Page 177 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Tom brings over an old county survey. The service road ends shortly beyond the refrigeration building, but faded maintenance tracks branch south, toward several abandoned landings and drainage cuts.

Scarlet leans forward in Wes’s arms. “My grandmother’s correction continued beyond the annex. If we compare the surviving curve against the old waterways, we can narrow which branch she was referring to.”

“That’s multiple locations,” Wes says.

“It gives us somewhere to start,” Scarlet answers.

Tom calls for the historical surveys, flood maps, and property records connected to the southern corridor. I move the annex notebook and damaged route image beside them while Scarlet studies the water map.

She rises from Wes’s lap, and I catch the blanket before it slips from her shoulders. She reaches for me while Wes steadies her. “When you go, I’m not staying behind.”

Wes’s alpha answers in the tightening of his hold. “You stay between us.”

Scarlet presses her palm to his heart and takes my hand. “That is where I planned to be.”

We still don’t know where the release route ends, where the Love Stone is, or what’s waiting for us south of the annex. We only know we’re walking into it together.

Chapter 42

Scarlet Sage

The old maps disagree with one another.

One county survey sends the southern service road into open water. Another ends it beneath a stand of cypress trees that didn’t exist on the earlier drawing. My grandmother’s damaged correction curves between both versions before disappearing into the ruined edge of the scan.

For forty minutes, Roman and I cover the sheriff’s conference table with flood records, logging maps, and photographs taken before the town decided history should be easier to sell.

Wes stands behind my chair with one hand against my shoulder. He has been touching me since Myrtle called. It’s like he needs a physical reminder that I’m here.

I reach up and cover his fingers.

Roman shifts another survey beneath the lamp. “The flood of eighty-nine changed this channel.”

“It changed the public channel.” I trace an older blue line that runs behind the refrigeration annex. “The original waterway stayed deep enough for logging boats.”

Tom leans over the table. “Could anyone still use it?”

“Not with a boat larger than a skiff.”

“What about the road?”

I compare the photographs.

The surviving curve on my grandmother’s correction passes east of the annex before cutting south. The modern survey shows three abandoned maintenance tracks in that direction. Only one follows the old channel.

“This branch.”

Roman looks from my finger to the damaged scan. “Because the curve matches?”

“That, and the land rises here.” I point at the faint contour marks.

“My grandmother would have kept a release path above the normal flood line. A ritual route had to remain passable during summer season, when the water runs highest.”

Wes bends closer. “So this road reaches the site.”

“It reaches whatever she was trying to restore.”

Tom issues assignments.