Page 104 of You'll Be Sorry

“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. Weallhave 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.