Cherry Two

Part 32

Chapter 30

Donna Sanford had chosen a lookout spot further along the rural road on higher ground. Despite trees, it afforded a decent view of the farmhouse and sheds; also the lone yellow Chevy parked in the yard. She'd been sitting in the Taurus for a couple of hours with a thermos of sweetened coffee and a bag of sugar donuts for company, thinking about diabetes and listening to the constant pounding of the rain. Nothing had moved on the farm property since she'd established the vantage point, only minutes after Ina Benson and her mystery visitors had arrived home.

The downpour began to ease off. This seemed like as good a time as any to put in an appearance. Provided Joe Benson stayed true to his word, Jobyna would be apprised of the situation by now and already in a positive frame of mind. The daughter would cooperate and save her troubled parents additional anguish on top of the pile they already had; Sanford harbored little doubt of that.

She engaged drive and headed down the hill.

The farmyard remained awash with mud from the deluge, which meant her fancy dress shoes and pant cuffs would get messed up from tramping a scant few paces to the porch. Sanford, a city girl unaccustomed to the ways of the land, made a mental note to learn from this rural assignment and dress more appropriately next time.

After pulling up alongside the rusty Chevy, Sanford tried to avoid the worst puddles. A curse or two slipped from her lips before she made the sanctity of the first wooden step. After rapping on the doorframe two or three times she decided to barge in as she'd done before. The door's corroded hinges squealed as she pulled.

"Hello, Donna Sanford again. Hello, Mr. Benson?"

Nothing. Complete silence.

"Hello, Mrs. Benson. I hope you don't mind." Screw it! She can mind all she wants. I have a job to do.

Despite tracking mud into the house, Sanford wasn't going to be put off by a total lack of response. She took pride in being an investigator, and a damn good one. Over the fifteen years on the job she'd never failed to complete an assignment yet. And this "country caper" proved a no-brainer by any urban standard.

The utility room led out to the bare floor hallway, past the staircase, to the parlor where she'd sat earlier with Joe. Window light had diminished in the gloom of the heavy, overcast sky. No lights burned inside the rustic farmhouse.

She stood in the center of the shadowy room. Joe's cane was now propped against the fireplace beside his empty easy chair. A half-glass of amber liquor with a fresh ice cube sat on a small round table, close at hand—except there was no hand to raise it.

"HELLO," she called out again, only louder.

A quick scan of the kitchen and dining room completed the main floor reconnoiter. The stairs creaked as she began to climb. Could Joe Benson have scaled such a steep flight without his cane? The Benson's had to be here, but something wasn't adding up right. No one could have vacated the farmhouse without her seeing the activity from the hilltop vantage point.

As expected the bedrooms yielded nothing—likewise the bathroom. What the hell is this? Goddamn Mary Celeste on land?

That left the cellar. Why they would elect to hide down there made no more sense than the rest of it. Please tell me, what's the point of this dumb hide-and-seek game? Joe Benson had seemed rational and understood Sanford only wanted to talk, not make threats. Jobyna could refuse any contact she didn't care to make.

At the top of the cellar steps Sanford let rip with another big hello into the dark void. Her hand groped about for a switch. There was no way she'd attempt to wobble her way down the swaybacked steps in heels without some light. On contact with a pull chain a lone dim bulb flickered on at the foot of the stairs.

"HELLO!" Screw this! "If anyone is down there will you please come up? I don't bite."

Persistent silence.

She took a deep breath and began to descend the worn wooden steps, concentrating on her foot placement, knowing in the back of her mind Joe could only get down there from a fall.

Junk piled high everywhere she looked—old disused furniture, piping, rusty car parts. What looked like a giant steel fish tank dominated the center space. The cellar had an old rotting smell similar to garden refuse or fertilizer. In one corner many bags of field lime were stacked almost to the rafters—but not a Benson in sight.

Sanford was about to vacate the subterranean hellhole when something made her stop. An open bag of lime rested against the base of the steel tank and part of its contents had spilled onto the concrete floor. Clear footprints were tracked through the white powder and led away to the staircase. Man-size footprints.

She started to tingle. Her training said: get out. Her curiosity said: find out.

A rickety old kitchen chair provided something to stand on, as the sides of the welded fish-breeding tank were at least five feet tall. She peered in over the lip, wondering how such a huge thing could be down here in the first place. Very little light penetrated the interior and without her trusty flashlight, which still resided in the car's glovebox, she couldn't provide any.

Something bulky lurked down there in deep shadow; that much she could see. Not a moving thing. The rancid odor rising into her face was sufficient to deter any further investigation. Whatever time-rotted residue lay at the bottom of this industrial fish tank could stay. Sanford clambered off the chair before it collapsed and turned to the flight of steps. As she did this, a moving shadow flitted across the high open doorway where only the feeblest daylight filtered in.

So someone was in the house. Where the hell had these lunatics been hiding?

"HELLO! I'm down here. I'm coming up, Mr. Benson."

The steps groaned again as Sanford applied her weight. This turned out to be the last thing she ever did. Whatever thing hit her in the face came from above with such power and force it propelled her down to the cement floor in a single swoop, where the back of her skull cracked open like a fresh farm egg. As she landed with a splat, her cell phone started to ring.

When Donna Sanford revealed Robert Nameth as the interested party to crippled Jo Benson, did she make a horrendous error of judgment? Did she awaken unfinished business from a quarter century past that may have cost Sanford her life? Is Calley not so off-the-wall as everyone thinks?

If you are enjoying Cherry Two, please vote and comment any way you wish. Thanks to all my readers.

Go to my homepage for more info.

https://www.wattpad.com/user/Thrillwriterdotcom