Chapter 5 - Her Grandfather Disappeared After Refusing to Sign Away the East Pass—And the Man She Was Learning to Love Became the Prime Suspect
The photograph of my grandfather standing beside his truck was taken less than three hours before I saw it.
I knew because he was wearing the red scarf I had given him that morning.
He hated scarves.
Said they made him look like a retired college professor.
But he wore mine because I had knitted it for him.
And now somebody was using that ordinary little detail to prove they could get close enough to hurt him.
I stared at Wyatt's phone.
Silas Bellamy will be the next accident.
My hands began shaking.
"We have to go."
Wyatt grabbed his keys.
"Already on it."
We left the cabin within two minutes.
Juneau jumped into the back seat.
The snow had eased, but the roads were still dangerous.
Wyatt drove carefully.
I wanted him to go faster.
I wanted to grab the steering wheel and force the truck down the mountain.
But I knew that wouldn't help Grandpa.
So I called him.
No answer.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
My chest tightened.
"He's not picking up."
Wyatt glanced at me.
"Call the house."
I did.
The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Then the answering machine clicked on.
You've reached Bellamy Farm. Leave a message, and we'll get back to you.
Grandpa's voice.
Warm.
Familiar.
Suddenly unbearable.
"Grandpa, it's Nora. Please call me. I'm on my way home."
I hung up.
Then tried his cell phone again.
Nothing.
I looked at Wyatt.
"Something's wrong."
His expression was grim.
"I know."
The farmhouse was dark when we arrived.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Grandpa always left the porch light on.
Always.
Even when he complained about electricity bills, he said a home should have a light waiting for the people who belonged there.
Tonight, the porch was black.
Wyatt stopped the truck.
"Stay here."
I stared at him.
"No."
"Nora—"
"That's my grandfather."
He looked at me.
Then nodded.
"Stay close."
We climbed out.
Juneau followed, his ears alert.
The front door was unlocked.
My stomach turned.
Grandpa never left it unlocked at night.
I pushed inside.
"Grandpa?"
Silence.
The kitchen was empty.
A chair lay on its side.
Coffee had spilled across the table.
Grandpa's reading glasses were on the floor.
I stopped breathing.
"Grandpa?"
Wyatt moved past me.
He checked the living room.
Then the hallway.
Then the office.
I followed, calling Grandpa's name.
Nothing.
In the bedroom, the bed was neatly made.
His coat was gone.
His boots were gone.
But his phone lay on the nightstand.
I picked it up.
The screen was cracked.
There were three missed calls from me.
I looked at Wyatt.
"He's gone."
Wyatt's face tightened.
"Call the sheriff."
Sheriff Maddox arrived with two deputies.
They searched the property.
The barn.
The sugarhouse.
The equipment shed.
The lower pasture.
Nothing.
Grandpa's truck was missing.
So was the old leather folder containing the East Pass documents.
Sheriff Maddox stood in the kitchen studying the overturned chair.
"Could Silas have left voluntarily?"
I stared at her.
"Without his phone?"
She looked at the broken screen.
"That's concerning."
"Someone threatened him."
I showed her the message.
Her expression hardened.
"Where did this come from?"
"Wyatt's phone."
She looked at him.
"Who sent it?"
"Unknown number."
She studied him.
"And you received it before coming here?"
"Yes."
She nodded.
Then turned to one of the deputies.
"Check traffic cameras along the county roads."
I stepped closer.
"Sheriff, someone took him."
She looked at me.
"We're treating this seriously."
"Then why are you asking whether he left voluntarily?"
"Because we need to establish what happened, Nora."
I knew she was right.
But fear made patience impossible.
I looked around the kitchen.
Grandpa's coffee cup sat beside the sink.
His newspaper lay folded on the table.
A pair of work gloves hung near the back door.
Everything looked normal.
Except he was gone.
And the emptiness felt like a scream.
At two in the morning, a deputy found Grandpa's truck.
It was parked beside an abandoned logging road six miles from the farm.
The driver's door was open.
The keys were missing.
There was blood on the steering wheel.
I nearly collapsed when Sheriff Maddox told me.
"How much blood?"
"Not much."
"Was he hurt?"
"We don't know."
"Did you find him?"
"No."
I stared at her.
