Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror

by Paula Berinstein

  “Thank you, dear,” she said. “You’re always very sweet. But awful is awful. Do you know that in America people actually wear these monstrosities on jury duty? Herb told me he saw a lot of it there. And cutoffs, of all things. In a court of law. I ask you.”

  “You should open a branch in the States,” said Hill. “Bring them a little culture.”

  “No time, darling,” she said. “We must solve this crime. Mr. Thrillkill, dodgy as he is beginning to appear, needs us.”

  “Where exactly are we headed?” Hill said cheerfully.

  “By my calculations we’re going to that cute little church where Simon Binkle saw the secrets lady.”

  “Do tell,” said Hill. “I thought there was more to that place than met the eye.”

  “So did I. Especially after Simon told us about Blair Belize.”

  “The MI6 agent.”

  “I think it was MI5, but yes, the one who dressed up like a woman and went in there. Very odd business.”

  “But he’s on our side,” said Hill. “Say, you don’t suppose he’s the one who’s been living in Mr. Thrillkill’s house. He seems to like to wear other people’s clothing.”

  “As far as we know he is on our side,” said Despina. “But he’s been very tight-lipped about his activities. As he should be. You don’t want a spy to blab all over the place. Except that now the school has been destroyed and he’s implicated he should come clean.”

  “I’m not sure a map in Thrillkill’s house is exactly damning evidence,” said Hill.

  “Oh yes it is,” said Despina. “Very suspicious. And it’s entirely possible that Mr. Blair Belize is at the bottom of it.”

  “You know best, dear,” he said.

  “What is the second map on the sheet?” Hill asked a few minutes later.

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” said Despina, pulling the car into a parking space outside the little church.

  “Looks quite deserted,” said Hill, craning his neck to see the building behind him.

  “It always seems to be deserted,” she said. “I’ve never seen any sign of a congregation. Minister neither.”

  “Do you think it’s really a church?” said Hill.

  “If it isn’t people would become suspicious, wouldn’t they? A perfectly good church where no one ever goes.”

  “With an empty sarcophagus leading to a set of tunnels,” he said. “I’d be suspicious, I would.”

  “You are, darling.”

  “Why so I am,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. Now shall we go in?’’

  They walked up the shallow steps and pushed the door open. It was a mild day but the interior of the church was freezing as if it were winter. Despina shivered and pulled her cardigan close around her.

  “Let’s reconnoiter,” she said, sitting down on a pew near the back of the chapel and consulting the map. “I looked at these coordinates on Google Earth and there’s nothing there but open land. Curious.”

  “Indeed,” said Hill, looking over her shoulder. “Perhaps something is buried there. Like a treasure map.”

  “You could be right,” she said. “But why have the first map at all then? You’d only need the second one. The church would be irrelevant.”

  “I see,” he said. “Quite a conundrum.”

  “Unless . . .”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Do you suppose the church is there because—oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Of course.”

  “What’s that, darling?”

  “The church is necessary because that’s where the entrance is.”

  “The entrance? The only thing the church—oh. The tunnels?”

  “Exactement,” she said with a flourish. “The tunnels.”

  “But we’ve been in the tunnels,” Hill protested. “So have the children. There’s nothing special there.”

  “Perhaps there is after all,” she said, biting a fingernail. “Come on.”

  They made their way to the little room at the back of the church. The sarcophagus that led to the tunnels was still there, but this time the lid was closed.

  “Oh dear,” said Despina. “Do you think you can open that?”

  Hill eyed the heavy piece of stone, then pushed at it. “It must weigh two hundred pounds. More perhaps.”

  “That’s not so much, is it?” said Despina.

  Herb shoved first with his hands, then his shoulder. Nothing.

  “Come on, help me,” he said.

  Despina pushed with him, but they couldn’t budge the lid.

  “This isn’t looking too promising,” said Hill. “We’re going to need help.”

  “There’s no one around,” said his wife. “We’ll have to drive into town.”

  “How are we going to explain that we need help opening a coffin?’’ said Hill. “And even if we can, what are they going to say when they see what’s inside? We can’t reveal detective business.”

  “Brilliant as always,” said Despina. “Excellent points.”

  “Which leave us where?” said Hill.

  “We’ll have to get Scapulus down here to help us,” said Despina. “He’s ever so strong these days.”

