Page 123 of You'll Be Sorry

The dog rose to standing, moving off to the side. The sound of slobbering, then a man’s low groan. Theo, thank God.

Raquel wanted to find his hand, hold it. But her arm refused to move. Cold, just so cold, cold, cold.

Mr. Man reappearing, eyeing her with an intensity she found vaguely troubling.

“Good canine opportunist,” she tried to tell him. But her mouth refused to move as well.

The dog whined again, huffing at her hair, nuzzling her cheek. He hunkered down, pressing his warm head against her own. Their therapy dog. Oh, she thought. Then, more slowly, oh…

Charlie Boy. Lilly. Four anonymous little graves.

Pennsylvania.

Theo would know what to do. Her husband always knew what to do.

Her eyes, drifting shut.

As the police chief barked at her from a million miles away. “Raquel. Raquel! I need you to stay with me. Hang in there, okay. Help is on its way. Help is—”

“Theo,” Raquel murmured.

Mr. Man raised his head to the sky and began a mournful howl.

40

Hope. Heartbreak. Healing. Welcome to Shereford, New Hampshire.

Mandy didn’t think the Chamber of Commerce was going to change the town’s motto to that just yet, but certainly she didn’t think it was a bad idea as she drove through the village, looking its quaint snowy best, then headed up to Widow’s Ledge.

It’d been a helluva past two months. From hordes of media to swarms of investigative bodies to just about every true crime aficionado in the free world descending upon their tiny mountain town en masse.

Ironically enough, it was everything Mason Carhart had always wanted for their community.

The historical society president had survived the ordeal with most of his body intact—bruised forearm from the dog’s crushing grip, grazed shoulder from Adams’s wild shot—though his precious reputation was ruined, not to mention his days of freedom over. It’d taken four days of grueling interrogation before the pompous ass had finally confessed it all.

Yes, he’d been at the Dixons’ property that night. He’d headed out earlier in the day to search Widow’s Ledge for a cave he’d read about in family records, the location of a lost fortune, according to his ancestor. The storm had hit sooner than he’d expected, forcing him to take cover in the neighboring woods. He’d been consideringknocking on the Dixons’ front door and begging for shelter—he could discreetly keep an eye out for the recently discovered journal Janet had mentioned while he was there—when suddenly a lightning strike had exploded the old oak at the end of the Dixons’ drive. Next thing he knew, the family had poured out the front door, rushing forth with flashlights to excitedly check out what had happened, dog in tow. The moment they’d passed him by, he’d gazed back at the dark, empty house and realized this was his chance.

The diary, the infamous Dixon diary, which might hold the final piece of the puzzle…

Of course he’d gone for it. Stripping off his muddy shoes and socks. Entering through the back. Bumbling through the shadowy kitchen, where he’d promptly sliced open his foot on some damn kids’ toy.

Then hopping around, knowing he was making a mess, but in for a penny, in for a pound. No way he was leaving without his prize. It had to be sitting out somewhere close as Janet had claimed to be reading it.

But damned if he could find it.

Finally, frustrated and increasingly anxious, he’d been forced to abandon his efforts. Quickly yanking on wet socks and shoes, coming around the house, he immediately spied Dave Dixon rushing down the driveway carrying a child in his arms.

Dave had taken one look at him and started yelling. What the hell, Mason had assumed.

But now, understanding what had happened minutes before—Austin striking one of the kids with his car, then wildly shooting off his gun—it might’ve beenhelp, help.

Mason hadn’t known that part. Certainly he hadn’t heard the accident; given the chaos of the storm and his own intense, panicked focus, he’d never registered the sound of a car crashing nor distantshots fired. For the record, the driveway was quite long! Now he was confronted by Dave Dixon rushing straight toward him, shouting accusations. Mason had panicked. Dave Dixon charged forward, and Mason discharged his weapon, ostensibly in warning. Except the man had gone down. And when Mason had approached, rain sluicing from his face, to stand above the bodies of Dave and his daughter…Mason had registered blood. So much blood, leaking from the daughter’s chest.

He’d killed a kid. No doubt about it. He’d shot and killed a Dixon.

Just as Dave Dixon’s eyes had snapped open and peered directly at him.

Mason had acted out of self-preservation, plain and simple. He fired directly into Dave Mason’s temple. Just as Janet and the older daughter ran screaming toward him…