saying the story of his death is a lie.”
Thomas leaned back.
“That's a serious accusation.”
“So was his murder.”
The sheriff stared at her.
Evelyn removed one glove.
Her hand was pale.
A thin scar ran from the base of her thumb to her wrist.
“Jonathan was twenty-six when he disappeared.”
“When?”
“August 14.”
“Sixteen years ago?”
“Yes.”
“How did he supposedly die?”
“They said he fell from a cliff near Blackwater Ridge.”
Thomas frowned.
“I know the place.”
“Then you know a man could fall from there.”
“And you think he didn't?”
“I know he didn't.”
“How?”
Evelyn pulled another document from her pocket.
This one was old.
The paper had been folded so many times that the corners were nearly worn away.
Thomas opened it.
It was a letter.
The handwriting was unmistakably hurried.
Evelyn, if you receive this, do not trust Sheriff Bell. Do not trust Mayor Whitcomb. And never believe that I went over Blackwater Ridge.
Thomas's eyes narrowed.
“Sheriff Bell?”
“The sheriff sixteen years ago.”
“Samuel Bell.”
“Yes.”
“He died eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“And Mayor Whitcomb?”
“Still alive.”
Thomas looked toward the window.
“Why come here now?”
Evelyn's answer took several seconds.
“Because I found something.”
“What?”
“A grave.”
Thomas waited.
“Jonathan's grave?”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“The grave of the man who was supposed to identify his body.”
Thomas slowly stood.
“Who?”
“Daniel Cross.”
The sheriff's face hardened.
“Cross disappeared seventeen years ago.”
“Exactly.”
By noon, the story had spread.
The woman in black was searching for a dead brother.
The brother might have been murdered.
The old sheriff might have been involved.
The mayor might know something.
By one o'clock, Jonathan Vale's name was being whispered in the saloon.
By two, half the town had decided Evelyn Vale was dangerous.
By three, someone tried to follow her.
Evelyn noticed.
She walked through the market without looking back.
The footsteps remained behind her.
She turned into an alley.
The footsteps stopped.
She waited.
A man stepped around the corner.
He was tall, thin, and wore a brown coat.
“You shouldn't have come here.”
Evelyn stared.
“Who are you?”
“You know what happened.”
“I know what people said happened.”
The man stepped closer.
“You need to leave Mercy Hollow.”
“Why?”
“Because your brother isn't the only person who disappeared.”
Evelyn's heart pounded.
“What does that mean?”
The man looked toward the street.
Then he whispered:
“There were four.”
Before she could ask another question, he disappeared.
Evelyn stood alone.
Four.
Not one.
Four people had disappeared.
She returned to the boarding house before sunset.
Mrs. Shaw was waiting.
“You've got visitors.”
“Who?”
“Mayor Whitcomb.”
Evelyn stopped.
“Where is he?”
“Parlor.”
Evelyn removed her gloves.
“Did he say why he came?”
“No.”
Mrs. Shaw lowered her voice.
“But he brought two men with him.”
Evelyn looked toward the parlor.
“Thank you.”
She entered.
Mayor Charles Whitcomb stood beside the fireplace.
He was seventy, silver-haired, well dressed, and carried the confidence of a man who had spent decades believing doors opened for him.
Two men stood behind him.
Whitcomb smiled.
“Mrs. Vale.”
Evelyn said nothing.
“I understand you've been asking questions.”
“Yes.”
“About an old matter.”
“Yes.”
“Old matters are often best left alone.”
Evelyn walked closer.
“Were you there the night Jonathan Vale disappeared?”
Whitcomb's smile faded.
“I knew your brother.”
“Did you kill him?”
The two men shifted.
Whitcomb's eyes hardened.
“You should be careful.”
Evelyn lifted her veil slightly.
Only enough for him to see her mouth.
“You should be afraid.”
Whitcomb stared.
Then he noticed the scar beneath her left eye.