  Hill shook his head. “He’s got his own problems right now. Besides, what if he isn’t strong enough? Perhaps it will take several people to open that thing.”

  “Oh bother,” said Despina. “This is becoming most complicated. I need to think. Let’s sit down.”

  She pushed open the door to the chapel and retook her seat in the pew. Hill was too het up to sit, so he paced.

  “Please don’t do that,” Despina said. “I can’t think when you’re wandering around like that.”

  “I can’t sit still,” said Hill. “Now that we’ve started down this road I want to keep going. I want to know what’s down there.”

  “Well you’re making me nervous,” she said. “Why don’t you go outside and pace there?”

  Hill went to open the front door. “It’s raining.”

  “What? Two minutes ago there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.”

  “There is now.”

  “All right, fine,” she said. “Then you’ll have to pace in here. But I’ll have to play the organ. It will relax me.”

  “I like your playing,” said Hill.

  “I know you do, dear,” said Despina.

  She went over to the organ and sat down on the bench. “Hm.”

  “What? Have you got an idea?” said Hill.

  “No. It’s just that I don’t usually play from memory. I need some music.”

  “Check in the bench,” he said.

  She rose and lifted the bench lid, which unlike that of the sarcophagus was light and easy to manage. There like buried treasure lay a stack of sheet music. She riffled through the pages.

  “Odd choices,” she said. “I don’t see any hymns. These all seem to be Beatles songs and old pop music from the sixties.”

  “Must be an old congregation then,” said Hill. “Bunch of Boomers.”

  “No matter,” she said. “I’m sure I can find—wait, what’s this?”

  She picked up a piece of music that had no title and began to hum the notes.

  “This is interesting,” she said. “In fact, I could swear I’ve heard Ivy Halpin singing this song. Do you like it?”

  “It’s quite catchy,” said Hill, beginning to do a little dance in time to Despina’s voice.

  She placed the music on the rack and sat down in front of the keyboard, then raised her hands and began to play. The music was catchy—so much so that she began to sing along, making up her own words. Hill danced faster and faster, jumping on top of pews and waving his arms about.

  As she continued to play Despina thought she heard a grating sound coming from the back room.

  “Do you hear something?” she called out in time to the music.

  Hill stopped dancing—he was standing on the frontmost pew—and cupped his ear. The couple’s eyes met and they
raced to the back of the chapel and through the door. The sarcophagus lid was standing wide open.

  “A musical lock,” said Despina incredulously.

  “What are we waiting for?” said Hill.

  He ran back to the chapel, grabbed the map and his wife’s bag, and the two of them climbed through the opening. Then they turned on their phone lights and carefully made their way down the stairs and into the tunnels.

  When they got to the bottom of the stairs they looked at their map.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” she said, shining her light ahead. “There’s an immediate turn on the map. This corridor goes straight. There’s no place like that.”

  “Let’s just move on and see,” said Hill.

  “I suppose it might not be to scale,” she said.

  They crept forward, Despina thankful for her new trainers, which made the going over the rocky floor of the cavern much easier.

  “Looks the same as ever,” said Hill, scanning the view. “No turn possible.”

  Despina shined her light on the map again. “But it has coordinates, and we’re off them. See? My GPS has us going in a completely different direction.”

  Hill examined the map and Despina’s screen. “You’re right. We need to retrace our steps.”

  They turned back and returned to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Look,” said Despina. “The coordinates on the map lead in that direction.” She pointed to a spot to the left of the stairs as they were facing them.

  “We can’t walk through walls,” said Hill.

  “Then there must be a hidden door,” said Despina. She began to feel around to see if she could discern any cracks in the cavern wall. “Do you see anything?”

  Hill held his light close to the wall. “Not a trace.”

  “Maybe it’s on the other side,” she said.

  “You mean the map might record the route as a mirror image to throw people off?”

  “Now you’re thinking like a detective,” she said.

  But when they examined the opposite wall they got the same result.

  “Hm,” she said.

  “Hm indeed,” said Hill. “I was so looking forward to exploring.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “And speaking of things that don’t make sense, how would Ivy Halpin know an obscure piece of music that would open the sarcophagus? Do you think she’s been holding out on us?”

  “Why is the music handwritten?” said Hill. “Ivy can’t see, so how could she have done that?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Despina. She began to hum the melody again and there came a great groaning noise. Then as the pair stood watching, the stairs opened up to reveal a hidden corridor.

