Eddie gestured to the crate. “Can I sit? This is hard to explain.”
I nodded, still holding Lily close to me.
He sat down heavily. “My son’s name was Tommy. He and Mark worked together at Riverside Construction. About 14 months ago, they were doing some surveying work near this factory and checking the land for a new development project.”
I remembered. Mark had mentioned it.
“They found something.” Eddie’s hands twisted together. “The factory was supposed to be empty and sealed off. But someone had been using it. There were trucks coming in at night, dumping barrels of chemical waste. The runoff was going straight into Miller Creek.”
My throat tightened. Miller Creek ran right past the elementary school playground.
“My son wanted to go to the police immediately, but Mark said they needed proof first. Real evidence that couldn’t be covered up or explained away. So they started collecting it. Photos, samples, documents. Mark said he’d handle it carefully.”
Eddie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small. A wooden bird, wings spread mid-flight, carved with the same careful detail as all the others Mark had made.
“A month later, Mark died of a heart attack.” Eddie’s voice shook. “Then two weeks after that, my Tommy died in a car crash. Single vehicle accident, they said. He’d lost control on a clear, dry road.”
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