Page 4 of The Vanished

“Can I take a closer look at the well?” Quinn asked.

“As long as you’re careful. One body is quite enough for me,” Lynn quipped, but the joke fell flat.

The well looked ancient, its crumbling walls rising barely a few inches above the ground. Once they’d pulled off the tarp, a putrid smell wafted upwards, and the water was so murky it was impossible to see past the surface. The water level must have been higher while the body had been submerged, but now it barely reached halfway up the shaft, which glistened with brownish-green slime.

“Her hair was floating at the top,” Lynn explained as she peered down, her face pinched with distaste. “The lad who found her thought it was just twigs and grass, until he tried to clear them out. The foreman had the idea that the well could be restored and turned into a birdbath or a fountain.”

“What will happen to it now?” Rhys asked.

“I instructed the crew to drain the water and fill in the hole,” Lynn said. “I don’t want any reminders of the poor creature.”

Lynn made the dead woman sound like some mythical being who dwelled in the deep, but Quinn supposed it was natural to distance herself from the reality of the discovery. It was difficult to acknowledge that the deceased had once been a living, breathing person with feelings, dreams, and people who might have cared for her. To humanize her was to confront the truth that everyone dies—and that their remains are no less frightening once time has had its way with them. Lynn was far too vain to admit that death ravaged even the most beautiful face or claimed someone who’d achieved international acclaim.

“I’d like to speak to the former owner,” Rhys said. “Maybe we can include her testimonial in the episode.”

“Assuming she has something to add,” Lynn scoffed.

“Did anyone dredge the well?” Quinn asked. “Maybe something fell to the bottom.”

“Like what, photo ID? The coroner thought the woman had been in there for decades.”

“It’s still worth checking,” Quinn insisted.

“I’ll get someone onto that,” Rhys replied. “We might discover something valuable.”

“Anything found on my property belongs to me,” Lynn reminded him.

“I meant valuable in terms of information,” Rhys replied. He turned to Lynn, his lip curling with distaste. “Remember our deal, Lynn,” he said softly.

Lynn nodded. “I will be as accommodating as possible, as long as you mention the hotel and allow me to promote during the show.”

“We’ll see,” Rhys replied noncommittally. “First, we must determine if there’s a story to tell.”

“How could there not be?” Lynn exclaimed. “Even if the girl was some teenager who fell in the well, surely you can embellish the narrative. Make it compelling.”

“I don’t work like that,” Quinn said. “I will either tell her story as it happened or not at all.”

Lynn looked like she might be sorry she’d offered them a discount, but it was too late to go back on her word.

“I will see you both later,” she said. “I have the dinner service to supervise.”

“God, I thought she’d never leave,” Rhys said after Lynn was finally out of earshot. “Would you like a moment alone to see if you might sense anything?”

“No. I’m done here,” Quinn said and helped Rhys replace and fasten the tarp.

All she felt was infinite sadness, but it had nothing to do with her psychic ability and everything to do with untimely death and the reminders of the people she had loved and lost. As an archaeologist, she was acutely aware of the brevity of life and the ravages of time, but the events of the past few years had made those truths painfully personal, and there was no unlearning the hard lessons she had been forced to learn about love, trust, and the inability to prevent tragedy. Perhaps it would have been a more useful gift to be able to see into the future.

“What’s the plan?” Rhys asked as they walked back to the hotel.

“Tomorrow, I would like to view the body and examine anything found on the corpse. And then, I will begin.”

THREE

Quinn had been in her room less than ten minutes when Rhys knocked on her door.

“Let’s have a drink at the bar before dinner,” he suggested as he surveyed the accommodation from the doorway and nodded in approval.

She would have preferred an hour to herself. The room was an oasis of comfort and luxury, and the en suite bathroom was like something out of House & Garden. A fluffy white robe embroidered with the hotel crest and matching slippers had been left on the padded bench at the foot of the four-poster bed, and Quinn could hear the siren call of the deep clawfoot tub and the basket of bath gels and lotions. But as much as she would have enjoyed a hot bath with no one yelling at her through the door or rushing her to get out, she was only there for one night, and it was always a good idea to mix with the locals. One never knew what one could learn.