Raine Stockton Dog Mystery series
I picked my way carefully across the floor, acutely
aware of the clinking whisper of snow on the metal roof,
the panting of my dog, the scrape of my own footfalls–
the only sounds in a place that was suddenly way too
quiet, way too empty. I leaned down and gave Cisco a
reassuring pat–reassuring for me, not for him– and that
was when I saw it.
On the northern wall not far from the fireplace was a
spot which had been cleared of leaves and debris. A
casual observer might have simply thought that the
wind had blown the spot clear. The casual observer
would not have been looking for, nor would he have
noticed, claw marks in the dirt which, upon closer
examination, revealed what was not a dirt floor at all,
but a slab of wood. And even though this was what I
had come here to find, when I saw it my throat went
tight and my pulse started to race.
I dropped Cisco’s lead and he went straight to the spot,
sniffing it with avid interest, and then–just as he must
have done the other night–digging experimentally at the
edges of the concealed door.
How could Buck have forgotten about the root cellar
and the trap door that led to it? How could I? Every kid
in the county had played here at one time or another,
had made a hide-out or an Indian fortress out of it, had
locked his little brother inside, had concealed
childhood treasures in its depths. Every one of us had
thought he or she was the only one who knew about it.
I don’t remember stumbling across the room and
dropping to the floor, I was that scared, that hopeful,
that terrified of what I would find. My throat was so dry
and my breath so heavy I felt as though I was drowning
as I frantically felt around the edges of the door, found
the worn metal hook that once had supported a
rawhide loop, and lifted the door upward on its hinges.
Cisco backed up, surprised yet curious, as the smell of
cold earth rose up to meet us.
I fumbled in my pocket for my flashlight, and the beam
shook noticeably as I shone it inside. In the old days,
this subterranean room had been used to store root
vegetables and preserves through the winter, to shelter
the family from severe storms, and who knows?–
maybe even to hide them from enemy attack. There
were sturdy steps carved deep into the earth, and
though my recollection from childhood was that it was a
cavernous place, fully big enough to hold a dragon and
a sea serpent or two, there were in fact only six steps
leading downward, and the entire chamber couldn’t
have been more than six by eight feet. It was, as my
wildly erratic light slowly revealed, empty.
Or at least it was empty of human forms, and that was
all I cared about at the moment. I stretched out on my
stomach over the opening so that I could sweep the
interior with my light, and I was just about to draw in my
first full breath since I’d spotted the trap door when my
flashlight beam brushed over something. And the
breath caught in my throat.
Actually there were two things. The first one was lying
crumpled against the bottom step, obscured by the
angle of the wall so that it was only partially visible to
me. It had gleaming sightless eyes, and pale thin hair.
It was a child’s stuffed toy.
Had it not been for the knee brace, I probably would
have scrambled down the steps and snatched up the
artifact, although I’d like to think that at least some of
the past ten years of being married to a policeman– not
to mention being raised by a judge– would have
rubbed off and I would have remembered, even if at the
last minute, the rules of evidence. As it was I remained
frozen in place, gasping for breath, holding the
flashlight in both hands until the slamming of my heart
subsided to a mere roar in my ears. Then I slowly, and
none too steadily, moved the beam in a searching arc
toward the other object that had caught my eye. And I
didn’t breathe at all.
Finally I wiggled back from the opening,sat up, and put
my arms around my dog. “I’m sorry, Cisco,” I
whispered. “You were right. I’m sorry, boy. Good boy,
good dog.”
Cisco licked my face.
I took a deep breath, struggled to my feet, and pulled
my cell phone from my pocket. I dialed 911.
Because the other thing I had seen in the cellar was the
metallic gleam of a gun.
copyright 2005 Donna Ball Inc
