There was a pile of newspapers at the far end of the counter. I walked over and had a look at the date. The latest was a month old - around the same date as Mr. Young had died. Maybe his wife had moved out rather than be alone, but why would she leave the poor old dog and the chickens here? It didn't make any sense.
I swung around and saw another door. It probably led into nothing more exciting than the laundry, but I walked over to take a look anyway. My skin began to tingle several feet from the door. I frowned and stopped. Usually I only got that reaction when I was near silver - but why in hell would there be silver in this old house, especially if it housed a family of shifters?
I stepped forward and pressed my fingers against the door. The tingle grew stronger, burning my fingertips. For whatever reason, there was a whole lot of silver in the room beyond.
And really, there could be only one reason for that - someone wanted to restrain a shifter.
With some trepidation - and some effort - I pushed open the door. What I discovered was basically a prison. The netting started just beyond the door, and was spiderweb fine. It was made in several layers, so that the overall strength of the net was tripled. Not many shifters would have gotten through it - not without seriously injuring themselves. And even if they had, there was then the silver-coated walls to deal with. That's what I'd been feeling - the back of the door had obviously received the same treatment.
Someone had wanted to make damn sure something - or someone - couldn't get out.
The room itself had been set up like a bedroom. It had a bed, a small bathroom area, and a TV. There was also a desk and laptop in the corner opposite the bed. Books and magazines lay scattered about the floor, but not covering the small, stained rug.
My gaze went back to the nets. Was this the explanation for Young's parents suddenly up and leaving Beechworth? Had they discovered that their supposedly dead son was alive, but something of a monster?
Given this room, it certainly seemed possible.
But given the fortifications, how had Young escaped? And why now, if he'd spent a good thirty or so years in captivity?
And where the hell was his mom?
I backed away from the silver room and swung around. There were glass sliding doors at the far end of the small dining area, and these led out into a little patio area.
I walked across, unlatched the door, and walked out. To the right, in a little lean-to at the back of the garage, was the laundry area. To the left were steps, and these led out past the clothesline. The various shirts and undies on the line were a mix of women's and men's, but they looked as if they'd been there for some time. Bird shit decorated the backs of some of the shirts, and fade lines had begun to appear.
I walked down the steps and followed the path, ducking under the clothes and walking toward a little vegetable patch. There were big, fat pumpkins looking ready for the picking, and potatoes and carrots gone wild.
Obviously, this garden had been abandoned long before Mr. Young had died.
The path continued on, and so did I. Trees lined either side, most bearing fruit in various degrees of ripeness. Unfortunately, the birds had gotten to most of it, leaving it half-eaten and rotten.
The path ended in a little sitting area. A large liquid amber tree provided shade, and under this sat a little table and two chairs. To one side, a rose bed that was a riot of color, filling the air with sweet summery scents.
To the other side, a grave.
I'd finally found Mrs. Young.
Chapter 7
I squatted down at the foot of the grave and studied the sturdy little cross that bore her name. It was roughly made, but the painted letters were clear and strong, and the date underneath said she'd been dead for only a couple of weeks.
But the flowers that lay on top of it were fresh. Someone was coming here to look after her grave - and to feed the dog - because he would have been dead by now if not.
I rose and pressed the com-link in my ear, though given the distance from Melbourne, I wasn't entirely sure they'd pick up my signal. The tracker part of the device could pick me up anywhere in Victoria, but the coms section wasn't that strong.
"Hello, anyone listening?"
As expected, no answer came. I blew out a frustrated breath and walked back down the path, this time heading around the other side of the house. The chickens scattered, running for safety the minute I appeared, but the old dog remained indifferent.
I squatted down beside him and scratched his head. He was little more than skin and bone, his dark, curly coat matted and unkempt. Someone might have been coming back to tend to him, but they weren't doing a particularly good job.
I rose and continued on to the car. After scrabbling through my purse, I found my cell and dialed the Directorate. Joy of joys, Sal answered.
"What can I do for you, wolf girl?"
"You want to get a team out to my current location? I found a grave, and need an ID on the body within."
"Is this case related and urgent? Because we're stretched."