Page 72 of You'll Be Sorry

“Yeah. But the one your wife described…Smaller stones, top edge flush with the ground. The only ones I’ve encountered have been significantly cruder.”

“Wanna check it out? The folks from the skeleton recovery lab are still out there, hauling up bucketfuls of dirt. Mr. Man and I pay a visit from time to time, but”—Theo shrugged—“it’s about as exciting as it sounds.”

Adams nodded distractedly. He helped himself to a cookie, then peered into the kitchen. “This hasn’t changed,” he stated.

Theo did the honors. “No. We just had the plumbers replace the pipes to provide running water. Otherwise, the entire kitchen is a gut job.”

“What about the upstairs? Can I see it?”

Now Theo and Raquel exchanged glances. They were both protective of the second-story bedrooms. Here, they’d had time to curate an image, whereas upstairs was akin to revealing gaping wounds beneath a bandage. Raw and needlessly exposing.

“Why?” Raquel countered.

Adams had the grace to flush. “I don’t…I’m sorry. I guess I got a little caught up in the moment. But this is your home, of course. I don’t mean to come across as ghoulish.”

“You and every local who’s wandered through here.” Theo shrugged, helping himself to more cheese, while tossing another bit to Mr. Man.

“Have you studied old maps of this property?” Raquel redirected.

“Sure. Like most of the searchers did back in the day, I looked for any kind of structure, feature, or outcropping where a family of six might hide.”

Or be hidden, went without saying.

“Did you ever see a marking for an old well?”

Cookie done, Adams tucked his hands in his pants pockets. His thinking pose, Raquel was beginning to realize.

“Now that you mention it, no. Because that would’ve been worth checking out.”

“I couldn’t find one, either, which is interesting. Water access always mattered. I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t have been noted.”

“And that’s where the skeleton and old ledger were found.” Adams turned to her with a smile. He’d told her he wouldn’t forget, and he hadn’t. “I don’t suppose that has anything to do with the diary you pilfered from the historical society?”

“You did what?” Theo gazed at her, wide-eyed.

Raquel surrendered. “I kinda, sorta stole a personal journal with handwriting that matches the ledger entries. Both appear to belong to a midwife from the 1790s.”

“That Mason guy was a little pissed,” Adams provided. “But you know, as long as you’re already guilty of the crime…”

“Might as well enjoy the ill-gotten gains?”

“I’m an investigator. You can say you were bringing new evidence to my attention.”

Huh, so the good cop also had a bit of rogue in him. Raquel was not one who had to be asked twice.

She brought her bag to the dining room table, where Adams and Theo gathered round. Slowly, she slid the battered journal onto the wooden surface, more pieces flaking off the leather cover.

“Who does it belong to?” Theo asked.

“Ruth something or other.” She glanced up at her husband. “With a little photographic ingenuity, I think I can determine the rest. But for now, let’s do this.”

24

Lydia and Lana were the stuff of local legend. Known as the Baird girls—though they had to be pushing ninety these days—they’d spent their entire lives on their family farm and were walking advertisements for Yankee ingenuity. Lydia probably could’ve been a NASA engineer, but instead excelled at the art of coaxing ancient tractors and combines into one more pass of the pasture, while Lana could grow, tend, and heal just about any life-form, from lettuce to llamas.

They lived on a sprawling hundred acres in the original farmhouse, which, much like the sisters, showed no signs of quitting anytime soon. Their wraparound porch was frequent home to any number of critters, from three-legged dogs to blind roosters to orphaned squirrels. There was also a washer and dryer planted front and center. Mandy didn’t even want to know.

Given the twins’ deep roots in the community, they knew just about everyone. Not to mention they were also renowned for their practical charity. All summer long, they kept a little stand at the end of their driveway stocked with everything from fresh veggies to eggs to mini bouquets of wildflowers. Locals were welcome to grab whatever they wanted for whatever they felt capable of paying. When Lydia was in a baking mood, the selection often included homemade pies and cookies. Mandy knew for a fact her father had been a regular.