Maestro Read Free Page B

Sarah's family were asking for information about their daughter's whereabouts. 
    A record snowfall of six feet was recorded on the same day. Farmers would be facing bankruptcy if the spring didn't quickly set in. The heavy snowfall and Sarah's disappearance were not recorded in the paper until the fourteenth. Two days. 
    The fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth - nothing about Sarah. Nothing in April, May, June, July - just news of the glorious summer. August 23rd "MISSING GIRL CASE CLOSED". Inspector Jay, Chief of Police, issues a statement. No evidence to suggest the girl had come to any harm. He feels obliged to close the case. 
    So someone, a young woman, had gone missing in Glymeer, twenty years ago. But what did that have to do with Downswold and Guillaume Gillane?  
    "It's 4.45 pm. Please leave the building." 
    The prim little woman had crept up behind Sara. Arms crossed squarely across her tight bosom. Sara thought she looked comical, not the least bit intimidating but more like a garden gnome which had suddenly sprung to life. 
    She stood up and packed away her reading glasses and notepad. 
    "Thank you for letting me know you are closing. I'll just put the microfiches back in their shelves." 
    On her way out, the gnome muttered, "Goodbye." Sara reciprocated with an equally inaudible, "Thank you," before passing through the heavy wooden door. 
    **************** 
    Dinner that evening for Sara was simple: fried sausages, mashed potatoes, and the remaining red wine. Sara laughed to herself at her stunted culinary abilities. 
    "Not exactly Cordon Bleu but those sausages were tastier than any I've had in London. Must be happy pigs," she giggled to herself. 
    Her mind wasn't really on the food or anything else except the strangeness of her situation: supposedly on holiday but she was aware that a sinister shadow had descended upon her. Was it worth pursuing? 
    The wine finished, she needed Scotch and a proper glass to drink it in. She opened the kitchen cupboards to look for one and at the same time was driven by an irrational fear that she might find something incriminating. She also knew that if she didn't find anything, she would be terribly disappointed. Midway through her search, she ran to lock the front door, ever more anxious not to be found in such a crazed state. 
    Her heart was racing at the rate of knots. 
    "Why am I behaving like this?" 
    Nothing in the kitchen. All spotless, everything put away neatly in place. Not even a rogue spider nestling in the dark recesses of an empty cupboard. 
    "What I am looking for anyway?"  
    A slug of whisky and a cigarette calmed her nerves. She sat down to think. She hadn't formed an impression of Gillane to say that he was good or bad; their brief meeting had been similar to being asked the time by a perfect stranger at a London tube station. Faceless, indifferent, abrupt. Now, she felt as if she were being forced to ask the stranger his entire life story. 
    "This is absurd." 
    The cellar door was locked. The bunch of keys yielded a possibility; she tried it in the keyhole. The key stuck. She pulled the door in hard then tried again. This time the key turned. She pulled the door open and was surprised to find herself standing at the top of what seemed to be a staircase. She groped the walls on either side of her. No light switch. Something brushed against her head. A pull switch. She yanked it and a solitary light bulb flickered on directly over her head. She jammed the door open with a chair and ventured down the narrow staircase. 
    Unlike the rest of the house, the cellar was in a state of confusion. Broken chairs, wooden planks, gardening tools, garden pots, a rusty Aga, empty wine bottles strewn over the cellar floor as if they had been thrown from the top of the staircase. A thick film of dust, testament of neglect, covered everything. Mr. Gillane obviously had no use for the things here. 
    Sara began to sneeze. The light bulb flickered