32
You think I hurt the Dixons? Don’t be ridiculous,” Betty snapped. “I would never!”
“I know you’ve been keeping secrets—”
“Please, who doesn’t? Rather a giant leap from there to mass murder, don’t you think!”
“What was your relationship with my father thirty years ago?”
“Friends.”
“That’s not what Mason said.”
“Mason? What does…Oh, that man. I should’ve known. He’s the problem. I told him he should come clean. Hang on.”
Betty reached into her vest pocket. Mandy found her hand hovering over her sidearm. Jesus. She hated this feeling. Her heart pounding too fast. Her faced flushed with suspicion, but also shame. Because she suspected a lifelong friend? Or because she should’ve realized the truth years ago?
Raquel and Theo had both taken a wary step back, Theo’s arm wrapped protectively around his wife’s shoulders.
Betty withdrew her cellphone and hit dial. “Mason? Enough is enough. Collinses’ place. Now. We all have questions for you.” Betty tucked her phone away, looked at no one in particular, and declared, “I’m going to need more tea.”
Mandy followed Betty into the kitchen. The woman seemed to already have the lay of the land. Certainly Raquel and Theo appeared happy enough to let them fend for themselves. They were involved in their own whispered huddle near the fireplace.
“You want to talk about secrets,” Betty grumbled, jerking her head in Raquel’s direction. “But you’re not accusing her of murder.”
“She wasn’t around thirty years ago. And what the hell do you mean?”
“Bunny Borden. You don’t know Bunny Borden?”
“Apparently not.”
“Raquel Collins, birth name Bunny something or other. Hence, after she chopped up her own mom, Bunny Borden. Took an axe, gave her mother forty whacks and all that.”
“Damn.” Mandy didn’t know what else to say. She’d figured Raquel was hiding a few things, but matricide hadn’t necessarily been top of her list.
“For the record, mommy dearest had murdered four of her own babies and was committing Munchausen by proxy on Raquel’s younger brother, who, sadly, didn’t make it. You need to check the community forum. It’s all there.”
Like Mandy had time for that. “Who posted the information?”
“You can look it up,” Betty answered peevishly.
Mandy grimaced, stared out the window. Snow was already starting. So much for the late evening forecast. She rubbed at the growing headache building behind her eyes.
“You found them, didn’t you?” Betty said, bringing her tea over to Mandy. “The Dixons? That’s what this is all about.”
“I’m not talking about an active investigation.”
“But Austin’s people were up the road, not on this property. I don’t understand.”
“What was your relationship with my father thirty years ago?” Mandy could play the stubborn card as well.
“Paul and I were going through a rough patch. Your father and your mom both came over, many times, on many occasions, to check on us. Honestly, the people in this town have too much time on their hands, always have.”
“And Isla McLean? She implied my father ‘visited’ as well.”
Betty’s shoulders tensed. The woman fixed her gaze on the mug in front of her. “Your father wanted this case solved more than anything in the world. That’s what matters.”
“His DNA was at the scene, Betty. Why was my dad’s DNA at the scene?”
“Your father wanted this case solved more than anything in the world,” Betty repeated.
“Goddammit. ‘How do you find a witch in a well?’” Mandy mimicked in disgust, having had it with all the riddles. Then, a second later, as she was hit by the proverbial lightning strike: “Oh, fuck me.”
Because suddenly, she knew exactly what Isla McLean had been talking about.
No more time to consider it, however, as approaching tires crunched down the gravel out front. On cue, the dog started barking.
“Speaking of shitshows.” Mandy sighed heavily.
Mason Carhart had arrived.
“I don’t have the time for this,” Mason was already grumbling as he walked through the door.
“The town hall is about to start, and the weather is already growing dicey.” He glanced over at Mandy.
“You and your officers have a plan in place? Because you’ve already kept the fire department out half a night. ”
He didn’t wait for an answer before turning his attention to Raquel. “Honestly, if there’s anyone who should be required to answer questions…”
“Enough.” Betty held up a hand. “This day was always coming and you know it. Mason, start talking.”
Mason flushed, stared around the room belligerently.
“Ding dong bell, the witch is in the well,” Betty stated. She turned to Mandy. “Red witch, blue witch, black or white. Tell me, Mandy, have you ever heard of a red or blue witch?”
Mandy was startled. Of all the ways for this conversation to start. Raquel and Theo drew closer, also intrigued.
“I will confess I don’t know my witch colors,” Mandy allowed.
