Chapter 8 · The Patriarch (Megan)

After dawn, Reed did two things.

First, he packed everything in the cabin—the original letters, copies, the anonymous note, photos of the broken door. Second, he drove into town.

Megan stayed at the cabin. She sat by the fireplace, turning the verdigris compass over in her hands. The needle wasn’t pointing north—she’d just noticed—it had been recalibrated. The needle pointed northeast.

What was northeast?

She pulled out her phone and opened the map. Northeast of Blackharbor, past two ridgelines, was—the Blackwoods’ private pier.

She filed that away.

When Reed came back in the afternoon, his face was darker than when he’d left.

“I went to the town clerk’s office,” he said. “Pulled the shipwreck records from twenty years ago. That 1999 ‘undeclared cargo’ seizure—the case number was expunged. The file was one page: ‘Closed, no further action.’ Signed by the sheriff at the time, who’s now—”

“Now the town manager’s assistant.” Megan finished.

“Right.”

“And the Blackwoods?”

Reed sat down and looked at her.

“Thomas Blackwood, seventy-eight now. Twenty years ago he was fifty-eight—right in his prime. He has three sons. The eldest, Henry, ‘went fishing and never came back’ fifteen years ago—note the ocean again. The middle son, Robert, runs Blackwood Shipping now. The youngest daughter married a state senator.”

“So the patriarch in the letter—”

“Is old Thomas himself.” Reed said. “Samantha’s letter said ‘the Blackwoods knew that boat was going down.’ She wasn’t talking about Henry. Henry was barely in his twenties back then. He couldn’t make that call.”

Megan thought of the line in the letter—“don’t trust anyone in church who smiles.”

Every Sunday, old Thomas sat in the front pew, smiling at everyone who walked in.

“One more thing,” Reed said. “I passed your grandfather’s grave on the way back.”

Megan looked up.

“Someone just left flowers on it.” Reed said. “Fresh. Left this morning.”

Megan’s heart sank. “Who?”

“No card on the bouquet.” Reed looked at her. “But I know that wrapping paper. The florist next to the bakery in town only does those black-ribbon arrangements for the Blackwoods.”

Megan stood up.

“They’re warning me.”

“They’re showing you,” Reed said slowly, “that they don’t even leave the dead alone.”

Megan walked to the window. Rain started again. She looked out at the gray sea and suddenly remembered something.

“Reed,” she said. “Samantha’s letter said ‘go to—’ It cut off. Who do you think she wanted me to go to?”

Reed was quiet a moment.

“Someone she trusted,” he said. “Someone she thought could stand up to the Blackwoods.”

Megan turned around.

“Effie at the town library,” she said. “She lived near here twenty years ago. The day Samantha disappeared, someone saw her talking to Effie at the bakery.”

Reed was already standing.

“Let’s go now.”