Page 28 of You'll Be Sorry

“These old farms initially featured hand-dug wells,” Theo muttered. “Century or two later, most upgraded to modern drilled wells, tapping into deeper groundwater streams for better quantity and quality of water. The old wells were boarded up. Hang on.”

He trotted back to the garage ruins, which remained peppered with old tools, lawn equipment, and outdoor gear. Minutes later he returned with a rusty crowbar, using it to pry up the remaining boards, then tossed the old wood into a single pile.

Back on his hands and knees, he hit the abyss with the beam of his flashlight a second time, illuminating what appeared to be a pit, five to six feet in diameter, the edges of which were lined with fist-sized rocks.

“Definitely man-made. The stones were used to shore up the sides as they dug down.”

Raquel squatted lower, adding her beam to his so they could both peer into the depths. Theo was right. The walls were tightly structured, clearly engineered in nature.

The dog huffed. Gazed from the well to them to the well again.

Theo scooted closer.

“Careful,” she cautioned, instinctively reaching out a hand.

Theo circled the top several times, then straightened. “Gonna need a rope.”

“What?”

But he was already off and running again, back to the collapsed barn. When he returned, he was carrying a coil of God knows what.

“Absolutely not.” For once, the dog’s woof implied he was on her side. “No way descending down into…that…is a good idea.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not totally crazy.” Theo gave her a wink, then held out his heavy-duty flashlight. He tied one end of the rope around the textured handle, then slowly lowered it into the depths.

It spun like a disco ball, producing a dizzying kaleidoscope of moldering rocks, dirt, debris; Raquel had vertigo just watching.

Then, as the rope rasped across the well’s granite lip, the final foot snaking past Raquel’s feet…

The rope snapped taut. The flashlight whirled a few more times, then slowed to gentle rocking. Theo peered once more into the depths.

“Raquel.”

“Yes?”

“I think there’s something down there.”

He tugged at the rope a few more times, as if adjusting the beam. Then, he stilled.

She knew without him even having to say another word.

“Call Chief Grady.”

“Is that…”

“Raquel.”

She dialed the number.

10

Mandy hadn’t necessarily dreamed of this moment. Most likely her father had, and so, by association, it had flickered through the back of her mind, the ghost of a whisper of a promise. Still, when Raquel Collins contacted her shortly after dinner, she didn’t go wide-eyed in surprise or punch the air with excitement. Mostly, she felt skeptical followed by…disappointed? All these years later, could it really be this simple?

Not to mention, it felt slightly suspicious that the Collinses had made a significant discovery in a matter of days involving a mystery that had puzzled the rest of the world for thirty years. The sheer number of law enforcement officers, search volunteers, and bloodhounds that had covered those grounds during the past few decades. And yet, all of a sudden…

Mmm-hmm…

Mandy debated calling her officers, but decided she wanted to be absolutely certain before summoning the cavalry. Not to mention Raquel Collins had been annoyingly coy over the phone.