Write a Mystery with Me, Part 3

I’ve always felt October is the perfect month for mysteries. If you feel the same way, grab your computer and magnifying glass and use today’s photo prompt to write a mystery with me, part 3. Read the latest additions below and then add your inspiration in the comments. To read last week’s installment, click here. Now I’m adding the next part of the story. Anyone can contribute. By the end of the month, we’ll have a mystery!

Slouching down in my seat, I peeked through the steering wheel and watched the van pull into an oversized garage door. Noticing a side door, I left my car in the shade of a big, haunting looking tree and hurried along the perimeter of the property until I could make a discreet beeline to the side door. No window, no answers. Should I open the door? Would it open? Thoughts swirled through my mind as my hand hovered above the rusty doorknob. I gave a quick twist and a fast, smooth tug on the door. I paused and held it open about two inches. When I didn’t hear any explosions or curses, I eased it open far enough to poke my face inside.

The huge building covered an open area with a broken glass roof. Plants, now dying in the cooler fall weather, had sprouted everywhere–in the cracked concrete floor, from crevices in the wall.

I stood still.

Someone was calling. From very far away.

I tiptoed in.

The door at the far end of the enormous room burst open and a man–young man–burst through it. Jer Dunham.

He pounded into the room. He didn’t look anymore dead than his father.

I stepped under some rusty, wrought-iron steps. This made no sense. The coroner said the bodies they’d pulled from the lake near the home belonged to Mr. Dunham and Jer. And the note found in the house seemed to be a suicide note, written by Mr. Dunham.

I barely dared to breathe as Jer ran closer. He stopped only yards from me, looking every which way.

The person was still calling.

He happened to glance in my direction. Our gazes locked, my blood pressure shooting up.

Then Jer raced over to me.

I spun to the door, but he grabbed my arm.

“You’ve got to help me,” he said between pants. “My father’s gone crazy.”

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