Page 3 of The Vanished

Quinn grinned and felt an answering smile in her heart. “I’m back.”

TWO

While Rhys battled Tuesday morning traffic, Quinn, in the passenger seat, looked up Lynn Michaels’s new hotel, Ravenbrook Manor. It was located near Ravenglass, and the photos online were all Instagram-worthy shots of a broody manor house perched on a rise overlooking the Irish Sea. It was the sort of place Quinn and Gabe had liked to stay at before they’d had three children and spontaneous romantic weekends had become a thing of the past. The interior was elegant, romantic, and very upmarket. There were two restaurants, one for casual dining located in the old carriage house, and the other with clear aspirations to a Michelin rating and the prices to match. There was a health club, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, tennis courts, and scenic walking trails that circumnavigated the property. As well, there was a conference room perfect for team-building weekends, and a stunning ballroom for private events.

Quinn and Rhys would have to spend the night, and, even though Lynn had offered them a twenty-percent discount, a one-night stay would still cost as much as an entire weekend at a boutique hotel in Paris, and that was without the meals. Rhys was quick to point out that he would be picking up the tab since this was a research trip and therefore a business-related expense. Quinn had to admit that was a relief. She hadn’t worked steadily since the show had wrapped up, and would feel guilty about blowing so much on a hotel stay.

Once they left the city behind and the motorway was no longer choked with traffic, Quinn began to enjoy the drive. Being with Rhys was easy, since over the years he had become one of her closest friends. He understood her better than most, especially when it came to her family, and had been there for the highs of finding her biological parents and siblings, as well as the lows of discovering that they weren’t quite who she imagined them to be. He had offered support when most people would have stepped away, and still encouraged her to take risks, even though there were times she wished he’d simply let her be. But he hadn’t, and here they were, on the way to investigating what might prove to be a new case for Echoes.

She and Rhys talked about everything and nothing, listened to music, stopped for a relaxed pub lunch, and generally made the most of their impromptu road trip, safe in the knowledge that their spouses would hold the fort. By the time they arrived at the hotel, it was nearly four o’clock. Quinn would have liked to see her room and freshen up, but Lynn met them in the lobby, as if she had been watching for their arrival. Perhaps she had been, since she was clearly invested in turning the gruesome discovery into an added revenue stream.

Lynn Michaels looked much as Quinn remembered her—a few years older and a few pounds heavier, but she was still an attractive woman. Her shiny blond bob was perfectly styled, her make-up was expertly applied, and her bespoke navy pantsuit was flattering without being ostentatious. Several inches taller than Quinn, Lynn bent her head to talk to her, which made Quinn feel as if the woman were speaking down to her despite the saccharine praise.

“I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you, Dr. Allenby,” she gushed. “I’ve seen every episode of Echoes from the Past, and each installment just broke my heart.” She laid her hand over her heart to illustrate just how touched she had been by the plight of the characters. “But of course, we both know that it’s all in the presentation. We must connect with our viewers on an emotional level and draw them into our world. And you certainly did that. You made them feel as if they were part of the story, and we now know that you truly were part of the victims’ lives, if only for a short while. And what heart-wrenching tales they were. Such exquisite suffering.”

“And such solid ratings,” Rhys murmured under his breath.

His comment wasn’t meant to be callous, but Quinn still wished he’d try to be more sensitive. The people at the center of each episode weren’t figments of a writer’s imagination. They had been real, utterly human, and at times fatally flawed individuals, all of them forgotten by a world that had moved on, indifferent to their fate. As Lynn prattled on, Quinn’s thoughts turned to the woman in the well. Who was she, and what had happened to her? Rhys had said she had been young, which made her end even more tragic. Had she fallen in by accident, taken her own life, or had someone thrown her down the disused well in the hope that she would never be found?

Had the woman been missed, searched for, and mourned by those who’d loved her? And what about the ring? Was it a wedding band? Had she left a husband and small children behind? Quinn would find out in time, but before she learned the woman’s story, she had to brace herself for their first meeting. To date, all the subjects of her visions had been skeletal remains when she’d first encountered them, buried in unmarked graves, their names forever lost to history. This time, she would see the woman’s face, maybe even touch her hand before the body was sent to Colin Scott for a postmortem and an in-depth forensic analysis.

“The area where the workers found the well was completely overgrown,” Lynn was saying. “In fact, the entire property had been woefully neglected.”

“Did someone live here?” Quinn asked as Lynn led them towards a patch of upturned earth where the builders had begun to clear the area.

Blue-and-white police tape used to cordon off the area fluttered in the breeze, and the well at the center was covered with blue tarpaulin. Several danger signs had been posted to keep the guests away from the opening in case they should wander this far and decide to investigate, but a young couple had climbed beneath the tape, and the man was trying to lift the edge of the tarp. The guests scampered as soon as they saw the trio coming, and hurried towards a copse of birch trees and the beach beyond.

“Yes, the Wilsons lived here,” Lynn said. “Dinah Wilson could no longer maintain the property once her husband passed. She’s quite elderly.”

“Does she not have family?” Rhys asked. “Surely someone might have stepped up, especially when such a lovely house was at stake.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Lynn said. “I was interested in the property, so I wasn’t going to try to talk Mrs. Wilson out of selling, was I?”

“No, I suppose not,” Rhys agreed. “Is she still in the area?”

“She moved to a retirement village near Ulverston. I expect she’s much happier now.”

The mention of a retirement village hit Quinn like a punch to the gut. Three years had passed, but she still missed Phoebe, who had died only weeks into the first lockdown. Quinn had loved Gabe’s mum, and it continued to pain her that the poor woman had been frightened and alone in her final moments. Gabe rarely spoke of it now, but at the time he had been tormented by guilt over his inability to help Phoebe when she’d needed him most. He was still grieving, but that grief had distilled into acceptance—much like Quinn’s own sorrow over Sylvia.

Her birth mother had been another casualty of the pandemic. Quinn hadn’t known it then, but Sylvia had suffered from an autoimmune disease, and her compromised immune system had been no match for the first strain of the virus. Her son Logan had been with her when she’d passed, but Quinn had been denied the chance to say a proper goodbye or to work through the complicated emotions her mother had evoked. She did not miss Sylvia with the same visceral ache that Gabe felt for his mum, but she had mourned Sylvia in her own way and often wished they’d had more time together.

Quinn dragged her mind back to the present when Rhys nudged her gently. “Quinn, do you have any other questions for Lynn before we head back?”

“Erm, yes.” Quinn turned to Lynn, who was looking at her expectantly. “Did Mrs. Wilson have any idea who the woman might be?”

Lynn shrugged. “I don’t believe anyone asked her, since the body appeared to predate her tenure at the house. And the woman’s description did not trip any missing persons reports.”

“And the body?” Rhys asked.

“Removed by the coroner and stored at a local mortuary,” Lynn replied.

As a rule, in the case of historic burials the remains were left in situ, but, since the woman had been floating in a well, they could hardly leave her where they’d found her, especially when the property had been zoned for commercial use. The remains would have to be cremated or buried once the examination was complete. Quinn hoped, by the time the deceased was finally laid to rest, there would be a name to put on her gravestone.

“And she was wearing a ring?”

“Yes, a silver wedding ring, by the looks of it.”

This was a fascinating detail, but Lynn didn’t seem to know anything more about the remains.