Page 51 of Just Between Us

She gave me a plain look. “Not that it makes any difference to you, but the King estate has always been, and forever will be, in my brother’s name.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued: “The records department is down that hallway. The stairs will lead you to the basement, or there’s an elevator to your right. Anything older than 1982 will likely be on microfiche. However, historical records are still being digitized. Some may still be in paper copies, but those do not leave the library.”

Excitement skated under my skin. “Understood. Thanks. See you at book club.”

I made my way to the stairwell and descended into the lower library space. The cheap fluorescent lighting hummed and flickered like some horror movie, but thankfully I wasn’t alone in the basement archives.

Seated at two computers were other library patrons—a man and a woman—sifting through the archives. I slipped the tattered beige file folder from my bag and contemplated where to start. Any backdoor business deals likely wouldn’t be a part of public record, but I needed to start somewhere.

Follow the money.

The ancient computer groaned to life, and I took a moment to reorganize my thoughts. After logging in as a guest, I started hunting. I typed the nameTerrance Sinclairinto the search bar and waited for it to load. Only one result came up, and I clicked on it.

The entry was a somewhat recent obituary for a man named Terrance “Bowlegs” Sinclair. The grainy black-and-white picture stopped me in my tracks. Staring back at me was a face I recognized as the man who walked through town wearing Moon Boots.

My brows pinched.Had I seen a ghost?

I scanned the obituary, noting Mr. Sinclair was not in fact a ghost, but had a twin brother. It was then I recalled Royal saying the man I had met was named Bootsy. With no other information to go on, I scribbled down a note to poke around about the mysterious Bowlegs and his brother Bootsy, to see how many other times King Equities had paid them for some unknown reasons.

I rapped my finger against the worn wooden table and ruminated. There had to be something else I could dig up—something that shed light on what King Equities had been up to at such a significant time in the family’s lives.

The Department of Natural Resources acquiring Wabash Lake and the surrounding properties would have been a sizable payout to the landowner. If I followed the money, maybe I would find something that shed light on why King Equities had an interest in that particular section of land before the DNR took it over. At the time there was a decent amount of local news coverage regarding the old railway being converted into a state park heritage trail.

A charity bike ride.

Additional fundraising efforts.

Even a few protests from landowners afraid that the trail would lead to people trespassing on their farmland.

It took a few years, but eventually there was a ribbon-cutting ceremony and a special dedication of the trail.

For all the news coverage, it was whatwasn’tincluded that scratched at my brain. It appeared that after King Equitiesattempted to buy the land and was scooped by the DNR, that was the end of it.

I frowned and leaned into the hard wooden chair with a huff.

My tired eyes were burning, but I flipped through the paperwork again. It included the Homestead Act information—records of divvying up the land between Kings and Sullivans dating back to 1862. The land allocation included the property surrounding Wabash Lake, but why did Russell want it? Why keep all this information in a file if it meant nothing?

I shifted, cursing the unforgiving seat.

A soft voice drew my attention. “Those chairs ought to be burned.”

I turned to see Bug leaning her hand on the chair next to me. Though time had aged her, I could still see the strength and beauty in her features.

I rubbed my eyes. “My ass is fully asleep.”

“Can I help you find something?” She gestured toward the computer screen that displayed an article about the trail’s dedication ceremony.

I calculated how I might explain what I was looking for while simultaneously not disclosing the real reason JP had hired me. “JP wants to reorganize. Streamline a few things.” I lifted the old file folder. “We came across some documents that we couldn’t make sense of, so he sent me to look into it.”

She hummed and nodded. I still couldn’t get a read on the woman.

She leaned in to look at the article still pulled up. “I remember this. One day, out of nowhere, Russell decided he wanted that lake and land for himself. Red wouldn’t sell, and he wasenraged. Money never could sway the Sullivans, and my brother hated that. For a minute he thought to make a case that the land had always been rightfully King property.”

I scanned the Homestead Act paperwork again. “Didn’t seem to work out for him.”

She chuckled. “Not at all. The historical society swooped in and presented the idea of a historical trail to the DNR.”

My wheels were turning as I was fitting all the pieces together. “Once it was purchased and converted to federal land ...”

“No one could touch it.” Bug’s lips pressed together as she nodded.

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