The courthouse was quiet after sunset. Too quiet.
Luke sat across from Sheriff Patterson at the old wooden desk, watching him turn the pages of a ledger that looked as though it had been handled by a dozen generations of dirty hands.
The iron box sat between them. Neither man had touched it since Patterson brought it inside.
"What does E.M.C. stand for?" Luke asked.
Patterson continued reading. "I don't know."
Luke leaned back.
"You just told me you'd seen the initials in your father's papers."
"I said I'd seen them."
"That's not the same thing?" asked Luke.
"No." Patterson closed the ledger. "It isn't."
Luke studied him. "You've known about this longer than you're telling me."
Patterson's eyes met his. "Yes."
The answer came so quickly that Luke almost didn't know how to respond.
Patterson stood and walked to the filing cabinet against the wall. He unlocked the bottom drawer. From behind several old case files, he removed a thin envelope. The paper had yellowed with age. There was no name on the outside. Only three letters.
E.M.C.
Luke stared. "You kept it."
"I couldn't bring myself to destroy it."
"Why?"
Patterson hesitated. "Because I was waiting till the right time to open it."
Luke looked at the envelope. "Weren’t you ever curious?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Patterson gave a humorless smile.
"Because some things are better left alone."
Luke understood.
Luke asked, "Is now the right time to open it?"
"Maybe."
Patterson placed the envelope on the desk.
Neither man touched it. Luke glanced toward the iron box.
"Maybe they're connected."
"Maybe."
"You're afraid they are."
Patterson didn't answer.
Luke reached toward the envelope.
Patterson caught his wrist. "Don't."
Luke looked at him. "Why?"
"Because once we open that, we can't put the truth back where we found it."
Luke pulled his hand away. "That's what you said about my father."
Patterson's face tightened. "And I was wrong."
Silence filled the room.
Finally, Patterson released the envelope. "Open it."
Luke opened it, finding a photograph inside. It was faded almost beyond recognition. Four men stood beside a riverboat.
One was William Garrison. Another was a younger man Luke didn't recognize. The third was turned partly away from the camera. The fourth...
Luke stopped breathing. He knew him. Not personally.
But from the photographs in the McCall house. From the stories. From the name that had appeared in his father's ledger.
Elias McCrory.
Luke looked at Patterson. "Elias McCrory."
Patterson nodded.
"Who was he?" asked Luke.
"A river trader."
"Moonshiner?"
"Sometimes."
Luke looked at the photograph again. "What did he have to do with my father?"
Patterson's eyes darkened. "That's the question I've been trying not to answer for forty years."
Luke turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back. Three words.
THE NIGHT LANDING.
And beneath them: E.M.C. — 1931
Luke felt the same cold he'd felt on the river. "The box."
Patterson nodded. "The box."
Luke stood. "Where was the Night Landing?"
Patterson looked toward the window.
"That's the problem."
"What?"
"It disappeared."
Luke frowned. "Land doesn't disappear."
"Sometimes it does."
Patterson picked up the photograph. "Flooding changed the riverbank. The old landing was swallowed years ago."
Luke looked at the box. "But it was still there in 1931."
"Yes."
"Then that's where we go."
Patterson shook his head. "No."
Luke stared at him. "Why not?"
"Because if the box came from the Night Landing..." Patterson looked toward the darkened river."...then whatever was inside it was meant to stay there."
Luke's jaw tightened.
"My father spent his whole life trying to find the truth."
Patterson said nothing.
Luke continued. "I'm not going to stop now."
Patterson looked at him. "I knew you'd say that."
"Then why try to stop me?"
"Because I know what happens when you start digging."
Luke smiled faintly. "So do I."
He picked up the box.
Patterson watched him walk toward the door. "Luke."
He stopped.
"There's something else."
Luke turned.
Patterson's expression had changed.
"What?"
"The initials aren't E.M.C."
Luke frowned. "You just showed me the photograph."
"I know." Patterson picked up the envelope.
"The initials on the box are E.M.C."
He pointed toward the photograph.
"The initials on my father's papers were E.M.C."
Luke waited.
Patterson lowered his voice.
"But the man in the photograph..."He turned it toward Luke."...wasn't Elias McCrory."
Luke stared at the image.
"Then who was he?"
Patterson shook his head.
"That's what we have to find out."