In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,45

at him for one sick, still moment before he closed his eyes and dropped his head back.

Of course. Could he really be surprised? It had been the hottest true crime story of the summer, after all. It had its own fucking fandom. It was bound to be adapted for television sooner or later. He took another long pull from the bottle, wondering if he should ask Isaac to go in and get him another one.

“It was bound to happen,” Isaac said. “It’s gonna be a big deal, James. The team on this, the research, it’s insane. And the thing is, the story…it’s taken some unexpected turns.” Isaac turned in his seat and reached over to take the bottle. “Slow down. You need to listen.”

James kept his eyes closed, waiting for the buzz to dull his feelings. “Talk faster.”

“None of this is easy to say. Honestly, do you want to read it for yourself? It’s all in that red folder in the backseat.”

James rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Isaac reached into the backseat and passed the folder to James, a red plastic dossier branded with the name of the largest streaming service in the world. There was a label stuck to the front:

Project Townhouse

CONFIDENTIAL

For Internal Team ONLY

“How did you get this?” James asked.

“I know someone on the team.”

James let out an aggravated sigh and unhooked the elastic, opening the folder. Isaac immediately reached over and snatched out a closed manila envelope, tossing it into the backseat. James looked at him. “What’s that?”

“Photos,” Isaac said uncomfortably.

A wave of nausea overcame him, followed by a stormy urge to get out of the car, throw the folder into the sea, tell Isaac to fuck off, and hitchhike back to Hunter’s. He forced himself to look down at the summary of contents—synopsis, script outline, notes, interviews, crime scene, autopsies, interviews, background—but his head swam, and he folded it shut. “Just tell me.”

Isaac let out a long sigh. “How much do you know about Grace’s life before you were born?”

James looked at him sharply. When Isaac said no more, he said, “Spit it out, Isaac.”

“Officially, she was born in Sullivan County. New York. And you were born in the city, November 18, 1993. To her.”

He knew what Isaac was about to say. He’d already had a preview. Now he was just waiting for the tsunami to roll in.

“But Grace was born here, James.” Isaac’s voice softened. “And I think you were, too.”

“Proof,” James said numbly.

“It’s all here.” Isaac took the folder and flipped through the contents quickly, pulling out a sheaf of photocopied news articles held together with a black clip. “It’s pretty wild. These are some local articles from around the time you were born. Just…skim the one on top, at least.”

Creek County Times - Friday, Nov. 20, 1993

WOODSTOCK HEIRESS FOUND DEAD IN RIVER ROAD CABIN; INFANT AND TEEN DAUGHTER MISSING

Ruth Evelyn Woodstock, 41, was found dead Thursday in a remote cabin on her family’s property in the Woodstock area outside of Spruce. Authorities say she had given birth in the cabin several hours before succumbing to blood loss. In an alarming twist, no infant was found at the scene.

“We know for a fact that Ruth gave birth,” Port Orton Police Chief Donald Filson stated at a press conference Thursday afternoon, citing the coroner’s report. “We’re working to find out why she was there, who might have been with her, and what happened to that baby. At this time, we have no reason to suspect foul play.”

Ruth is survived by husband Robert Andrew Ives, 51, and daughter Grace Lee Ives Woodstock, 17. The family moved from the Woodstock area to Salem in 1990. Neighbors there describe a troubled marriage, with police responding to domestic disputes on several occasions earlier this year. Police say Mr. Ives is cooperating with the investigation, and they are working to locate Grace.

But suspicions run high in Spruce, where Ruth and Grace are well known descendants of the Woodstock family. In April, Ruth inherited the family’s vast tract of timberland along River Road, which is rumored to contain the largest remaining stands of old growth timber in the Coast Range.

“Those woods are worth millions,” said Spruce Market owner Rose Delano. “They ought to look for who’s been itching to cut them down.”

James read the article twice before he lowered it to his lap and stared ahead.

“Your New York birth certificate is fake,” Isaac said quietly. “There’s no legitimate record of your birth, there or here.