If it weren’t for the dog, no one would have known.
No one would have known about the trapdoor.
No one would have known about the cold silence hidden beneath the cheerful floors of Little Leaf Daycare.
And no one—absolutely no one—would have believed that behind the painted murals of rainbows, the rows of tiny cubbies, and the gentle sound of lullabies playing from a speaker, something so terribly wrong had been concealed in plain sight.
But Diesel knew.
The Town That Trusted Too Much
It was a Tuesday morning in Crestfield, Indiana, a town so ordinary you could blink and miss it on a drive between Indianapolis and Louisville. The streets were lined with maple trees turning orange in the fall air, the sidewalks cracked in familiar places, and neighbors waved at one another as they left for work. In Crestfield, people still trusted their mailman, their pastor, their child’s daycare.
If you asked anyone, nothing bad ever happened here.
Officer James Nolan believed that, too—at least until that morning. He was pulling up to Little Leaf Daycare in his patrol car, sipping lukewarm coffee, ready to check out what sounded like a meaningless complaint. A woman across the street had reported hearing scratching noises and maybe even crying from inside the daycare the night before. James figured it was nothing. In towns like Crestfield, nothing usually was.
But Diesel didn’t think so.
