The boy reached into his faded canvas backpack and pulled out an old, cracked burner phone, tapping the screen before holding it toward me.
“Check the messages,” he whispered, his eyes darting toward the road as a dark sedan drove past. “He sends me five hundred dollars in cash through a drop box behind the diner every Monday.”
My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the device. On the screen was a stream of text messages from an unlisted number, detailed with my exact daily schedule, my vehicle’s license plate, and photos of me leaving the hospital.
The most recent message, sent just three hours ago, read: She’s heading toward the gas station on 4th. Make sure she doesn’t stop anywhere else.
“Why?” I choked out, a cold wave of nausea washing over me. “Why would David do this?”
“Because of what’s inside your father’s lake cabin,” the boy said quietly. What was hidden beneath the floorboards of our family retreat? Continue reading Part 3 below to discover the truth.
