Chapter 9
The headlights of the sedan cut a narrow path through the dense underbrush, illuminating the overgrown gravel driveway that wound another quarter-mile through the trees. At the end of the track, half-hidden by a dense cluster of wild ferns and rhododendrons, sat the cabin.
It was smaller than she had imagined from the legal descriptions—built of thick cedar logs gone silver with age, featuring a steep-pitched roof designed to shed heavy winter snowpacks. A single stone chimney stood tall against the dark backdrop of the mountain ridge.
Clara parked the sedan beneath a sprawling cedar tree, killing the headlights. Darkness settled around her instantly, broken only by the pale glow of a three-quarter moon fighting through the thinning cloud cover. She sat in the driver's seat for a long moment, her hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. Her pulse was steady. For the first time she could remember, her chest didn't feel tight with the phantom panic of an impending move.
She stepped out of the car, grabbing her duffel bag and the manila envelope from the passenger seat. The air was cold, biting sharply at her cheeks, but it felt invigorating.
The front porch boards creaked beneath her boots as she walked up the three wooden steps. A heavy brass key hung on a nail hidden behind the porch beam—just where her grandfather’s logbook had diagramed it would be, tucked behind a loose piece of bark.
She slid the key into the antique mortise lock. It turned with a heavy, satisfying clunk, the iron mechanism throwing the deadbolt back with a solid echo that bounced off the interior walls.
Pushing the heavy wooden door open, she reached inside and flipped a toggle switch on the wall. To her surprise, a warm amber light flickered to life from a wrought-iron chandelier hanging from the exposed cedar rafters. The power was still on. Someone—probably Jax, or the county utility district on his standing retainer—had kept the account active.
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The interior smelled of old cedar, dry dust, and woodsmoke from a long-forgotten fire. A stone hearth dominated the far wall, flanked by shelves packed with thick, leather-bound books, canned goods, and geological survey maps. A sturdy oak table sat beneath a deep-set window overlooking the valley below.
Clara set her duffel bag on the floor near the hearth. She walked over to the oak table, laid the manila envelope down, and placed her grandfather’s logbook right beside it.
