Free Halon-Seven by Xander Weaver Page B

room was dominated by the mantle of fieldstone and etched concrete around the fireplace. To the left and right of the hearth were gigantic built-in bookcases that must have been ten feet tall. A great vaulted ceiling rose up over the entryway, living room, kitchen and dining room.
    Cyrus walked around the open area taking it all in. The place was clean—immaculate actually. Everything was very precise. The furniture was arranged just so. The bookcases were free from dust, the fireplace must have been gas fueled because even the walls of the hearth were clean. The logs in the fireplace looked real. He had to touch one of them to be sure they were imitation. Gas it is.
    Looking around, something seemed out of place. He was having trouble putting his finger on it. Then it clicked. There was no television in the living room. Not bad , he thought. This could be paradise after all!
    A walk down the short hallway to the left lead him to a spacious laundry room complete with a washer and dryer that looked out-of-the-box new. There was a countertop and cabinets built in around the washer and dryer. Cabinets hung from the walls over the counters and the machines. No expense was spared. The cabinets in the laundry room matched the quality and design of the ones in the kitchen. Likewise, the countertops were the same marble as the kitchen. Meade clearly knew what he wanted when he built the place. He hadn’t skimped on a single detail.
    Across from the laundry room Cyrus found a large walk-in closet. The short hallway ended at a door leading to the four-stall garage.
    Flipping the switch on the wall, Cyrus stepped into the garage. He was standing at the top of a platform five steps above the concrete floor of the wide-open garage bays. The concrete was polished and sealed. The walls were drywalled and painted with the same care and quality as the home’s interior. The ceiling was at least fifteen feet high with row after row of lighting ballast hung to chase away every possible shadow.
    A large Ford F250 pickup truck sat in the closest garage bay. It was jacked up on wide beefy tires. It had a heavy-duty cow catcher on the front and mounting linkage for a snow plow. There was an industrial grade winch attached to the front bumper. Cyrus took a long look at the jacked up 4x4 and tried to picture 80-year-old Walter Meade behind the wheel plowing snow. It was a hell of a thought. He wasn’t sure he could see it. But then again, he wouldn’t put anything past the old man.
    The two center bays were empty, but parked in the far stall were a pair of four wheel drive ATV’s. They were big red Hondas that looked brand new. They had thick rugged tires, and both machines sported rather heavy-duty looking winches on their front ends. He supposed that wasn’t a bad idea living way up on the mountain the way Meade did. It wasn’t like he would be able to get help quickly if he got stuck or ran into trouble. The winch was a good investment. One that, apparently, the old man had made on all his toys.
    And that brought Cyrus to the tarp stashed behind the ATVs. Pulling it back he found a pair of snowmobiles. These also looked like new. So new, he wasn’t sure they had ever been used. Again, up here all alone, the sleds could mean the difference between life and death in case of an emergency. It seems that Walter Meade had thought of everything.
    Returning to the entryway, Cyrus grabbed the massive duffle and headed for the far hallway, beyond the living room where he knew the bedrooms would be located. Four bedrooms, according to the specs provided by Allan Underwood. More than Walter needed, he had said. But it was likely that Walter entertained guests from time to time. He had no family but he was a good man so, certainly he had friends. Maybe that would explain why he had two of everything; two ATVs and two snowmobiles. Still, it was odd. Meade had never mentioned family, though Cyrus had never asked. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was