They didn’t wait long.
Ten minutes after leaving Maxwell’s Café, Ronny pulled the truck
into a shaded turnout near the riverfront park in downtown Evansville. It was
quiet, with no one nearby but a jogger and a man walking a golden retriever.
Maya scanned the area, then gave a small nod.
“Let’s see what Dawes gave us.”
He reached in and slowly pulled out the contents.
1. A Typewritten Letter – Dated August
17, 1939
The first item was a single-page letter, typed on thin onion-skin paper,
stamped “Confidential” in red ink at the top.
To whom it may concern:
This document records testimony related to an informal agreement made on
or about June 11th, 1939, between Josiah Dawes, Wayne Ellis, and John Collier.
The agreement pertained to the concealment of evidence tied to unlawful land
acquisition, transportation of prohibited goods, and potential witness
endangerment involving Margaret E. Dalton.
The undersigned parties agree that:
·
The barn site is not to be disturbed under any circumstance.
·
Any attempt to reveal its contents shall result in “immediate
consequences” agreed upon in verbal contract.
·
No written or photographic record shall be retained beyond this letter,
which shall be destroyed after notarization.
Failure to uphold this pact shall void the mutual protection assured by
silence.
Signed,
J. Dawes
W. Ellis
J. Collier
(Notarized by D.R. Campbell – Deputy Clerk, Henderson County)
Maya’s voice caught. “They made a deal... to keep Margie quiet.”
“Or worse,” Ronny said, his jaw tightening.
He folded the letter with trembling fingers and set it aside.
2. A Photograph – Black and White,
Undated
The next item was a photo—grainy, nighttime, taken with a flash. It
showed the interior of the Dawes barn. A shovel, a small lantern, and what
appeared to be a woman's shoe sticking up from loose earth in the corner
of the frame.
Maya gasped. “No...”
Ronny didn’t say anything.
The shoe was delicate. Faded leather. The kind worn in the late 1930s.
And it was clearly attached to something—or someone—buried beneath the barn
floor.
He turned the photo over.
In smudged pencil:
“Taken July 1940. Proof for insurance. Never shown.”
3. A Handwritten Page – Torn from a
Diary
The last item was scrawled on yellowed paper, the handwriting looping and
rushed:
He said she found the ledgers. That she’d made copies. Hid them.
They thought she was just a clerk. But she understood the numbers.
Wayne tried to help her. I think he really did. But Collier… he was never
going to let her leave.
If someone finds this, don’t believe the records. The truth is buried.
Literally.
—J.D.
Maya stared at the page. “J.D.—Josiah Dawes wrote this. After it
happened.”
“Which means he regretted it,” Ronny said. “At least part of it.”
She looked at him. “Ronny… do you think your grandfather helped kill
her?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Finally, he said quietly, “I think he carried something dark to his
grave. And now we’re holding a piece of it.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, the pages laid out like evidence
in a courtroom.
“This isn’t just history,” Maya said softly. “It’s a cover-up. With three
families tied together. And someone out there still wants to keep it buried.”
Ronny folded the papers and placed them back in the envelope.
“We’re not burying it.”
She looked at him.
“No,” he said. “We’re going to finish what Margie started.”
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