Sarah Benadine is Dead

Chapter V, Part IV

Much of September was, in a way, a resting period. It was as if the storm clouds that were gathering around good old Clearwater needed a chance to collect their thoughts before they went in for the kill. Some of the townspeople would later say they knew more was on its way—some of the more attune might have actually been telling the truth—but for a time all was quiet. Students had a chance to settle back into school routines. Parents had a chance to get used to their children being absent from backyards and playgrounds during the afternoon. The Clearwater Police Department had a chance to make advancements in their investigation of Sarah Benadine's death, none of which led anywhere.

September gave room to breathe. And then, on October 1st, Clifford Dent and Horace Strickland stood in front of Caddey's Butcher Shop on Main—just a few doors down from the library, in fact—staring in through the gaping hole where the frosted glass window had been. Glass pieces shimmered and crunched under their feet.

"I'll tell ya, Dent, this town's going to pieces," Strickland said heavily, walking forward across the glass shards and sticking his head through the window frame.

"What do you think?" Cliff asked, following him. "Connection to Sarah Benadine?"

Strickland looked at him sullenly. "Aw, hell if I know. Don't know what the hell this guy's up to if it is. Got the same look to it though; all that glass shattered everywhere, just like the doors to the library."

"Yeah." Cliff nodded, considering. "Most of the glass is in the shop, though. I think it was broken from the outside."

"Can't believe no one heard or saw nothing," Strickland said. For a moment he looked like a child who had not gotten his way. "We got houses down at the end of the street and apartments on top of half these buildin's and nobody heard boo."

"They were good, whoever they were," Cliff said. "At least no one was hurt."

"Yeah, yeah." Strickland didn't sound particularly thankful. "All right, guess we ain't gonna get nothing done just staring at it. Granado!"

Huey Granado, a tall, dark-haired kid still young enough to have a face full of acne, came racing over.

"Yes, sir?"

"I want you and Dent on the inside, see if you can't come up with something. With any luck it was just some stupid kids' idea of a prank."

"Of course, of course. Not a problem. I'm sure you're right. What all was taken, boss?" Granado was the biggest suck-up this side of the Mississippi; Cliff was always half-expecting him to fall to his knees and start groveling.

"Not much of anything," Strickland said. "Floyd said the contents of his freezer had been messed around with, but that was it."

"Sounds like a prank, then, just like you said," Granado said. Strickland looked at him with distaste.

"Go and find out, then, huh?"

"Of course, sir."

Granado sped into the shop as fast as his legs would carry him. Cliff trailed after him, watching the ground under his feet.

"You know," Cliff said thoughtfully as he got to the door, "this is pretty thick glass. Would've taken a lot of power to break through it."

"Oh, Dent, I ain't in the mood for your kookie theories," Strickland said in exasperation. "Just get in there and make sure Granado doesn't get too excited."

Cliff nodded. "Sure."

September was the calm. October reawakened whatever was at work in Clearwater. It was only a matter of time, really. It wasn't over. Cliff Dent knew that. In a way, Shannon Malone probably did too. If she didn't then, she would soon enough.