Page 22 of You'll Be Sorry

“Then, once he looks his best, we’ll walk him up and down Main Street. If he’s part of the community, one of the locals or shopkeepers will recognize him. Not to mention…”

A sly glance cast in her direction. Now she was even more suspicious. “If he is somehow connected to a dog named Dog,” Theo dragged out.

“Three generations removed?”

“I’m sure it’s worth bringing to the sheriff’s attention.”

The dog huffed in clear agreement.

“You’re both insane,” she informed the canine and her husband.

The dog huffed again, then produced an eerie facsimile of a grin.

“You did not win this!” she hastily protested.

But based on the dog’s expression, it clearly believed it had.

8

Mandy read through her father’s notes three times. She scribbled some questions of her own. Then she sat back, trying to summarize her thoughts with bullet points, but mostly doodling lines that reflected the inner maze of her own thinking.

No matter how she spun it, there was one logical—not to mention respectful—first step. She dialed the cold case unit in Concord.

“Detective Sam Adams.”

“Seriously?” She just caught herself from blurting out, as in the beer? Though perhaps it was, as in the founding father?

Long pause. “How can I help you?”

Mandy hastily regrouped. In a win-win for all, the cold case unit, a joint effort between the attorney general’s office and the state police, was generally staffed by a couple of retired major crimes detectives who provided in-depth expertise while easing costs by being paid hourly wages that didn’t interfere with their pension draw. Meaning the person on the other end of the line was probably more likely to know Mandy’s father than her. Sure enough, the moment she introduced herself:

“Chief Grady is…retired.”

Mandy caught the pause. Understood the reasoning behind not leading with “Don’t waste my time, chicky; that man is dead” as an opening gambit.

“My father passed away,” she allowed. “And now, here I am.”

Longer pause. “How can I help you, Chief Grady?”

All in all, not the worst start. “I’m calling regarding the Dixon case.”

No response. Maybe thewell, duhwas implied. Here was the awkwardness for Mandy. Technically, the Shereford PD retained jurisdiction in the Dixons’ vanishing act, meaning Mandy didn’t have to justify relaunching efforts. And yet, she did. It was a matter of protocol, not to mention such things as retesting evidence collected by the state police required access to the state’s labs and, hopefully, state funding. God knows the Shereford PD didn’t have that kind of budget.

As it was, Mandy got to request her department’s funding up close and personal at the town’s annual meeting, where the six hundred residents went through the town’s wants and needs line item by line item. Nothing like looking out at a crowd of mostly law-abiding citizens, but also the drunk and disorderlies, domestic abusers, cheaters, and liars, while waiting for them to say, yeah, I’ll agree to the police chief’s 5 percent salary hike. Another full-time deputy? Absolutely, let’s do it!

Mandy had grown up with this model. She had yet to meet another local LEO who didn’t go positively wide-eyed at such a hands-on approach. You want to dial direct as a taxpayer, isolated towns in New England were the way to go.

Now she decided to go with a straightforward line of attack.

“As you may be aware, the Dixon property recently changed hands—”

“I’m aware.”

“Given the fresh attention, I’ve been reviewing my father’s notes, considering new avenues of investigation. I was wondering if you had any recent developments on the case?”

“You have your father’s notes?”

There was a tone again. As if Mandy were a teen just caught with a pack of smokes.