Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Chief Wells rapped her fist against the door of Ron Dyer’s farmhouse, the sound booming through the countryside, resonant in the evening silence. She shot Seth a disapproving look, but he was too tense to care.
Yes, she was skeptical of the whole thing, but he’d managed to convince her to come look anyway, based on what Claire had told him. She’d been very apprehensive as to how, when, and why Claire told him all those things, but he’d left that part vague.
“Don’t expect much to come from this,” Wells said. “I told you, there are things you don’t know about Claire Dyer. It’s possible she did forgive Dillon and ran off with him.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Wells gave him another scrutinizing look. “Remember, we pitch this as a wellness check. I’m not pushing exigent circumstances or anything like that unless Ron gives me a hard time. You just keep quiet, or I’ll have you out of here. I’m leading this.”
He was certain he might grind his teeth into dust, but he nodded. “I appreciate it, Chief.”
“Let’s just see what happens.”
Footsteps thumped over hardwood inside, and Ron Dyer cranked the door open. He zeroed in on Wells, and only Wells.
“Roslyn, this is a surprise! Thought you already had everything you needed from me?”
“Evening, Ron. You wouldn’t happen to know where Claire is at, would you?”
A smile split Ron’s face in two. He still hadn’t looked at Seth, not once, which was not like him, but it felt intentional.
As if to burn Seth from existence, and it worked to piss him off.
“You didn’t hear? Babygirl finally got a ring on her finger—she and Dillon got engaged this mornin’.
Spent the day here, helped Clementine settle in, then rode off in Dill’s car to celebrate, goin’ on a little road trip vacation. Left about an hour ago.”
“And you haven’t heard from her since?”
“Nope, but they said they were turnin’ their phones off, spendin’ some time together away from that social media crap.
They’ve been strugglin’ since everythin’ went down.
Dillon was havin’ affairs. Turns out Claire was too.
Clementine nearly dyin’ smacked some sense into both of ’em, ’specially Dillon. ”
Wells lifted a brow. “Claire was having an affair too, huh? With who?” she asked, although she didn’t sound all that curious. Seth remained a statue beside her.
“Now that, I don’t know,” Ron said. “Dillon don’t know either.
Adultery’s no good in my books, but Dillon figured Claire was owed one, let bygones be bygones, and called ’em even.
A bit beautiful how two people can come together after somethin’ like that, realize they’ve been wastin’ time chasin’ others. ”
Ron still didn’t even look at Seth when he said it. And Seth still didn’t buy it.
“Why?” Ron asked. “Somethin’ wrong, Chief? Claire said she gave all her statements to the police, didn’t think she’d be needed for at least a few days. They won’t be gone too long.”
Seth bit back a reply. He’d never been one to disrespect his superiors, but it was hard not to demand answers from Ron himself. But he had to let Chief Wells lead.
“We have some concerns about Claire’s safety,” Wells said. “We have reason to believe she may be being held somewhere against her will, and the last place her cell phone pinged before going offline was here.”
“Sure, they must’ve turned their cells off here,” Ron said, hands on his hips, feigning cluelessness. “As for being held against her will—I can assure you that is not the case. Clem’s home from the hospital, she can tell ya. Here, come on in.”
Chief Wells took the invitation to step inside the house. Seth lingered back, staring at Ron. Finally, Ron’s eyes fell on him.
“Don’t just stand there lookin’ pretty, Detective. Come on in.”
While Ron always had an abrasive edge to him, wrapped up in fake warmth, Seth felt it was especially forced now. Either way, he stepped inside, and his feet creaked against the old hardwood. The smell of wood and candlewax swallowed him. He clenched and unclenched his jaw.
She’s here. I know she is.
Chief Wells beckoned him to follow Ron down the hallway, past the living room, to another part of the maze-like house. So many family photos on the walls. Eventually, they came to a room covered in yellow paisley wallpaper.
“We usually keep this as a guest room, but it’s a good spot for Clem to have some at-home care,” Ron said, pushing the door open.
Clementine smiled when she saw them, splayed out on an antique bed surrounded by pillows. There was an IV monitor hooked up to her. “Detective Winslow,” she said. “It’s so nice to finally see you again.”
Seth hadn’t seen her since the incident. As tense as this all was, he was grateful for the light in her.
He turned to Wells, who nodded, giving him permission to go talk to Clementine. He approached her bedside, where Clementine held a hand out. Seth hesitantly slipped his palm onto hers. She was cold and papery soft as she squeezed him.
“Thank you so much for what you did for me,” she said. This close, the resemblance between her and Claire shocked him. Clementine had more hollow cheekbones, but they had that same roundness, that same kindness, those same green eyes. “You saved my life. You really are an angel, you know that?”
“I was just doing my job,” he said, trying to mask his discomfort. “I’m sorry you were hurt at all. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Hey, I didn’t die.” She let go, folding her hands over her lap. “What brings you here, Detective? I already told Chief Wells I can’t remember much. I tried to fight him off in the kitchen, but he stabbed me with somethin’ in my arm, then things got all… liquidy.”
Liquidy was one way to describe a heroin high.
“They’re worried about Claire,” Ron said, his voice booming. “Go on and tell ’em, Clem.”
For a millisecond, something passed over Clementine’s face. Guilt. Seth was sure of it, but she played it off by turning away, leaning into her weakened state.
“Oh, she went and got engaged. Romantic getaway with Dillon. They stopped by here today, spent some time around the farm, helped me get comfy, told me the good news. They took off a little bit ago.”
“You saw them yourself?” Seth asked.
“Yep. Happy little lovebirds, off to celebrate with a road trip. Goin’ wherever the road takes them, they said. Be back in a few days.”
Seth did not believe her. He also remembered what Claire said. That Clementine used to get put in the cage too—until she stopped getting in trouble.
Could Ron really have that much power over her?
Had he waterboarded her before too, or just Claire?
“Why, is Claire okay?” Clementine blinked innocently at Ron and Chief Wells.
“She’s fine, honey,” Wells said. “You get some rest.”
Wells signaled for Seth to follow her out. That same look crossed Clementine again.
Guilt.
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.