For one second, his expression froze.
Then he smiled again. “Old places make people imagine strange things.”
He stepped closer. “If you found anything real, you should bring it to me.”
His voice was gentle. Too gentle.
I left without answering.
I looked at her, then handed her Daniel’s phone.
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That evening Rachel cornered me in the kitchen. Rachel was nineteen, sharp as broken glass, and impossible to fool.
“You’re lying to us,” she said.
“I’m not lying.”
“You are hiding something.”
I looked at her, then handed her Daniel’s phone. “If he stops answering tonight, call the state police. Not local. State.”
She stared at me. “Why?”
“Because I think Tom is involved in whatever happened to your mother.”
We started digging.
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She went pale. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
The old house was gone except for the broken foundation and the collapsed root cellar. Rain started again as we pried up the cellar door and climbed down.
