Bindweed

by Janis Harrison

  The color drained from Abigail’s face. She leaned weakly against the silo. “How horrible.”

  “We’ve gotten a portion of what we came for. Let’s go.”

  Abigail didn’t move. In a musing tone, she said, “Phillip would never extract the juice from a poison-ivy vine in his house or at the antiques store. He gives his customers free run of the barn, letting them snoop around, looking at the furniture he’s working on, but I’ve never seen inside the silo.”

  Slowly she turned and touched the brick wall. “As you’ve said, we’ve gotten a portion of what we need, but we don’t know everything.” She tapped a brick with a fingernail. “It’s here, Bretta. I know it is. All the answers are on the other side of this wall.”

  My gaze traveled up the thirty-foot tower. As I studied the brick exterior, I remembered Toby’s aversion to the brick lighthouse that had been at the flower shop. I remembered Melba saying that Toby had said that “bad things happen in towers.”

  I sighed. “I want answers, too, but they might as well be on the moon for all the good it will do us.”

  Abigail moved around the structure. “There are steel rungs cemented into the bricks.”

  I followed her. “I know, but the first one is ten feet off the ground. How do you propose we close the gap? I don’t see a ladder lying conveniently around here, do you?”

  Abigail grinned. “We don’t need a ladder. We have Sugar Cube’s broad back.”

  When it dawned on me what she was suggesting, I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not getting up on that horse.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll make the climb. Once I’m inside I’ll unlock a door and you can walk in.”

  It was tempting, but I didn’t like the idea of Abigail going inside on her own. We’d found the cold-pressed poison-ivy vine. Surely Sid could use that as a toehold for getting a search warrant. I shook my head. “Let’s go find a phone. I’ll call Sid. He can deal with it.”

  Abigail put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re this close to finding out the truth and you’re going to turn your back and walk away.”

  “I’m showing sense,” I said, but Abigail wasn’t listening to me. She stomped away. I thought she was headed back the way we’d come, but she only went as far as the old cookstove. She hopped up, whistled to Sugar Cube, and pointed her finger. Obediently, the horse went to her.

  “Abigail,” I said. “Don’t do it. You don’t know what’s inside the silo.”

  “That’s the whole point,” she said, swinging her leg over the horse’s back. Sugar Cube didn’t move. “Come on,” she said. “If you don’t want me to go alone, then come with me.”

  “That’s not a choice. I don’t like horses or heights.”

  Abigail stroked Sugar Cube’s mane. “What’s not to like? He’s a sweetheart. As for heights, just don’t look down.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” I muttered, but I walked to the stove. How could I back away now? I wanted answers. I had liked Leona, but I cared deeply about Toby. If Phillip was behind Toby’s murder, then I wanted to know why. I wanted to be the one who gathered the evidence that would put him behind bars.

  I got up on the stove. On this level Abigail and I were eye to eye. Staring at her, I said softly, “Your mother is divorced from our father.”

  She licked her lips and finally said, “That’s right.”

  I didn’t change expression. “What if we get to the top and the silo is empty?”

  She blinked a couple of times. “Then we climb down and beat it out of here. But you and I both know that won’t be the case.”

  Resigned, I put a hand on Sugar Cube’s back. It was warm and bristly. Abigail took hold of my arm and pulled. With a few grunts and groans, I found myself on the horse’s back, seated behind Abigail. I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around her waist, and hung on for dear life. We swayed our way slowly around the silo.

  Abigail said, “Whoa, boy.” She twisted so she could touch my arm. “Open your eyes, Bretta. You have to watch what I do so you can follow suit.”

  I did as she directed. “Sure. Right. Let’s do it.” My intention was to speak in a calm, rational manner. Instead, I delivered a squeaky, squawky rendition of a woman scared witless.

  “If you stretch your arms up, you can grab the bottom rung.” Abigail demonstrated. “See? That’s easy. Once you have a tight hold, then you can pull yourself upright.” She came nimbly to her feet, balancing herself on the horse’s back. “Now that you’re up this high, you can reach for the third rung and from there on it’ll be a snap.”

