They didn’t speak much on the drive into town.
The sun had slipped low behind the ridgeline, casting long shadows over the winding backroads. Dust swirled in their headlights as Eli kept the truck steady, his hands still jittery from the cave encounter.
Kate finally broke the silence. “He knew where to go. That’s what bothers me most.”
Eli nodded. “Somebody told him. Or showed him. Which means someone else knows about the Arvin story.”
They pulled into the gravel lot of the Maple Hollow Diner, a squat building with chipped white siding and a red metal roof that had seen better decades. It was a local fixture, the kind of place where the waitresses called everyone ‘hon’ and coffee came in mismatched mugs.
Inside, it smelled of bacon grease and buttermilk pancakes, even though it was nearly 8 p.m. A neon “Open” sign buzzed softly in the window, and just a few tables were occupied. A pair of older farmers sat near the front, arguing about which seed company had ruined this year’s corn, and a waitress in a faded apron wiped down a counter that didn’t really need it.
They slid into a booth near the back. Kate dropped her backpack beside her and pulled out her notebook, eyes still darting toward the door.
“I’ll grab us something,” Eli said.
When he returned with two mugs of coffee and a piece of cherry pie big enough for four, Kate had already jotted a dozen quick notes. He sat across from her and leaned in.
“We need to assume this isn’t just our story anymore,” she said. “If there are other people with bits and pieces... it changes how we approach this.”
Before Eli could answer, a voice interrupted from the next booth.
“Y’all talking about that old Arvin land?”
They both turned. Sitting behind them was a gray-haired man with a kindly face and eyes like flint. He wore a canvas vest over a buttoned shirt and had a folded copy of the County Sentinel tucked beside him.
“Sorry,” he said, tipping his head. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But not every day I hear someone mention the Arvins. You’re not from around here, are you?”
Eli hesitated. “No, just… hiking.”
The man smiled knowingly. “Sure you are.”
He took a sip of coffee, then leaned a little closer. “Name’s Lester. Lester Cline. I used to hunt all over that land back when I was young and dumb. Before it got sold off in parcels.”
Kate perked up. “Do you know much about the family?”
Lester nodded slowly. “Bits and pieces. Stories passed down. The Arvins were one of the first settler families to push back into that part of the county. Lived quiet. Kept to themselves mostly. But there was some kind of falling out... brothers, I think. Or cousins. One sided with the government, and the other didn’t trust a soul with a badge.”
Eli leaned forward. “Do you remember their names?”
Lester scratched his chin. “Old Elias was the one they talk about most. Said he was a soldier once, War of 1812 maybe, but came back and never really took to civilized life. Carved out his place and didn’t much care who liked it.”
Kate flipped through her notebook. “What about a betrayal?”
Lester’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Now where’d you hear that word?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “It’s just... something we came across made it seem like someone turned on him.”
He sat back and let out a low whistle. “Well, that’d be right then. Story goes, someone close to Elias sold him out to a land agent—or maybe it was a mining outfit. This was long before the land was valuable. But they knew something was there. Water rights, maybe. Or minerals.”
He looked toward the window, as if remembering something buried far deeper than any gold.
“They say Elias buried something. Not gold, not money. Something heavier. Some say it was documents—deeds, treaties, maybe even a ledger with names. Proof that land grants were forged or stolen. Stuff that could burn down a courthouse if anyone found it.”
Eli and Kate exchanged a glance.
“Most folks wrote it off as legend,” Lester added. “Until that developer came around last year sniffing for old mineral rights. He poked around, asked questions. Didn’t get far. Locals don’t talk much to strangers who come digging.”
Kate took a breath. “Do you know who the developer was?”
Lester shook his head. “Just that he wasn’t local. Had maps. Old ones.”
The bell above the door jingled as someone walked in, and the spell was broken. Lester stood and gathered his things. “Well, I’ve said too much already.”
He paused, looking at them both with something between curiosity and warning. “Just be careful. Sometimes the dead don’t like to be disturbed—and neither do the living who hope they stay quiet.”
He tipped his head again and left without another word.
Kate stared after him. “That was either a gift,” she said, “or a warning wrapped in homespun charm.”
“Maybe both,” Eli said, finishing his coffee. “But I think we just got our next clue.”
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