Night Shift. Annelise Ryan

to be a field.

      Somebody was out here, I realize, and it might be the someone who killed the farmer.

      Time to interrupt the others.

      Chapter 5

      I make my way to the back door of the house as fast as I can, looking over my shoulder several times. I hesitate at the back stoop, unsure if I should put Roscoe in the car or let him follow me into the house. Neither answer seems right, so I tell him to sit and stay, and I enter the house alone.

      The kitchen is brightly lit and filled with people, little groups of two or three, each one carrying on a conversation. I can’t see the victim because both Laura and Doc Morton are standing between him and me, and for a moment the tableau looks as if there’s a party going on at the house with several of the guests hanging out in the kitchen having a chat. It’s a bizarrely disorienting moment, and I quickly shake it off.

      “There was someone here on the property,” I say to no one in particular.

      Nobody acknowledges me. In fact, no one has bothered to so much as look at me since I entered the room. That overactive imagination kicks in and for a moment I wonder if I’m dead, if I ran into the killer out there in the barn and now I’m nothing more than a ghost, a spirit, the thing of Danny’s nightmare, since none of these people seem to be able to hear or see me. I hold my hands out in front of me and stare at them. They look solid and real enough, so I try again, more affirmative with my declaration and a little louder this time.

      “Someone was here on the property. Just now. What if it was the killer?”

      This time I get the attention I want. They all pause with what they are doing and turn to look at me. It’s Brenda Joiner who first seems to get the importance of my words.

      “There’s someone here on the property?” she says, her hand reflexively feeling for her gun, which is currently hidden beneath her white Tyvek body suit. She hurries across the room toward me with Devo and Sheriff Carson on her heels.

      “There was,” I say. “It was out by the barn. I heard someone running and then heard a car door close. And I saw a car driving across the fields beyond the barn.”

      “What did this person look like?” Sheriff Carson asks.

      “I don’t know,” I say with an apologetic shrug. “The lights in the barn went out on me all of a sudden and I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face, much less anything else.”

      Brenda, Devo, and Sheriff Carson push past me, and I follow them. Outside they shed their body suits like a second skin and then quick march toward the barn. After telling Roscoe to come and heel, I trot after them, struggling to keep up. The three cops stop at the open entrance to the barn and look inside, staring into the darkness and giving me time to catch up.

      I show them where the light switches are but, before flipping them on, I also point out the spot of light coming up through the floor beneath the combine. “Look at that,” I say, panting slightly. I’m embarrassed by how out of breath I am. “It looks like it’s coming up through the floor. I think there’s a cellar beneath this barn.”

      There are grunts of acknowledgment, and then Sheriff Carson walks over and flips the switches for the lights. As the fluorescents sizzle and crackle to life, I’m forced to close my eyes temporarily against the brightness.

      “I’ll scout the perimeter,” Carson says. “You guys check out the interior.” With that, Carson goes outside and makes his way around to the front side of the barn.

      Devo and Brenda both undo the snaps on their holsters, though neither one pulls their gun. They step inside and without a word they split so that Devo is checking out the left side of the barn where the hay bales are stacked and Brenda is scouting out the empty stalls. They both disappear as they work their ways past the combine toward the other end of the barn. They are amazingly quiet at their task, and the silence feels suddenly ominous. I realize I’m alone and standing in bright light—an easy target. I swallow hard and reach down to touch Roscoe’s head for a little reassurance.

      Seconds tick by and the night is utterly silent again, the cops stealthy in their work. Then I hear Pete Carson holler from the back side of the building. “Found an entrance.”

      Roscoe and I hurry out of the barn and around the corner to the back side of the building. There I see Sheriff Carson shining his flashlight on a bulkhead-style cellar door located about halfway down the length of the building. I start toward him and see Brenda and Devo come around the far end of the building. We all meet in the middle.

      “Hildy was right,” Devo says. “There are fresh tire tracks out there. Looks like there’s an old dirt road that runs between two fields. It probably connects to County Road D. And there is a matching set of switches for the lights at the other end of the barn.” He looks at me with a sympathetic smile. “I’m guessing that’s how you got plunged into darkness.”

      “There’s also a trapdoor in the floor of the barn near that end,” Brenda says. “That might be where the person Hildy heard came from. It has a keypad padlock on it, so it can’t be opened from inside the barn unless you know the combination.”

      Carson looks at the bulkhead doors. “These are padlocked, too, but with a more traditional lock. I’m guessing the key is around here somewhere. Though I suppose we could saw the lock off.”

      “I saw a ring of keys hanging by the backdoor of the house,” Brenda says. “Might be worth a try. I’ll run and get them.”

      Brenda takes off at a trot toward the house, leaving the three of us and Roscoe standing by awkwardly, waiting. I feel Pete Carson’s eyes on me and after trying to ignore it for a bit, I finally cave and look at him.

      “You’re the new social worker,” he says. I nod. He shifts his gaze to Devo. “How’s it going so far?”

      “It’s going great,” I say quickly before Devo has a chance to answer. He shoots me a sidelong look while Carson clucks his tongue.

      “She’s right,” Devo says. “It’s her second night and she’s already proven herself with a mental health situation. The dog, too.”

      Carson looks down at Roscoe, who thumps his tail at the attention. “What’s his name?” Carson asks.

      “Roscoe.” At the sound of his name, Roscoe’s tail picks up the beat and he grins at Devo, tongue lolling out one side of his mouth.

      Carson walks over and puts a tentative hand on Roscoe’s head. Roscoe butts his head up into Carson’s palm, and then leans against Carson’s leg. The effect of this simple encounter is rapid and amazing. I watch as all the tension dissipates from Carson’s body. His posture eases, his facial muscles relax, and a hint of a smile forms. The awesome and mighty power of dog love at work.

      Brenda’s return breaks the moment, and she hands the key ring to Carson, who hits pay dirt with the second key he tries. Roscoe and I back away from the bulkhead doors and both Carson and Brenda take their guns out while Devo grabs ahold of the right bulkhead door in preparation for opening it. He counts down from three with his fingers—the use of silence at this point seems unnecessary to me, but what do I know—and then he lifts the door and lets it fall to the side.

      Light spills out from below, but no sound emanates from within. After waiting several seconds to make sure no one and nothing is coming out of the basement, Devo hurries around and opens the other door. He then tells me to stay put until he announces it clear, and then the three of them make their way down the stairs, guns at the ready.

      Roscoe and I wait, tensed, for several minutes. Then Devo yells, “All clear.”

      I venture down the stairs, Roscoe at my side, and enter a large room that, at first, appears to be separated into two sections. The largest area, in front of me and off to my right, is filled with wooden planters sporting hundreds of healthy plants, fed and watered by an overhead irrigation system of hoses. Lights in the ceiling mimic daylight. I realize as I