Jo nodded, her breath puffing out in short, sharp clouds. “Yep.”
Bridget hovered behind them, her hands clutched tightly together, eyes fixed on Pickles.
Sam began to climb down, his boots scraping against the slick stone walls. Jo gripped the top of the ladder, steadying it as he descended. The air inside the well was damp, musty, the smell of earth and moss rising up around them.
“Almost there,” Sam called up, his voice echoing off the walls.
Jo leaned over the edge, watching as Sam reached the bottom. He crouched beside Pickles, speaking softly to the frightened cat. For a moment, Jo held her breath, praying that Pickles wouldn’t dart away or make things harder. But the cat seemed too exhausted to put up a fight.
“It’s okay, boy,” Sam murmured, reaching out a hand. “Come here.”
Pickles let out another pitiful meow, his body trembling as he took a tentative step toward Sam. Jo watched, her heart pounding, as Sam carefully lifted the cat into his arms. Relief washed over her. They had him.
But then, Sam froze.
Jo’s grip on the ladder tightened as she watchedhim go completely still. “Sam?” she called down, her voice edged with concern. “You okay?”
There was a beat of silence before Sam responded, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Yeah… but, uh, Pickles isn’t the only thing down here.”
Jo’s heart lurched in her chest. She leaned farther over the edge, her knuckles white as she clung to the rim of the well. “What do you mean?”
Sam shifted, adjusting Pickles in one arm as he knelt down. “There’s something else… under the dirt. I can see… bones.”
Jo felt the blood drain from her face. “Bones?”
Sam’s voice was steady but grim. “Yeah. Human.”
“Are you sure?” Jo called down.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sam said. He was crouched now, running his hand carefully over the ground. “Looks old. Part of the skull is exposed… and there’s more buried beneath the dirt.”
Jo swore under her breath, adrenaline spiking through her as she processed what this meant. A body in the well. How long had it been down there? And, more importantly, who was it?
She straightened, her mind already racing ahead. This was a crime scene now. They needed to call in forensics, secure the area. But first, they had to get Sam—and Pickles—outof the well.
“Okay, let’s not touch anything else down there,” Jo said, her voice steadying as she slipped back into professional mode. “Just bring Pickles up, and we’ll deal with the rest.”
“On it,” Sam called back, his voice tight. He shifted again, making sure Pickles was secure in one arm as he began to climb back up the ladder. Jo watched him carefully, her hands still gripping the top of the ladder as he made his way up, slow and steady.
As Sam reached the top, Jo extended her arms, helping him lift Pickles over the edge and into Bridget’s waiting hands. Bridget held the cat close to her chest, tears shining in her eyes as she whispered reassurances to him.
Jo barely had time to feel relieved before her attention snapped back to Sam, who was pulling himself out of the well. His jaw was tight as he straightened and dusted the dirt off his jacket.
“Definitely human,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re going to need a full team out here. Whoever that is down there... they’ve been dead a long time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Wyatt’s breath fogged the cold air as he snapped another picture of the bones lying at the bottom of the well. The flash bounced off the damp, moss-covered stone, throwing brief glimpses of the skeletal remains back up at him. A human skeleton, of all things, tangled in the mess of dirt and roots.
“This is going to be a real pain in the butt,” John Dudley, the medical examiner, muttered as he surveyed the scene. “We’ll need to haul it up piece by piece.”
Wyatt grunted in agreement, but his attention wasn’t fully on the logistics of retrieving the bones. His mind had been drifting ever since Sam mentioned the note earlier, when they were still back at the station.
Secrets always come out.
The words had sounded innocent enough when Sam first relayed them, but Wyatt had caught something—a flicker in Kevin’s eyes, the way he glanced at Bridget as soon as Sam said the words. It wasn’t long—just a moment—but Wyatt had been a cop long enough to know when people were hiding something.
He looked over at Kevin, who was standing a little apart from the group, hands jammed in his pockets, staring down at the well. Bridget was nearby, too, her arms wrapped around herself, her face pale as she watched the others work. They hadn’t said much to each other, but there was something off in the way they were acting today. Something private.