She looked exhausted.
"Nora, we're bringing in additional search teams at daylight."
I shook my head.
"He's eighty-two. It's freezing outside."
"I know."
"He has a heart condition."
Her expression softened.
"I know that too."
I looked at Wyatt.
He stood near the doorway.
His face was pale.
I had never seen him look so helpless.
Then Sheriff Maddox turned toward him.
"Mr. Thorne, I need to ask you some questions."
He nodded.
"Of course."
"Privately."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
She looked at me.
"Routine."
But something in her expression told me it wasn't routine.
An hour later, I learned why.
A security camera near the abandoned logging road had captured a dark blue pickup truck.
Wyatt's truck.
The timestamp showed it passing the entrance shortly before Grandpa's vehicle was discovered.
I stared at the photograph.
"That can't be right."
Sheriff Maddox looked at me.
"Was Wyatt with you at that time?"
I tried to remember.
We had left the cabin.
Driven to the farm.
Searched the house.
Called the sheriff.
The hours blurred together.
"I think so."
She studied me.
"You think?"
I swallowed.
"He was with me."
"Did he leave at any point?"
I hesitated.
Wyatt had gone outside to check the barn.
He had been gone for several minutes.
Maybe longer.
I hadn't watched the clock.
Sheriff Maddox nodded slowly.
"Thank you."
My stomach tightened.
"You're not seriously suggesting Wyatt took Grandpa."
"I'm saying we have a vehicle that resembles his near the location."
"Lots of people drive blue pickups."
"That's true."
I looked toward the hallway.
Wyatt stood speaking with a deputy.
He caught my eye.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he looked away.
And I felt a terrible fear.
Not because I believed he had hurt Grandpa.
But because I didn't know what to believe anymore.
By morning, the story had spread.
Silas Bellamy was missing.
Wyatt Thorne was being questioned.
And Caleb Royce was already telling anyone who would listen that he had warned me about the dangerous stranger.
Lucy arrived at the farm carrying breakfast nobody wanted.
She hugged me.
"I'm so sorry."
I held on to her.
"I can't lose him."
"You won't."
But her voice trembled.
She didn't know.
Neither did I.
Wyatt returned shortly before noon.
He looked exhausted.
Sheriff Maddox had questioned him for hours.
He entered the kitchen and stopped when he saw me.
"Nora."
I stood.
"Did you go to the logging road?"
He hesitated.
My heart sank.
"Wyatt."
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"When?"
"Before we came to the farm."
I felt sick.
"You didn't tell me."
"I drove past the entrance when I went to check a road condition earlier that evening."
I shook my head.
"You were with me."
"Not the entire evening. I went to the field office before returning to the cabin."
I tried to remember.
He had left after receiving the call about the break-in.
I had waited at the cabin.
Then he returned, and we saw the threatening photograph.
My mind had tangled the sequence together.
"Why didn't you tell the sheriff immediately?"
"I did."
I stared at him.
"Then why are they treating you like a suspect?"
"Because somebody reported seeing my truck near Silas's vehicle."
I crossed my arms.
"Did you see Grandpa?"
"No."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No."
I looked down.
Wyatt stepped closer.
"Nora, I didn't hurt him."
My eyes filled.
"I want to believe you."
He stopped.
The words hurt him.
I could see it.
But he didn't get angry.
He nodded slowly.
"I understand."
I wiped my cheeks.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
He looked toward the window.
"You're scared."
I nodded.
"Terrified."
He stepped back.
"Then let's focus on finding him."
That afternoon, search teams moved through the woods.
Volunteers gathered at the fire station.
Neighbors brought food.
Farmers offered tractors and snowmobiles.
People I had known my whole life stood beside strangers, ready to search for an old man who had spent decades helping anyone who needed him.
I wanted to join every team.
Sheriff Maddox asked me to remain at the farm in case someone called.
I hated it.
But I stayed.
At four, Grandpa's old friend Walter Greene arrived.
Walter was seventy-nine, thin as a fence post, and wore the same green cap he'd owned for twenty years.
He sat across from me.
"Nora, there's something I need to tell you."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Silas came to see me two days ago."
I leaned forward.
"Why?"
"He asked me to keep something safe."
Walter removed a small envelope from his coat.
