I didn’t know enough about Caleb Benson. He said old Jeremiah hadn’t feared him, but feared change. Personally I wasn’t too happy with the kind of change that turned a benign, useful bug into a killer bacterium, and wondered if Benson had wandered from lumber into cattle or something that might involve bugs that Benson’s associate Frank would make sure were killed off. I wanted to find out if Benson’s enterprises might have anything to do with gene-jumping. It did not take the skills of a licensed PI to find Benson’s house. I asked a random person on the street and got precise directions. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect a man of Benson’s attainments to occupy, but it was substantial, an older house that at second glance had undergone more face-lifts than the average TV talk show host. As I walked up and rang the bell, two wall-mounted video cameras eyed me. A blonde woman, probably the third wife that Jerry had mentioned, answered the door. She wore a gray wool sweater and tan slacks and let me into a foyer that somehow reminded me of a small display room in a museum.
What do You think about Death In The Pines (2015)?
