30 #2
“I did and I didn’t. The day William led me inside…
” The woman shivered. “The space is wrong. The moment I entered it, I knew. Forget bootlegging. Dark, terrible things happened in that cavern. I tried telling the kids they should go, nothing good would come from such a place. But can any adult reason with a child, let alone four of them?”
Mandy glanced at Adams, whose face had gone pale again. Dear Lord, if the investigator vomited one more time…
“Who else knew of this hideout?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
“But if your family did, handing it down generation to generation, stands to reason, other legacy families in this community would’ve done the same.”
Another shrug.
“The entrance was sealed up. Rocks, tree limbs, the works. Protecting the contents from search dogs.” Mandy didn’t need to be specific about what the contents were. “You do that?”
“The cave, what happened there…It shouldn’t have been sealed. It should’ve been blown to smithereens.”
Now it was Mandy’s turn to be troubled. “When did you last visit this place?”
“Thirty years ago. August. As for a precise date…Do you know where you were three decades past?”
Of course she didn’t, no one did, which provided a perfect out for new interviews of people involved in old crimes. She turned to Adams for assistance.
The man remained dazed and confused, however. Flu bug, bad breakfast, whatever. A chainsaw-wielding madman could burst out of the woods right now, and the investigator would most likely stare blankly. Mandy sighed.
“Come on.” She jerked her chin in his direction. “I’ll take you home.”
“No. I’ll take him.”
Isla again. Goddammit.
“I thought witches only boiled small children in their cauldrons.”
“Or I could administer a tea that aids with nausea. Also, you have more pressing matters.” Isla pointed up the hillside.
Where, fuckety fuck fuck, Mason had materialized on the wooded path, black wool coat flapping over his tweed as he stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at her.
Mandy couldn’t help herself. “You got a tea for that?”
“Don’t I wish,” the Witch of the Woods murmured. “Don’t I wish.”
“Is it them?” Mason demanded without preamble. “The Dixons?”
“Too soon to tell.”
“What happened to them?”
“Too soon to tell.”
“Why are they way out here? That makes no sense. The house is at least a mile away.”
“I know geography, Mason.”
Fresh scowl. “I want to see them.”
“Absolutely not. It’s an active investigation.”
“Austin’s there. If he can be on scene, why can’t I?”
“He’s a first responder. You’re a…” Pain in my ass. “Civilian.”
“I do not care for your attitude,” Mason informed her.
“And I do not have time for this.”
They’d reached the road by now. Thank God. She was hoping Mason would take the hint and drive off. In a huff, outraged, either of those options worked for her. No such luck.
“I don’t think you appreciate the magnitude of this situation. People want answers. Your community wants answers. You have till the two p.m. town hall.”
Now Mandy was indignant. “What the fuck, Mason?”
“I told you, this is beyond a mere new development in an already too-cold cold case. The entire town is vested in the outcome. These are the people you’re appointed to serve.” An obnoxious sniff. “Which is something your father always took seriously.”
Mandy’s temper flared. Damn self-righteous prick. “Hey, Mason, how did you know it was a cave?”
“Everyone knows. It’s part of the buzz.”
“Oh, yeah? As someone who prides himself on knowing everything, what can you tell me about this cavern? You must’ve visited it a time or two yourself.”
“Do I look like a spelunker to you?”
“I don’t know, Mason. Back in the day, what were your hobbies and interests? I gotta believe you didn’t always wander about in tweed. Maybe teenage Mason favored jeans and concert T-shirts, or hiking pants and wicking fabrics. Everyone has a past.”
Which was an important consideration. Mandy had a tendency to view her neighbors for who and where they were now in life.
Except thirty years ago, when the Dixons had disappeared, the town’s older citizens would’ve been in the prime of their active, outdoorsy lives.
Certainly, many would have been capable of the physical demands involved in subduing and murdering a family of six.
“Tell me about Isla McLean.” The abrupt change in topic seemed to fluster Mason. Perfect. Mandy needed more people off kilter and talking.
“The hermit? What about her? Though…” Mason frowned, connecting some dots of his own. “Her cabin’s not far from here.”
Mandy waited.
Mason’s brow furrowed deeper. “Do you think she has something to do with this? The McLeans certainly have a reputation for lawlessness. I’m not familiar with any allegations of violence, though even by McLean standards she’s an odd duck.
God knows her parents were no great shakes.
Her father preferred the company of dogs while her mother quaked at the sight of her own shadow.
If memory serves, Isla’s father died in a car accident, while her mother left shortly thereafter.
At a certain point, it was generally assumed that she’d died.
Isla’s grandfather raised her, till he passed along as well. ”
Mandy knew she’d regret this next question. “Did my father know her? Isla? Were they…friends?”
The full implication of that word came through, whether she wanted it to or not. It shamed her to have such doubts about her own dad. It infuriated her that she’d let Isla crawl that much into her head.
“I never heard anything connecting your father to Isla,” Mason stated. And yet something about his tone.
“But my father and…”
Mason averted his gaze. “There’s no point in idle gossip—”
“Just tell me.”
“Your father was an excellent police chief and highly regarded in this community.”
“So help me God, I will shoot you.”
“The town postmistress was going through a rocky patch with her husband for a bit.”
“Betty Jenkins?”
“Chief Grady was often over at the home. You know how people talk.”
“They were friends! My parents, Betty and her husband, Paul. They were friends!”
“Exactly.” Mason offered a placating smile.
Except, except. Something niggling at the corner of Mandy’s brain. A shadow of a memory, her parents’ raised voices, her young self, pressed against the opposite side of the door. She suddenly felt ill.
“You’re right. Idle gossip.” She forced the words out.
“Clearly, everything worked out in the end. And Betty is, well, Betty.” The man’s voice softened considerably. Mandy remembered Raquel mentioning she thought the two were an item. Apparently, Shereford’s newest resident already knew things about the community Mandy didn’t.
Her sense of unease was building. Something hovered just beyond her grasp, a realization, intuition. Betty, her parents’ dear neighbor. Then her father’s investigative consultant. And now, Mandy’s closest confidante.
“I have to go,” she mumbled.
“You need to put together a proper update for the two p.m. meeting.” Mason was immediately back on topic. “With actual answers for this town. And, you talk to Raquel Collins, get that historic journal back. She returns it now, I’ll consider not pressing charges. But any later…”
Mandy stumbled her way back to her vehicle, no longer listening. There she took deep, steadying breaths, trying to tell herself her imagination was running amok. She needed sleep, more coffee, at the very least a long, hot shower.
Then, when none of that slowed her racing mind, she drove down the mountain in search of her longtime dinner companion to ask a bunch of questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answered anymore.