Page 47 of You'll Be Sorry

“I have the evidence bags,” Chief Grady added.

Theo joined the party, already completely enthralled. Raquel, on the other hand…not like she had anything to add. She roamed the space to see what there was to see. And to try not to remember what she could still remember.

The nerve-jangling loudness, from ringing phones to clacking keyboards to staticky radio bursts. The overwhelming smell of human sweat and industrial-strength disinfectant with a top note of scorched coffee. The burly officer’s heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing uncomfortably. The more sympathetic gaze from the hastily summoned social worker now taking a seat at the metal table.

Not knowing where to look. Up at the water-stained ceiling. Down at her bloodstained hands.

“Just tell us what happened,” the sheriff instructed sternly. “No matter what, the truth’s always the best place to start.”

And her thinking that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Well,maybe not the absolute stupidest. That was her telling Lilly and Charlie Boy that everything would be all right. It hadn’t been, never would be. Would she see them again? Probably not. Would that be in their own best interest?

Truthfully speaking, yes.

She’d smiled then, staring at the man and his drab, sweat-stained uniform. Smiled and smiled until he shivered slightly and made a move as if to cross himself. As if she were the problem. As if some of the blood on her hands didn’t belong to all of them.

Because she knew. She knew she knew she knew. And with her gaze she told the fucking sheriff he wasn’t fooling her for a second.

He pushed back his chair. Muttered something about coffee. Exited the room.

The social worker had leaned over then, her gaze sharp and steady. “Yes. You are correct. Everything you’re thinking right now is absolutely true. But here’s the deal, hun. You can stoke all that righteous rage in your soul. Or you can make the decision to play by their rules for two more years, then get the hell out. You strike me as the tough sort. Don’t throw it all away.”

Raquel had done exactly that. Because she was the tough sort, and at sixteen she’d firmly believed nothing could ever break her. That’d had to wait until she actually felt safe and loved and happy. Then…

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. She reached reflexively for the historic pendant before remembering she’d left it in the house, not wanting to call any more attention to herself.

“Gently, gently!” Mason’s voice barked across the room.

Raquel returned to the gathering in time to see Chief Grady delicately pry off the lid of the pot, the tarp now littered with crumbled pieces of sealant.

A slight popping sound, then the round cover was in Grady’s hand, the chief blinking slightly in surprise.

Immediately everyone tilted forward for a better look.

“What is it?” Theo asked excitedly.

“May I?” Mason was already reaching down with gloved hands.

He slowly withdrew a slim, notebook-sized object. It appeared to be an ancient leatherbound book, already crumbling beneath his touch.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Betty chirped. She jumped over to an open bin, pulled out a folded cloth, then spread it out on one side of the tarp. Mason reverently lowered his charge onto the white cotton.

“There’s still some debris at the bottom,” Mandy observed. “Though the inside appears bone dry. Must’ve been one helluva sealant.”

Distracted nods as everyone shifted over to study the new item. Only Raquel remained hanging back. There were enough chefs in the kitchen, she thought. Plus…she was pretty sure she already knew what they’d discovered. The question was, did it have a connection to the Hannah Dixon from her locket?

Sure enough…

“It’s a historic ledger!” Betty and Mason basically exclaimed at the same time. “Oh, goodness!”

“No touching, no touching!” Mason held up his gloved hands, sounding slightly wild. His gaze locked on Mandy. “Nitrile gloves aren’t recommended for handling old documents. They reduce dexterity, can lead to torn or damaged pages. I have to take them off, Chief Grady. I have to! Protocol demands freshly washed bare hands.”

The man sounded so virulent Raquel would’ve let him strip buck naked on principle alone. Apparently, Mandy agreed.

“But no touching anything more than you have to,” the woman cautioned.

“The inside page,” Betty whispered. “That’ll give us a starting date. Oh my goodness. Just look at the brittleness of the pages. They’re practically falling apart right before our eyes. Careful, Mason. Careful!”

After Raquel’s past nine months with historic deeds, she knewexactly what the woman was talking about. And yes, any kind of gloves, from nitrile to cotton, were frowned upon, as the fragile nature of centuries-old paper demanded a handler’s utmost tactile sensitivity.