Page 16 of The Premonition at Withers Farm

Molly watched Trent drive away, pausing long enough for another vehicle to squeeze beside his truck.

Sidney was here. Sidney didn’t know either.

And Molly was determined to keep it that way.

She went for more coffee, feeling the familiar resolution. Within minutes, the screen door in the mudroom slammed. She heard shoes being kicked against the wall, and then—

“When are your chickens coming?”

Molly met her best friend’s animated face with a confused smile. “Chickens?”

Sidney—or Sid as Molly always called her best friend since the third grade—was busying herself by pulling her long, curly burgundy hair into a messy bun. The same color as Molly’s. Granted, they used the same color hair dye, but that was neither here nor there. They used pretty much the same everything.

“Sure. Every farmer’s wife needs to have chickens. Heck, every woman who lives in the country should have them.”

Molly didn’t bother to ask if Sid wanted coffee. Instead, she retrieved one of the mugs she’d unpacked and put in a cupboard. “I don’t know the first thing about chickens.”

“I do.” Sid helped herself to the fridge, snatching the hazelnut creamer from the door. “And with a place this ancient, therehasto be a chicken coop.”

Molly poured the coffee as Sid added the creamer. It became a sugary drink in no time flat, emphasizing one of the few differences between her and Sid. Molly preferred hers just barely creamy and with no sugary flavors. The hazelnut creamer was solely in the fridge for Sid.

“Think of it.” Sid sipped her morning brew and leaned against the counter. “You could wake Trent up in the morning with a fresh quiche made from your own chicken eggs.”

“I don’t know how to make quiche.”

“An omelet then.”

“Sid.”

“So, you can’t cook? What does that matter? Watch the Food Network for a while. Buy a Betty Crocker cookbook. You’ll figure it out!”

“Or I could just put out a box of cereal,” Molly teased.

Sid tilted her head, narrowing her hazel eyes in exasperation. “Wow, you’re even killing me with your lack of romance. Besides, chickens, eggs ... country life”—she spread her arms wide—“it’s all heaven!”

Molly laughed, but inside she felt the pang of truth in Sid’s words. She didn’t want to be reminded of the lack of romance in her life.

Sid broke the brief silence. “I need the grand tour! First inside, then outside.”

“I haven’t really bothered with outside yet.” Molly tried to muster some of the happiness that had flitted through her on Sid’s arrival. “Or the inside,” she admitted. She hadn’t been in the mood to unpack.“It’s actually a mess inside.”

“Okay. Then let’s go outside first.”

“And avoid the creepy gravestone basement?” Molly teased.

Sid paused, her mug midway to her mouth. Her eyes widened as she stared at Molly over her coffee. “The what?”

“Botched gravestones bolster the foundation,” Molly informed her bestie. “They’re antique.”

“Sooooo, your house is a graveyard?” Sid grinned. “Ithasto be! Bodies hidden behind the walls. Ooh, how deliciously creepy.”

Molly knew Sid was joking, so she ignored the previous night’s events and stuffed away her own personal superstitions. “Doubtful.” That was the appropriate response anyway. Keeping up the charade wasn’t hard. Sid and Trent weren’t naturally superstitious people. They mocked the concept of ghosts and hauntings, having no idea how it made Molly’s insides churn with nervous energy.

“’Kay. Time for chickens!” Sid’s announcement was coupled with her take-charge stride into the mudroom.

Molly followed, and they bantered as they pulled on shoes. It was warm already. Molly could feel the sticky humidity the moment she stepped outside. An image of the young woman’s corpse in the ditch brought her up short. She squinted into the morning sun, toward the Benson farm in the distance. Cornstalks and trees mostly hid it, although she could make out the roof of the barn.

“They still have crime-scene tape up this morning.” Sid read Molly’s thoughts, her voice grave. “It was on the news too.”