Page 52 of You'll Be Sorry

Mandy pulled up in front of Betty’s house. Where all the lights were still on. Almost as if the older woman was expecting her.

“I made you a sandwich,” Betty greeted her at the door.

“I’m fine,” Mandy replied out of habit.

“Don’t be stupid.”

That was harder to refute. Mandy stepped inside, accepted the sandwich. Which involved slow-roasted turkey, homemade stuffing, and cranberry sauce, though Betty had been out all day, same as Mandy. Sometimes she couldn’t decide if such offerings were a gift or a rebuke. Because God knows the best Mandy could do for sustenance after such a grueling experience was corn flakes. Fine, Cap’n Crunch.

Sandwiches, at least, didn’t rate full dining room regalia. Mandy was allowed to carry the late-night offering to the sofa, where Bettyhad both a cup of steaming tea and two fingers of whiskey sitting on a side table. Tough day for both of them.

“You’re spiraling,” Betty stated.

“You are too.” Mandy nodded toward the older woman’s beverages.

“My word,” Betty sighed. “I never thought, never anticipated…This was a day for the ages.”

“On that we agree.”

“You have questions.”

“More than I assume you have answers.”

“On that we agree.”

Mandy took a bite of sandwich. Damn, it was good. And, man, was she starving. Funny the things you could overlook until they all but slapped you in the face. Is this what her mother had done for her father? Greeted him with food and sympathy, knowing she’d married a cop and this came with the job? Mandy had grown up with a lawman father, and sometimes the sheer resentment over missed meals, events, promises had gnawed on her like a rat. Her parents, best she could tell, had had a solid marriage. The resentment had belonged to Mandy and Mandy alone, which had only alienated her more as she grew up.

With age came regret, which was mostly useless, so Mandy tried to focus on understanding instead.

“My father would disappear into his study after hard days. Kiss my mother on the cheek, pat me on top of the head, then grab his food and retreat behind closed doors. I always assumed he was going back to work, maybe writing down his thoughts while they were still fresh in his head. Now I wonder if it wasn’t so he could collapse out of sight of prying eyes.”

“Probably a bit of both.”

“What do we know?” Mandy mused. “I’ve been trying to break itdown in my head. We can be pretty certain a young female was sealed into that well, alive long enough to try to force her way out. I’m leaning toward historic crime. Like early eighteenth century.”

“The register would support that. No entries after 1791.”

Mandy kept staring at her. That wasn’t the main reason behind her reasoning, and they both knew it.

At long last, Betty exhaled. She raised her glass of whiskey. “You’re wondering about the local legend. How much of it did we just uncover, turning folklore into fact?”

“So are you. And Mason. I heard you both whispering.”

“She appeared midwinter,” Betty recited softly. “Walking straight out of a blizzard without any coat or shoes, appearing before the townsfolk like a product of the storm itself. Jet-black hair, bloodred lips. A maid barely out of the classroom. She told them she’d lost her way in the woods. She begged for a cup of tea, a chunk of bread. The villagers felt sorry for her, a mere girl all alone in the world. They offered her a hot meal and warm shelter. Afterward, with no means to pay for her food and board, she announced she’d best move on.”

“The villagers begged her to stay,” Mandy provided. “The men staggered by her beauty, the women drawn to her tender years.”

“She agreed to work for her keep, tending the young, nursing the old. House by house.”

“But then the children started dying,” Mandy intoned. “House by house. First the older ones, then the younger ones, then the babies. House by house by house.”

“And the townspeople began to whisper.” Betty’s voice picked up. “Surely there must be a reason. Some great sin or terrible evil driving their punishment. A witch, stealing away the souls of their children.”

“A witch with jet-black hair and bloodred lips.”

“They rounded up the girl they’d allowed to live in their midst. They demanded she repent her evil ways. And when she refused—”

“Protested her innocence, more likely.”