It was a small concession, but Nash recognized it as progress. “Okay, Sadie. Why doesn’t Amanda exist anymore?”
She picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, clearly debating how much to tell him. “My family had to leave Cross Creek suddenly. We had no choice.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
Nash fought back a surge of irritation. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give you.” Her gaze lifted to his, a silent plea for understanding. “Look, Nash, I’m not trying to be difficult. There are just … things I can’t talk about.”
“Things related to the gold? To what happened to a man killed last week?”
She flinched. “Maybe. I don’t know for sure.” She gestured toward her research wall. “I’ve been studying Porter Rockwell for my thesis. The gold connection started as just an interesting historical footnote, but the more I dug, the more I realized there might be truth to the rumors.”
Nash nodded. It was a familiar pattern—his family’s gold hunt had started the same way, with fragments of truth hidden amid historical legends. “And who is this man that was killed?”
“He was a history professor at BYU specializing in early Mormon settlers.” She shifted her ankle, wincing slightly. “He reached out after reading a paper I published on Porter Rockwell’s activities around Big Cottonwood Canyon. We started comparing notes, and he mentioned a cache of gold that might have been hidden in the mountains.”
“Okay,” Nash said.
She nodded reluctantly. “Professor Harris showed me your family’s connection a month ago?—”
“Wait. Professor Harris?” Nash felt a chill run up his spine.
She looked skeptical. “Yes, Bill Harris. Did you know him?”
Nash felt panicked. “No.” He stood and began pacing. “How old was he?”
She looked confused. “I don’t know.”
“Ballpark it!” he nearly shouted at her.
“Well, I’m not sure. I know he was close to retirement, so mid-sixties, I would say.”
Nash nearly choked. It had to be the guy who had the correspondence between his father and Jack Stone.
“What? Nash, you’re scaring me.”
“Tell me more about Bill Harris.”
“He showed me the article about the fire at Cross Creek Ranch.” She frowned. “When I saw your photo, I was … sad and afraid, and I couldn’t believe it.”
He didn’t have time for sympathy. “Tell me more about Bill.”
Sadie’s expression clouded. “We were supposed to meet in Provo Canyon last week. He said he’d discovered something important about the broken arrow symbol. When he didn’t show up, I went looking for him and …” She swallowed hard. “The police were already there.”
“Right, shotgun to the back of the head, you said.” He felt sick, but he focused. “Did you tell the police about your research connection?”
“No,” she said quickly—too quickly. “I stayed back. I didn’t want to get involved.”
Nash’s legal mind immediately flagged this as suspicious, but he kept his tone neutral. “Because of your … privacy concerns?”
She met his gaze directly. “Can you just let me be?”
“No,” he said. “There’s way more at stake for me than you know.”
“There’s way more at stake formethan you know.”
