“We were friends for a very long time,” he said, taking a seat opposite me. “She was a stubborn woman, but she had a good heart.”

I pulled the Polaroid out of my pocket and handed it to him.

He took it, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked at the faded image.

“I remember this day,” he said. “It was the day we tried to fix her family’s future.”

“Why did she write that you knew the truth about the ridge?” I asked.

Arthur set his mug down on a small wooden side table.

He looked out the window at the gray sky for a long moment.

“Eleanor knew what your family would try to do once she was gone,” he said.

“Graham and Celeste,” I said.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “She knew they did not care about the history of Blackthorn Ridge. They only saw the value of the acreage.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“She did not just worry about it, Clara. She took legal action to stop them.”

“What did she do?” I asked.