Winds of terror by Patricia Hagan Page A

Mel-anie's spine. She walked around the yard calling his name, but there was no sign of the black-and-white spotted terrier that she loved so much.
    She looked up and saw Mark standing on the back porch, at the wooden railing, yelling, "Aunt Addie is ringing that infernal bell! Will you please go to her?"
    Melanie abandoned her search and hurried inside and up the stairs. Aunt Addie was quite annoyed at having been neglected all afternoon. She wanted her back rubbed immediately, and whined about how mistreated she was. She asked to have the day's newspaper read to her, complaining that her eyes seemed more tired than usual.
    Melanie did all these things without protest, and, finally, she broke away from the old woman to resume her search for Butch before it got dark. She was walking down the hallway when Addie called out sharply, "Would you hurry with my supper? I was forced to eat my lunch quite early today, you know."
    Shaking her head in frustration, Melanie ran downstairs. She had planned to make meat loaf, but that would take too long now, and she took out a large can of tuna and hurriedly made a salad. It would have to do, she thought as she arranged the tray. Tomorrow, there would be sufficient time to prepare something tastier— tomorrow, when her mind would be at ease—after she found Butch.
    Aunt Addie didn't seem too displeased about the supper tray that was set before her. Melanie figured it was the sUce of chocolate cake left over from the picnic that did it. The old woman was always complaining of never having any sweets on her tray.
    "Aren't you going to stay and talk to me while I eat?" Aunt Addie asked as Melanie hurried towards the door.
    "Butch just never runs away like this, and I must find him. I'm afraid he's lost," Melanie explained quickly.
    Aunt Addie nodded with understanding. "I'm sure he's about. Probably just chasing a rabbit or something."
    When Melanie returned to the kitchen, Cale was seated at the table eating the cold plate she had prepared for him. He had only to glance at her face and he knew. "You haven't found your dog yet, have you?"
    "I'm going to look for him now," she said. "Cale, it

    just isn't like Butch to stay away like this. Something must have happened to him!"
    •'I wish I could help you, Melanie. I know how much the dog means to you."
    She smiled affectionately. "Just knowing that you feel that way is enough, Cale.**
    It was twilight. The yard was bathed in a dim pinkish-gray light. Melanie scurried about, checking everywhere that Butch might be. Perhaps he'd gotten tired and fallen asleep, she told herself. Or maybe he was sick, too sick to move. With each step, Melanie became more fearful that she would not find the dog.
    Within a half hour, she had covered the entire yard and all the other places—the tool sheds, the chicken house, two storage sheds—^where she thought he might be. Now darkness engulfed her world. Straight ahead of her loomed the big old red bam in all its ominous ugliness. She shivered. She had not gone into the bam much as a child. That was where Todd liked to play.
    Her mouth felt dry and her lips quivered. The bam was the place where Todd had killed himself. Melanie had deliberately stayed away from the bam since her arrival at the plantation. Now she closed her eyes and pictured Todd swinging from a rope, his head at a grotesque angle, his lips parted in a final sneer at the world.
    She shook herself. It was the only place left to search. She was being childish, she told herself. Surely, she did not believe in ghosts I With a determination that she did not really feel, she walked straight ahead, pulled open the large wooden doors of the bam and stepped inside. She went immediately to the nearby shelf where she remembered a flashlight was kept.

She shined the flashlight beam around. There were three mules quartered in stalls along the left. Once, Uncle Bartley had kept his prize Tennessee walking mares there, but that was long ago, when the