Page 105 of You'll Be Sorry

“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 thousandsperbill. 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 arefounding 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.”

“Themorning?” 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.”