  Without Abigail to hold on to, I felt as vulnerable as a bug at a square dance. For reassurance, I put a hand on her leg. I needed personal contact. I needed to know that I wasn’t alone. That’s when it occurred to me that once she was up the ladder, I’d be left with only the horse for company. What if I couldn’t make Sugar Cube obey? What if he galloped off across the pasture with me on his back? I shuddered as the image played out in my mind.

  Tentatively, I said, “Maybe I should go first.”

  Abigail looked down at me. “If you can do it, that might be best. That way I can keep Sugar Cube steady until you get on the ladder.”

  She squatted and swung her leg over the horse’s neck. Once she was settled in front of me again, she maneuvered Sugar Cube so I was closer to the silo. I wasn’t as nimble as Abigail, but I amazed myself. I grabbed the rung with both hands and slowly stood up. There was no time to think. I stretched to another rung and swung myself off the horse. With Abigail’s help, my sneaker found a toehold. Reaching over my head, I found the next rung and pulled myself up.

  Below me, Abigail called encouragement. “Go up a couple more, and then I’ll be right below you.”

  I didn’t speak. I needed all my concentration for the job at hand. And so I climbed. I never looked down, but I did look up, though the sight was far from reassuring. Dark storm clouds raced across the sky and collided like bumper cars. The wind was cooler and the threat of rain was imminent.

  I tried not to think about what I was doing. Letting go of one rung to reach for the next was agonizing. At this height the wind tore at my clothes and whipped my hair into my eyes. My legs trembled with fear and fatigue. My hands were like perfectly formed claws that fit around each iron rung. I wasn’t physically fit enough for this kind of exercise. Maybe I needed to join Lois at that health club. My heart was hammering by the time I got to the top.

  The top!

  I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath. What a fool I was! How could I have been so stupid not to have looked this far ahead? Now that I was at my destination, I had to climb over the rim.

  Below me, Abigail called, “Bretta, don’t stop now.”

  “I don’t think I can—”

  “Sure you can. Dad says you have more courage than anyone he knows.”

  That wasn’t the best argument she could have used. I was hurt and angry that my father hadn’t been honest with me. Why couldn’t he tell me that I have a half-sister? He’d told Abigail all about me. Why hadn’t he given me that same courtesy?

  My tone was waspish as I replied, “And what does our father say about you?” I waited, but there wasn’t a reply.

  My spark of anger prompted me to ease myself up the final rung. Leaning over the brick rim, I peered down into the silo. What I saw made me blink in amazement. Below the silo rim was a glass roof with open vents. Hot air, mingled with a foul odor, rose like a vapor to greet me. I leaned over farther so I could see the inner wall.

  I called to Abigail. “There’s another set of metal rungs on the inside that are identical to the ones out here. I’m going down.”

  Her voice was calm. “I’m right behind you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I swung my leg over the rim and grabbed the first rung. Carefully I squeezed through the open vent, and I descended into the silo’s interior.

  chapter Twenty

  I kept my eyes on the brick wall. It represented stability, which
I needed to keep my anxiety in its proper place. What was proper? I had every right to be apprehensive. I was trespassing, and this wasn’t your average garden-variety climbing-over-a-fence-onto-forbidden-land intrusion. I’d scaled a thirty-foot silo. That by itself was a stunning feat. Add the fact that I suspected the owner of having murdered twice and my anxiety level should have been off the charts.

  My heart pitty-patted at an accelerated rate, but I wasn’t distressed beyond what the situation demanded. All my senses were on alert to any new development, and one was wafting up from below. The stench was horrible. So were the flies that buzzed around my face. I tossed my head like an old cow, trying to shoo the insects away.

  I paused to look up at the glass roof. Abigail was at the top, with one leg over the rim. I waited for her to descend, but she didn’t move. She stared off into the distance.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Her voice was just above a whisper. “Sugar Cube trotted over to the gate. I can’t see anything, but my guess is that Phillip and Yvonne are home from the funeral. What do we do now?”

  I gulped. So much for calm and rational. “Climb like mad,” was my reply.

