Continuation

     Carefully flattening out the pages, I tried to decipher the writing in the margins. "Cedar Street, under tree." Cedar? Martha used to live there but had moved out-of-state when we were teenagers. 

     I didn't recognize the handwriting and no one had touched this book in years, its layer of dust having caught my eye when I riffled through the bookcase earlier.

     Dread constricted my ribs, making my heart thud painfully. I was never one for mysteries. Maybe someone buried money in Martha's backyard! Or there could be a doomsday bunker. What if they're directions to some murderer's victims?