I stared at it.
"What is that?"
He handed it to me.
Inside was a key.
A small brass key attached to a wooden tag.
The tag read:
Sugarhouse. Lower cabinet.
I looked up.
"Grandpa gave you this?"
Walter nodded.
"He said if anything happened, I should give it to you."
My heart began pounding.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Walter's eyes filled.
"Because I thought he was just being dramatic."
I stared at the key.
Grandpa had known he was in danger.
And he had prepared for it.
Wyatt met me at the sugarhouse.
We stood beside the old evaporator while snow fell against the windows.
I showed him the key.
He looked grim.
"Let's see what Silas left."
The lower cabinet was built into the wall beneath a wooden workbench.
I had walked past it thousands of times.
I had never noticed the small lock.
The key turned with a stiff click.
Inside was a metal box.
I pulled it out.
My hands trembled.
Wyatt stood beside me.
"Take your time."
I opened the lid.
Inside were photographs, letters, and a small digital recorder.
There was also a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Nora.
I recognized Grandpa's handwriting.
I tore it open.
My girl,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I hoped I could prevent.
Your father discovered more than false maps. He found evidence that the old processing site had contaminated the water beneath East Pass.
He believed the development company knew and was trying to hide it.
I kept copies of his findings because I was afraid the truth would get buried with him.
There is one person I trust to help you understand these records.
Wyatt Thorne.
I looked up.
Wyatt's eyes were wet.
I continued reading.
I was wrong to blame Wyatt for Daniel's death. He tried to help your father. He tried to help me afterward.
And when I pushed him away, he still spent years protecting this land.
If you're frightened, trust the man who gave you a choice when everyone else wanted to make one for you.
My vision blurred.
At the bottom, Grandpa had written:
I love you more than all the mountains in Vermont.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
Wyatt looked away, giving me privacy.
Then I noticed another document.
A bank transfer record.
The recipient was a consulting company.
The sender was a Northline affiliate.
The date was three weeks before my parents' accident.
The amount was seventy-five thousand dollars.
I frowned.
"What's this?"
Wyatt leaned closer.
His expression changed.
"That's a payment."
"To whom?"
He read the company name.
Then went still.
"Wyatt?"
He looked at me.
"The company belonged to Leonard Price."
My stomach tightened.
"The deputy who investigated my parents' accident?"
He nodded.
I stared at the page.
A payment to the investigating officer.
Three weeks before my parents died.
I felt sick.
"That can't be a coincidence."
Wyatt shook his head.
"No."
Then the recorder beeped.
I had accidentally pressed the play button.
Grandpa's voice filled the sugarhouse.
"Nora, if you're hearing this, I need you to know something."
I froze.
Wyatt leaned closer.
Grandpa continued.
"I met with a woman named Evelyn Cross. She told me Northline is preparing to move against the farm."
My heart pounded.
"She said Caleb was supposed to marry you before the trust transfer. She said the marriage would make it easier to pressure you."
I covered my mouth.
Grandpa's voice trembled.
"But she also said something else."
A pause.
"She said your father's accident wasn't an accident."
I closed my eyes.
Then Grandpa spoke the words that changed everything.
"She said the man who ordered it is still running Northline."
The recording ended.
I stared at the device.
Then at Wyatt.
"Who runs Northline?"
He looked grim.
"Arthur Voss."
The name sounded familiar.
I had seen it on resort brochures.
At charity events.
In business magazines.
Arthur Voss was the billionaire chairman of Northline Mountain Group.
The man who owned Raven Ridge Lodge.
The man who had approved Caleb's expansion project.
And possibly the man who had ordered my father's death.
Before I could speak, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice whispered, "Nora?"
My heart stopped.
"Grandpa?"
He was breathing heavily.
"Nora, listen."
Tears spilled down my face.
"Where are you?"
"I don't have much time."
"Grandpa, please—"
"Don't trust the police report."
I stared at Wyatt.
"What?"
Grandpa's voice shook.
"Leonard Price isn't in Florida."
My blood ran cold.
"Where is he?"
A door slammed in the background.
Grandpa gasped.
Then whispered, "He's here."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Grandpa was alive.
May you like
Someone was holding him.
And the man connected to my parents' deaths had returned to finish what he'd started.
