Chapter 12
“She named Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“That’s bad.”
“Why?”
“Because Evelyn never named people unless she could prove something.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Tell me what you know about the water rights.”
Walt looked at her for a long moment.
Then he stood.
“Come outside.”
Behind the farmhouse, Walt drove an old utility vehicle up a logging track.
Rachel rode beside him.
They climbed for perhaps fifteen minutes.
At the top, the forest opened onto exposed rock.
Below them stretched the Mountain Crest acreage.
Earthmoving equipment sat along newly carved roads.
Orange survey flags dotted the slopes.
Walt pointed toward a green valley.
“See where those two ridges come together?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Laurel Gap.”
“And the reservoir goes there.”
“Supposed to.”
“Where does the water come from?”
Walt pointed uphill.
“Your property.”
Rachel looked.
“Black Laurel Creek?”
“Creek’s only part.”
He pointed higher.
“Three springs come off your ridge. Two run year-round. One’s strong enough to fill a twelve-inch pipe in wet season.”
“Who owns them?”
“You do.”
“Water rights in North Carolina aren’t that simple.”
Walt smiled slightly.
“Been studying?”
“I had forty minutes with Thomas.”
“Good.”
“You can’t just own every drop because it crosses your land.”
“No.”
“Then what did Samuel Harper own?”
“That’s what folks have argued about for ninety years.”
“Folks?”
“Timber company. Power company. County. Hollises. Harpers.”
“And Book 204?”
Walt’s eyes sharpened.
“You know about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know more than most.”
“The record is missing.”
“County’s copy is.”
Rachel turned toward him.
“You know another exists.”
Walt stared out over the valley.
“I know Evelyn thought one did.”
“Where?”
“Your grandmother knew.”
“The storm cellar.”
His head turned.
Rachel saw confirmation before he spoke.
“You found it?”
“I found a hatch.”
Walt shut off the engine.
Wind moved through tall grass around them.
“Don’t go down alone.”
“Thomas said the same thing.”
“Thomas is smart.”
“Will you come?”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
Walt looked toward the development below.
“Give me an hour.”
At 11:12 a.m., Rachel and Walt opened the hatch beneath the storm-cellar bench.
Walt tied a safety rope around an iron support.
Rachel wore gloves, boots, and a respirator she had purchased at a hardware store.
The ladder descended approximately nine feet.
Walt went first.
Then Rachel.
The space below was not a natural cave.
It was a constructed room.
Stone walls.
Low ceiling.
Wooden shelving.
A narrow ventilation shaft.
Her flashlight beam crossed three metal trunks.
A collapsed wooden chair.
A rusted lantern.
And the red box.
Rachel stopped.
It sat beneath the far shelf exactly where some part of her childhood memory had placed it.
Red paint.
Black handle.
Her grandmother’s initials painted faintly on the lid.
L.H.
Louise Harper.
Rachel approached.
No lock.
She lifted the lid.
Inside were documents wrapped in wax paper.
Dozens.
Walt whispered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Rachel did not touch anything immediately.
May you like
She photographed the contents in place.
Then the first bundle.
