Deputy Ray Kincaid, the elder of the two who visited Martha’s cottage, returned alone the next afternoon. He sat at Martha’s kitchen table, his large hands carefully turning the pages of Abigail’s initial ledger notes. The faint scent of woodsmoke clung to his uniform.
His brow furrowed. “This isn’t a simple probate dispute, Mrs. Gable. These notes point to significant federal tax fraud.” He looked at me, his eyes serious. “Ezekiel’s smear campaign is working. Local opinion is already turning against you.”
“People listen to the Elder,” I said, a dry taste in my mouth.
“You need to step forward publicly,” Kincaid advised. “Clear your name. Otherwise, this situation will only get worse.”
Aunt Martha slammed her teacup down, rattling the saucers. “Go to the media? Ray, you know what Ezekiel does to those who cross him. He’ll send his loyalists. There will be retaliation.”
“She’s right,” I said. “The compound has eyes everywhere. They’ll know.”
Kincaid leaned back, a sigh escaping him. “It’s a difficult choice. Stay silent and let the public believe the worst, or face their anger head-on.”
I looked down at the table. Ezekiel’s lies were spreading, poisoning the well. But Martha’s warning echoed in my mind – the danger of Ezekiel’s retaliation, the fierce loyalty of his followers. I thought of the old chapel cellar in the compound, a place where Abigail stored private trunks no one else ever touched. There had to be more there. More secrets.
My hands felt cold. I could trust the law, expose the fraud now. Or I could go back into the lion’s den, seeking the deeper truth.
What do you do?
Take Aunt Martha’s hidden ledgers directly to the Pennsylvania State Police fraud department — read Chapter 6 to find out. Or, Sneak back into the Covenant compound at night to retrieve Abigail’s private lockbox — read Chapter 7 instead.
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