Page 107 of Nowhere Good

She could try to outrun it, but she’d never escape it. Seth knew how that felt first-hand.

Back near the front door, Ron opened his arms and said, “There you have it. Anythin’ else I can help you folks with?”

Seth prayed Wells would not back down.

Thankfully, she didn’t.

“Sorry to do this, Ron, but can we take a look around the property? It’s this… tip we got. I’m not suggesting you know anything, but we have to rule the farm out.”

“Jeez, Roslyn, my kitchen and my cornfields were already swarmin’ with cops yesterday and this morning. I don’t know what you’re hopin’ to find, but go ahead, take a look around.”

Chief Wells gave Seth a nod. He gestured to the closed door by the kitchen. “Is that the basement?”

“Why yes, Detective, that is the basement.” Ron went over and held the door wide open, revealing a dark, gaping maw into the basement. “Go on down.”

Seth exchanged another look with Wells before he went first. It wasn’t like Norm, whose nervous energy had surrounded him like a swarm of buzzing wasps. Ron radiated overconfidence. And that worried Seth as much as it raised his suspicions.

The basement was cold and smelled of dust. Ron thumped down the stairs behind him and flicked on a light, revealing an unfinished room with concrete flooring, a maze of shelves piled with old boxes, most of them with permanent marker scribbled on them: Celine, Family Photos, Grandpa War Stuff.

“Most of Celine’s stuff’s down here,” Ron said, “but lots of Dyer history too.” He shot Seth a mischievous look. “If you see a souvenir you like, Detective, feel free to take it.”

This guy was really pissing him off. It took everything in him to ignore it and focus.

Seth kept his hands in the pockets of his slacks and moved through the basement. Chief Wells lingered beside him at first, then broke off to check the other side. The shelves and boxes were overwhelming. If there was ever a large cage down here, there’d be very little room for it.

As Seth passed through the shelves, he checked the floor, kicking at the concrete, checking for any sign of a hatch or something like that. He’d heard about cases like that before. He tapped at the brick walls, but nothing out of the ordinary stood out. As he looped back toward the staircase, he noticed the spandrel underneath was stuffed with even more boxes and junk. It’d take a whole crew to sift through this stuff, but he took a stab at it anyway. He pushed through the boxes enough to tap at a concrete wall beneath the stairs. It was sturdy. Solid. Real.

Seth tried to release his jaw, feeling it click under the tension.

“Well?” Ron asked. “You satisfied or what?”

Seth ducked out from beneath the stairs. He exchanged a look with Wells, who turned to Ron.

“We’ll check the barn next,” Wells said.

An hour later, the sun was starting to set, and the search of the farm had yielded nothing.

The barn had been empty, save for a few tractors and tools.

There was no cellar.

No hidden rooms, at least not that Seth could find.

He’d catalogued the location of the hose attached to the house out back, and it did look like it could be stretched to lead into the basement through the sliding door to the kitchen, but there was nothing down there. Wherever Claire was, it wasn’t here.

The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but he had no choice. He stood beside Chief Wells on the front porch while Ron’s huge body occupied the door.

“Thanks for your time, Ron,” Wells said. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

“It’s all right, Roslyn. You know me; I’m an open book.”

Chief Wells dipped her chin in goodbye. Seth rigidly went to follow, but Ron stopped him.

“Hold on, Detective Winslow—a word?”

Seth exchanged a look with Wells. After a moment, she said, “I’ll wait in the car,” and left.

Alone on the porch, with the sunset turning the old wood into fire, Seth forced himself to meet Ron’s cold eyes as he leaned against the doorframe.