“I had to do the Google,” Betty continued. “Nowadays, a red witch refers to creativity and energy, while a blue witch is tied to tranquility and wisdom. But in colonial times, during the mass hysteria of the witch hunts? Most of that rhyme would’ve been silly nonsense. So why the specific hues?”
Mandy didn’t have an answer for that. Neither did anyone else.
Betty turned toward Mason. “Which got many to thinking…”
The pompous historian managed a pompous sigh. “Yes, yes, yes. It also so happens that this town had another legend. Regarding lost treasure.”
“Treasure?” Theo was instantly on alert.
Betty rolled her eyes. “Dear Lord, man, tell the story.”
“Lost Continental currency,” Mason clipped out. “A chest of notes being transported through the mountains shortly after the War of Independence that was never seen again. Such bills were printed with red, blue, black, and white ink. As in, the colors of the witches.”
Mason gazed at them all expectantly. Mandy’s headache returned with a vengeance.
Theo, on the other hand: “A riddle. You think the witch rhyme was actually some kind of treasure map. It’s not a witch in the well, but the lost notes. The crockery!” Now the man was genuinely enthused. “That’s why you wanted the crockery so badly!”
“It was a theory,” Mason agreed. “Which, as you can imagine, made actually finding the well and realizing it genuinely did hold a witch, and not a chest of historic currency…I’m not going to lie, that was a bit of a shock.”
“Holy shit.” Theo was already working his phone. “Continental currency can retail for tens of thousands per bill. An entire chest, assuming the contents were in the right condition. Holy shit.”
Mandy’s turn to hold up a silencing hand. “Okay. Old nursery rhyme. Which I always thought was about, you know, a witch. But you suspected something else. I get why that had you so interested in the discovery of the well. But you didn’t find the structure. The dog did.”
“Again, I assumed the well was a metaphor. Like the witches.”
Mandy accepted that answer, because, in fact, she was pretty sure she now knew exactly how the well had been found, and by whom, a woman who also happened to be quite knowledgeable about dogs, particularly English Lab mixes one could train to lead others to a desired target.
“But you were looking for the treasure,” Mandy prodded now. “For decades, I take it.”
“Turns out,” Betty spoke up dryly, “living off the sale of your family resort doesn’t last forever. Tell them about the journal, Mason.”
“You mean the one you received from the library and had no idea of its true value?”
“Yes, dear,” Betty agreed sweetly. “That one.”
“Given the treasure was lost in the late 1700s,” Mason huffed, “I turned to local primary sources for additional clues; the historical society alone has a robust collection of first-person historic accounts. Unfortunately, none of those volumes proved valuable. So imagine my interest when I heard that Janet Dixon had discovered an old journal tucked away in a hidden compartment. The Dixons are founding fathers of this community. Ergo, this could be an item of utmost importance. But when I approached Janet, she declined to share. Was still ‘reading’ the diary for herself. As if she could possibly comprehend the full historic relevance…” Mason shook his head.
“I knew the Dixons were due to depart for the season shortly, so after the third rebuff, I decided to show up in person and stake my claim as historical society president. I visited the morning after the storm.”
“The morning?” Mandy demanded sharply.
“The morning.” Mason had the decency to look away. As here was information relevant to the Dixon family timeline conspicuously absent from all official records.
“Ahem,” Betty prompted.
“No one was home,” Mason ground out. “No one answered my knock, and when I looked through the windows, the house appeared empty. It’s possible I…um, didn’t necessarily exercise my best judgment when I opted to see if I could locate the journal on my own.”
“Locate the journal…You broke into the house?” Mandy could not believe what she was hearing.
Four pairs of eyes locked on Mason, who had the decency to squirm.
“The back door was unlocked. I removed my muddy shoes and socks. Tiptoed in for a quick look around. Stepped on a…a…a damn toy! One of those metal bits for some building system.”
The Erector set the kids had started on the dining room table. Mandy’s gaze dropped to the man’s approximately size ten to eleven feet. “You cut your foot. You’re the source of the larger bloody footprints in the kitchen and dining room. Blood type?”
“O-positive. I understand you have new and improved DNA results? You might as well know I’m a match.”
“You contaminated the scene. And never said a word?”
“I had broken and entered—”
“An entire family had vanished. You don’t think that mattered more?”
“Which I knew nothing about. Not to mention, I had no reason to suspect foul play. The other bloody footprints weren’t present when I was there. Some dirty dishes were scattered about, but lack of attentive housekeeping hardly speaks to more nefarious happenings.”
“The bloody footprints—the other bloody footprints—weren’t there? You’re certain about that?”