Page 17 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“They haven’t figured out who she is?” Molly hadn’t had the gumption to tune in to the news, whether TV or radio.
“No. At least they’re not saying.” Sid shook her head. “Are they allowing Trent to get in to do chores?”
“Yeah. And they called the Bensons, and they’re on their way back. I guess the authorities have a lot of questions for them.”
“But they were gone, so how could they have anything to do with it?” Sid frowned.
“I think it’s probably more about what connections there may be—not to mention it was on their property that the body was found.”
Sid nodded. “I suppose.” She sipped her coffee as they walked toward the barn. “Outside of old gravestones in your basement and a dead body down the road, what else do you have to reveal to me?”
Molly missed a step but recovered. “Nothing.” She could feel Sid’s sensing stare. The woman always knew when Molly was hiding something. Especially lately. She’d pulled away from Sid too. Maybe not as severely as she had from her own husband, but...
“So, there’s the barn.” Sid saved Molly from having to answer. “We definitely need to explore that. I should bringmy metal detector. Who knows what we’d find in the ground around this place!”
For a moment, Molly forgot herself as the idea piqued her curiosity. “Ooh, yeah!”
“Let’s go behind the barn. I see other outbuildings.” Sid took over the tour. Molly followed her friend, who years ago had embraced country living. She and her husband, Dan, and their four kids made it practically a work of art. Horses, chickens, a garden, canning, homeschooling ... Sid was the epitome of a woman in her mid-thirties who had fully embraced the heartbeat of Michigan country.
Then there was Molly. She was still trying to figure out who she was. Sometimes Sid’s stability made her envious. Sometimes it made her ache. Most of the time, Molly relied on it, more than Sid probably realized.
“Okay, that building there I bet was used as a toolshed.” Sid eyed a medium-sized building off to the side and behind the barn. It appeared to be newer than the barn. Its foundation was made of cinder block, its doors more modern but with tarnished knobs. The elements had been tough on it, leaving the siding weatherworn and the tin roof rusty. Two windows were intact, though some of their panes were cracked. Sid set her coffee mug on a rusted metal barrel that sat beside the door. She tried the doorknob, and it opened. Poking her head in, Sid’s words echoed from the empty innards of the shed.
“Yeah, I can see where they probably had some small machinery in here too at one point. There are grease and oil stains on the floor, and it smells like oil.”
Molly followed Sid into the shed. The floor was rough cement with dirt ground into its crevices. The corners of the shed were piled with leaves, debris, old nails, and there were cobwebs. Many, many cobwebs. Dead wasps were crispy in the windowsills, their yellow bodies faded from months of baking in the summer sun. She remembered now. Trent hadsaid something to her about wanting to clean out the back shed so they could build shelves and store his “stuff” in here. Meaning a push lawn mower, tools, his copious numbers of coffee cans filled with nails and screws, quarts of oil, and so on. Basically this place would become a garage without the vehicle storage.
“Nice but not your chicken coop.” Sid was on a mission. She charged from the shed, ducking so as not to hit her head on the doorframe that was sagging. Molly followed, vaguely curious but mostly preoccupied with her own thoughts. They swirled in her mind, making focusing on the moment at hand difficult.
“Aha!” Sid pointed. “Chicken coop!”
What Sid was pointing to appeared to Molly to be just another outbuilding. More squat, one level, and a peaked roof with a small square window that hinted of an attic of sorts. The foundation was of fieldstone, with wood siding turned gray by the elements. A fence ran from one corner, creating a square with the main entrance to the building inside the fence.
“Aren’t chicken coops ... cuter?” Molly recalled pictures of angular little buildings on stilts, at least three-quarters the size of this building, and definitely not capable of having a human enter it.
Sid gave her arm a playful slug. “C’mon, this is country living, Molly, not suburban chickens. We use outbuildings and make them into coops around these here parts.” Her exaggerated redneck accent made Molly grin.
“I just thought—”
Sid interrupted with exuberance. “You can get a cutesy coop if you want a few chickens. But if you’re going toraisechickens, you need to go big.”
Molly raised her brows. Raise chickens? The idea of a few chickens and a cute coop seemed more manageable to her.
“I love it!” Sid was beaming, excitement oozing from hereyes. She cast a contagious grin in Molly’s direction. “Check it out! You have an entirebuildingfor a coop!”
The fence was gated, but the gate was hanging from one hinge and in need of repair. Sid pushed it to the side and crossed the fenced area, manhandling the door to the coop that was apparently swollen from time and weather and sticking to the floor.
Molly moved to follow, reaching the fence and holding out her hand to the wobbling, lopsided gate. Her fingers touched the metal, and she stilled. A zinging sensation drove through her fingertips, up her arm and into her face. She could feel the tingling on her skin—no, it wasbehindher skin—it was inside of her. Molly stumbled and grabbed hold of the wooden post the gate was attached to. As she did, her body leaned into it, her shirt soaking up dampness from the humidity.
Don’t go in.
The humming reverberated in her head, causing a rush of throbbing pressure that made Molly squeeze her eyes shut.
Stay out.
“Molly?” Sid’s voice overwhelmed the subtle murmur in Molly’s mind. “Molly.” Sid’s tone was sharper this time.
Molly opened her eyes, groggily taking in Sid’s concerned expression. The door to the coop stood open. Molly stared at it, studying the darkness beyond it, straining to see inside while everything in her urged her to drag Sid far away from it. To slam shut the door on its old-time chicken nests, its dust and cobwebs, and whatever other secrets it held inside.
