Page 85 of You'll Be Sorry

The sound of whining. They both picked up their pace.

Mr. Man appeared in the beam of the chief’s flashlight. He was at the base of an enormous rocky outcropping, peering straight up in agitation. Mandy swept her light across the ledge, seeking a target. Getting a rhythm now, Raquel focused on the ground around them, searching for footprints.

The area here was too exposed and wind-scoured for her to determine anything. Beside her, Chief Grady didn’t appear to be having any better luck.

The dog placed its front paws on the slick granite block, vocalizing insistently.

“Where the hell could he have gone?” Mandy muttered in frustration.

“I’m not seeing any tracks,” Raquel ventured.

“I’ll bet you anything he ducked behind the first offered cover, waited till we passed, then doubled back. If we hadn’t followed the damn dog…”

“But what is the damn dog following?” Raquel countered.

“This time of night…fox, deer, coyote, raccoon.”

Mr. Man glanced over, clearly insulted. He pawed at the rocks again.

Raquel expanded her search, discerning a downed tree, pieces of rotted wood, and other detritus. The untamed wilderness turned out to be quite messy.

“You said this person targeted some old diary, ostensibly written by the victim in the well. Who knew you had it?”

“Mason was pretty sure I’d snatched it. And of course, the cold case cop, Adams—”

“You talked to Detective Adams?”

“Brought him to the house. He was…” Raquel searched for the right word. “Mesmerized. And quite knowledgeable. He’s definitely spent quality time obsessing over all the original crime scene photos.”

“Those are the only two options? An elderly town historian and a state cop?”

“Who else?” Raquel started, then caught herself. “Actually, I’m not certain about that.”

Mandy, scanning the granite face with her high-intensity flashlight. “Explain.”

“The local news just aired footage that showed me walking away from the church with Detective Adams. I have no idea who took it, or for that matter, how long they’d been watching. If that person overheard Mason arguing with me”—Raquel shrugged—“it wouldn’t be too hard to infer what had happened. Adams certainly knew I’d taken the diary.”

Grumbling from the police chief, followed by an explosive, “Fuck!”

Raquel recoiled instinctively, then spied Mandy’s source of concern. A new pair of glittering eyes stared down at them. Mr. Man broke into a fresh round of barking.

“Raccoon. Told you. Nasty creatures. First search and rescue I ever did involved a fatality. Body looked like it had been systemically dismembered and strewn across the ravine by a depraved serial killer. Or, as it turned out, a family of raccoons. They’ll gnaw their waythrough the stomach into the rib cage, where they can feast on all the good parts, then burst out of the chest cavity like something out of the Aliens movies.” The chief shuddered. “Hate raccoons.”

Nearly on cue, another set of eyes appeared above the first, then another. A stacked-up trio, chittering away at Mr. Man’s ferocious baying. The dog tried to scramble up, but the granite was too slick. He slid back down onto all fours, which hardly improved his mood.

Raquel looked for something to shoo away the pests, if only to restore order. Stick, stick, larger stick, enormous downed tree limb, and then…not a stick. She walked closer, felt a slow sinking sensation in her stomach.

Another not stick and yet another…

“Chief Grady,” she called out softly.

The woman crossed, hitting the weak light from Raquel’s phone with her brighter beam. Raquel knew the second she got it, too. As the cop traced a line from the scattered human bones straight up to where the three raccoons sat in a narrow gap. Say, the opening to a cave.

Mr. Man sat back on his haunches, whining softly.

“Good dog,” Raquel told him.

Though she already had a feeling there was nothing good about this.