  She put action to my words and scrambled down the rungs to the air vents. She twisted her body to go between the wooden support frame. Suddenly a motor whirred to life. Even before the chain-driven socket wheel began to ratchet down, I knew what was about to happen. The vents were hooked to a thermostat. The air temperature had dropped, which had activated the automatic system and it had kicked in.

  “Move!” I called as the vents started to close.

  Abigail’s foot slipped on the rung. She caught herself, but precious seconds were lost. I watched in horror as the vent tilted and slid shut, catching Abigail’s long braid in the weather-tight seal.

  She cried out, tugging and pulling, jerking her head this way and that. “I can’t get loose,” she said.

  I didn’t answer. I was busy assessing the situation. If Phillip was home, he would probably come out here. If he stopped to change clothes, we might have some time, but I couldn’t depend on that. I had to move and move fast.

  Gathering my courage, I glanced down. Shadows lurked, but by peering through the gloom, I thought I could see a floor. I hoped my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me as I made a hasty descent.

  When my foot made contact with something solid, I pried my cramped fingers from the rung and stood upright. My legs wobbled, but I ignored my discomfort. I had to free Abigail.

  As my eyes grew accustomed to the dusky light, I took a fast inventory of the room. Six posts supported the glass roof. Dominating the center of the room was a massive table covered with black plastic that draped to the wooden floor. On the tabletop were bowls filled with decaying fruit. The thick, sickly smell of rot filled my nose, but the sight of the plump white maggots roiling among the pulpy mass made me gag.

  I turned my back on the sight and pulled the neck of my shirt up over my nose and mouth to help filter the smell and keep the flies away. I stepped around the table, looking for a knife, a pair of scissors, anything sharp so I could cut Abigail’s braid.

  I found nothing of that nature, but mounted on a post was a crank attached to the socket wheel. I reasoned that if the electricity were to go out, Phillip would need a manual way to open or close the vents. As I reached for the crank, I spied a huge web spun between two support posts about ten feet above me. The web’s occupant was almost the size of my hand. As I cranked the wheel, I gazed around me. There were four such spiders hanging from their webs and all were bigger than any garden spider I’d seen.

  I only had to give the wheel a couple of turns and the vent opened enough for Abigail to pull her braid free. Before I could get the vent closed again, Abigail had scrambled down the rungs.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She craned her neck this way and that trying to see everything at once. Her voice was muffled, having copied my shirt-over-the-nose-and-mouth trick. “I’m fine, now that I’m not caught like a fly in one of these webs.” She turned in a semicircle. “This is totally gross. I might have expected many things, but this isn’t something I’d dream up in my worst nightmare.”

  I agreed. “It’s a breeding ground. Flies are attracted to the rotting fruit. They lay their maggoty eggs, which hatch into more flies.”

  Abigail pointed above us to the spiders. “Which fatten up these sentinels. I’ve never seen such huge spiders.” She shuddered. “I know they aren’t poisonous, but I’m creeped out. Why go to the expense of this glass roof? It’s more fitting for a greenhouse, but there aren’t any plants.”

  “Probably to keep the spiders happy, but I don’t have a clue as to why. As you said, Phillip went to considerable expense to have this glass roof installed. It allows light and ventilation into this upper part of the silo. Maybe it’s some sort of scientific experiment.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened. “Like an invasion of the super-size spiders?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt that, though I do suspect the spiders are important or Phillip wouldn’t have established this entire area for their well-being. We’re at the top of a thirty-foot silo. I’m assuming the rest of the building will yield more answers, but we may not have time before Phillip—”

  Below us a door slammed. The floor shimmied as heavy footsteps thudded upward. I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “We have to hide.”

  As one, we turned to the table. The black plastic fell in folds to the floor. If we crawled under it, we would be concealed from immediate view. The maggots were a mighty stumbling block, but so was the idea of confronting a possible killer.

  Gingerly I held up a piece of the plastic cover, and we scurried under the table just as the door opened. We heard a click and the room was flooded with light. Peeking under the edge of the black plastic, we watched a pair of spit-and-polished black oxfords cross in front of us. When Phillip spoke, my stomach lurched.

