Putting the Pieces Together

Jane and Grace were the only two people remaining on the Zoom call.  Their friends had bowed out when it became clear that no one had new insights regarding Willow's location.  

Jane's eyes widened.  She smacked her palm against her desk.  "Sheriff Mitchell.  He must be the one who kidnapped Willow and Collin."

"Why do you say that?" Grace said.

"When I called him to report Willow missing, something felt wrong about the conversation, and I finally figured out what it was.  When I said Willow was missing, he said something like, 'Wasn't she out with her boyfriend?'  How would he know that?"

"Maybe he saw them in the gardens," Grace said.

"And he told me that he couldn't open a missing person case for 24 hours, but I hadn't told him what time she went missing."

"I feel like it's pretty common for people to call the sheriff sooner than 24 hours, though.  That one could be a guess."

"It has to be the sheriff."

"I mean, I'm not saying you're wrong," Grace said.  "When the sheriff talked to me about the camera, the whole situation felt ... off.  Like something was up.  But even if Sheriff Mitchell did take them, where would he be keeping them?"

Jane picked at her nail bed.  "Underground.  Maybe a basement?"

"If she was in a basement in town, wouldn't someone hear her and Collin if they called for help?"

"Not if it's soundproof."

"Okay, but what are the odds he has a soundproof basement?  Plus, it's not like he lives alone.  Wouldn't Mrs. Mitchell and Ricky figure out that something was up?"

Silence filled the room.  Jane peeled away a thin strip of flesh from the base of her cuticle.  Bright red blood rushed to the surface of her skin, pooling in the wound.

"Wait, I've got an idea," Grace said.  "My mom told me that there was this rich dude who built a fallout shelter out in the middle of the woods near here back in the sixties.  Cold War and all.  When he died, he left it to the town, under the condition that they keep it operational in case it's ever needed.  They keep it fully stocked with food and water, and the sheriff is the one who oversees it.  What if that's where she is?"

"Does your mom know where the fallout shelter is?"

"I don't think so.  She learned about it through doing accounting for the town, so it's not like she needed to go there or anything."

"Google Maps," Jane said.  "The entrance has got to be above ground, right?  If we look at the overhead view of the woods, maybe we can find it, and if we can find it on the map, we can use GPS to get there."

"I think I found something," Grace said.  She shared her screen, which displayed an aerial view of a section of Fair River Forest.  A clearing stood in the midst of the woods, and in that clearing was a pixelated gray rectangle.

"That could be something," Jane said.

"What do we do now?  I mean, obviously we go there, but like, should we get people?  How do we get in there if the door's locked?"

"I don't know," Jane said.  "But we've got to do something."

*********

On the other side of town, Sheriff Mitchell is pacing about his living room.  His wife, Beverly, went to bed early with a headache, and his son, Ricky, is out somewhere, probably at the pub in the next town over, getting good and drunk.  Sheriff Mitchell is developing a bit of a headache himself, and he could sure use a cold one.

He patted his side, feeling the comforting shape of his service revolver.  He picked up his phone, cursing under his breath as he closed out Willow's video, and stuffed the device into his pocket.  His footsteps pounded against the floor as he marched toward the front door.