by Anthony J Fuchs
Copyright 2011 Anthony J Fuchs
Cover photo by Mannie Gentile, Boonsboro, MD
All rights reserved
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I'm halfway around the side of the cabin when I hear my name. I look toward the backyard, my right hand resting on the butt of the Sig Sauer on my hip. Ross stands away from the corner of the house, his head tilted to the right as he studies something near the base of the rear wall. He's a wiry guy almost twice my age, but he doesn't look it. He looks more like my sophomore English professor than a veteran detective.
Ross glances up and spots me. "Take a look at this."
I reach the back of the house and turn the corner to see what he's seeing. A wooden deck built onto the back of the house. Sliding glass doors that lead into what looks like a kitchen. A short flight of steps from the deck down to the ground. And in the corner of the house nearest to us, a pair of cellar hatchway doors huddled against the house.