Another piece in a long line of cryptic clues that Blythe and Bellamy had fed her over the past few days. But if it meant she was about to find out the truth behind this rapidly expanding mystery, she could handle being in the blind for one more ride.

From the sound of it, it was going to be the ride of their lives.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

A faded, lime green iron door didn't match anything about the otherwise ordinary-looking old farmhouse. Instead of wooden steps, a long, shallow ramp led up to the porch, flanked by white railings. Rusty farm vehicles rested around a disused concrete yard away to the left. The stables appeared empty as did the doorless barn. There was no car parked outside the house and no one answered the doorbell. Rose even knocked on the horrid iron door a few times, the paint chipping away under her knuckles, but got no reply.

“Whoever it is, they're not home,” she concluded.

“Maybe. But not necessarily.” Blythe waved her daughter aside, twisted the knob and pressed on the heavy door. It groaned open on its old hinges, making a noise similar to a waking giant. Her mother stepped inside and called out, “Hello? Hank? It's Blythe. Are you home?”

At first, she received no reply. Rose noted how clutter-free the hall and the adjoining rooms were. One could walk from the front door straight through to the back of the house without a single obstacle in the way. But that wasn't all. Hand rails along the walls suggested the occupant was unwell, maybe had trouble walking. Yet, there was no stair-lift of any kind.

Footsteps on the landing drew everyone's attention to the stairs. In a nervous jitter of movements, Blythe corralled Rose and the boys to one side, saying, “You'll want to give him some room.”

Rose tried casting her mind back to that day at the fair, to before the fire. She'd spent time with this man, maybe on more than one occasion. Why couldn't she picture him? His face was a blur in the chaos of otherwise sharp images.

“I heard voices. Who's there?” came the shout from aloft. Not an alarmed call, but more a playfully curious one.

“Hank… I-it's Blythe.” When he didn't respond, she added, “Told you I'd come.”

“Blythe?” Tenderness and disbelief rang in the voice. “How did you...I thought you were sick.”

“Not as sick as we thought, apparently. Still had enough go in me for one more trip.” Careful steps began to shuffle down the long staircase and Rose could see the nervous way her mother wrung her fingers.

“You should've called. I'd have gotten Steph to set up something special for supper.”

“Don’t you worry about that, now,” she replied. “Is Steph around?”