  “How are my ladies?” he said quietly.

  Next to me, Abigail jerked. I squeezed her arm, cautioning her to be silent.

  “Such pretty little ladies,” he crooned. “This buffet is all for you, my dears. Maggie Mae, you’re looking a bit sluggish. Did you get too hot? How about you, Beatrice? You’ve been busy. Eight flies wrapped in silken shrouds. Planning a midnight snack?” He chuckled softly. “Heloise, you and Jeannette are much too timid. Be aggressive, ladies. Eat up. Now is not the time to watch your figures.”

  The man was talking to the spiders! He’d given them names. Maggie Mae. Beatrice. Heloise and Jeannette. How creepy!

  Abigail and I held our collective breaths as he walked across the room. We heard the sound of the crank being turned. “Not a tight fit,” he murmured. “The rubber seal must be warped.”

  Abruptly, he crossed the room, snapped off the light, and closed the door. The floor vibrated as he clomped down the stairs. We waited. Below a door banged shut.

  We took it as a signal that the coast was clear. I scrambled out from under the table, swiping at my face. “I need a shower,” I said. “I feel so filthy I may have to take two or three showers before I feel clean again.”

  Abigail brushed at my hair. One look at the disgusted expression on her face and I knew better than to ask. The thought of maggots crawling on me sent spasms of revulsion down my spine. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I can’t take much more.”

  I went to the door and eased it open. Light filtered up from below and showed a small staircase hugging the silo’s circular walls. The treads were only two feet long and about a foot in width. The handrail was a piece of rope attached every ten feet to an upright post that wiggled when I gave it a test shake. Ordinarily, I would have balked at taking this precarious route, but since my alternative was the iron rungs on the outside of the silo, I didn’t hesitate.

  Slowly we went down. I ignored the rope and plastered myself to the bricks. We hadn’t gone far when I noticed we’d traded the sickly stench of rotting frui
t for another odor. Behind me, Abigail sniffed the air like a bloodhound hot on the trail.

  Whispering, she said, “I’m getting a whiff of something that smells like my grandmother’s attic—all musty and unused.”

  I paused on the staircase to ponder this bit of information. “You have a grandmother?”

  “My mother’s mother.”

  I sighed. “I never knew my grandparents.”

  “We can share Nana. She’s a hoot. Not at all like my mother.”

  Her sharp tone told me problems lurked in that area. I dropped the subject and moved on down the staircase. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, I could make out objects in the room. I shivered as I caught sight of the cages. Stepping off the staircase, I said, “We’ve been smelling mice.”

  But it wasn’t just mice. Cages of hamsters also lined one wall. Above each cage was a name and a date. Each compartment had fresh bedding, clean water, and plenty of food. At first glance the rodents looked healthy, but on closer inspection I saw several had strange lumps protruding from their sides. Flossie seemed to be the most affected. She tried to scamper into a corner when I peered into her cage, but the lump severely restricted her movements.

  “What’s going on here?” I said out loud.

  “I don’t have a clue,” said Abigail. “But there’s a desk over there with a slew of papers on it. Maybe we can find some answers.”

  Abigail moved to the desk. I circled the room, skirting a stainless-steel table that held two strange contraptions hooked up to an electric outlet on the floor. I counted twelve syringes in several different sizes. Delicate pale hairs were scattered across the tabletop. There was a microscope with an open box of slides nearby. A peek into a refrigerator revealed stacks of petri dishes. On the far wall was our source of light.

  A string of fluorescent tubes, which I assumed were meant to simulate sunlight, shone down on some plants. There were three species. I recognized two. One was alfalfa. A high-protein crop used for grazing and baling into hay. The other looked like a weird reproduction of a potato plant. The leaves were crinkled and the stems thick and gnarled. Leaning closer, I saw a label on the third plant. The tag identified it as tobacco. I didn’t know anything about the habits of this plant, but the leaves were a strange shade of lime green with heavy black varicoselike veins crisscrossing the surface.