  “Brilliant!” Hill exclaimed. “You did it. What a clever wife I have.”

  But Despina was already through the opening and on toward the first turn, which matched the map exactly.

  “Look,” she called back. “We’re going east, just as the map directs. It isn’t a mirror image after all.”

  “But what an idea if we ever need it,” said Hill.

  “Yes, darling,” said Despina, barely hearing what her husband was saying.

  “This is pretty twisty,” he said after a few more turns. “I feel like we’re going in circles.”

  Despina peered at the map. “We are! The lines on the map don’t correspond to the coordinates. If these positions are to be believed, they’re completely misleading.”

  Hill looked over her shoulder. “Do you think the coordinates are in some kind of a code?”

  “When I looked at my GPS back in Windermere it didn’t look all circly,” she said. “Something is wrong.”

  “Maybe we just aren’t that good at this,” he said. “Let’s face it. No matter how smart you are, you haven’t caught up with the other students yet. You’re not on the same level.”

  Despina started. “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry, Despina, but it’s true. I’m not trying to insult you.”

  “No, I mean about not being on the same level.”

  “Just that you need to catch up—”

  “Level,” she said, growing excited. “We’re not on the same level.”

  “I don’t follow,” said Hill.

  “There’s another level to these tunnels,” said Despina. “And we’re on the wrong one.”

  “Another level with the coordinates on the map?” Hill said dumbly.

  “Yes!” she practically screamed. How do we get to it?”

  Hill grabbed the map out of her hand. “Look at this section here where several coordinates are very close together. I’ll bet that’s it.”

  Despina snatched the map back and stared at it. “You must be right. Come on. Let’s retrace our steps.”

  She pulled him by the hand and began walking back the way they’d come.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “Maybe we should go back and get some lunch.”

  Despina dropped his hand and reached into her bag. “Here,” she said, shoving a prawn sandwich at him. “There’s your lunch. Now come on.”

  Hill grinned, unwrapped the sandwich, and took a bite.

  “Drowning in mayonnaise,” he said, chewing as he spoke. “Just the way I like it.”

  “Of course it is,” she said. “Let’s get going.”

  It took them a good half hour to get to the spot they sought. Eating and walking like that didn’t agree with Hill and he burped the whole way. Finally, unable to stand the din, Despina reached in her bag and handed him a gas pill and a bottle of water.

  “Thanks, love,” he said. “You really know how to pack.”

  “I know,” she said.” Now how can we get to this other level?”

  “Why don’t you try singing again?” he said. “It’s worked twice already.”

  Despina didn’t lose a moment. She broke into song, substituting “Da, da, da” for words. Soon there came another great groan and a hidden door appeared.

  “Would you look at that,” said Hill. “Keep singing. Maybe it will open.”

  She did and it did, to reveal another set of stairs going down, this one old and wooden.

  “I don’t like the look of those steps,” said Hill.

  “Don’t be an old woman,” said Despina. “They’re perfectly fine.” She stepped onto the first piece of wood. “See? Strong as can be.”

  “There’s a lot of rot there,” said Hill, shining his light down to the bottom. “I’d feel better with some safety precautions.”

  “Such as?” she said, turning around and petting his bald head.

  “You must have something in that bag of yours.”

  “Oh well, let me look,” she said, and began to dig while he shined his light into the miraculous luggage.

  After pulling out a scissors, another sandwich, a Swiss knife, lipstick, socks, and a can of Sterno, she came up with a white stringy bundle.

  “How about this rope?” she said.

  “You’re a right Edmund Hillary,” said her husband,

  “No, you’re the Hillary,” she said.

  “Ha ha,” he said gaily. “You know what I mean,”

  “A good detective is always prepared,” she said.

  “I know, love,” he said. “Let me just fasten this around your waist.” He bent over and looped the rope around his wife’s copious middle. “There.” He stood back and admired his handiwork. “I’ve got hold of the end. You go on down the stairs. Careful.”

  “I’m always careful,” said Despina.

  “Yes, dear,” said Hill.

  Slowly Despina stepped from one step to the next. When she got about halfway down the step gave way, clattering to the ground below. Feeling nothing under her she yelped and struggled, flailing wildly in the air. Hill pulled on the rope and steadied her as she found her footing on the next step. Heart pounding, she fanned her face with her hand.

  “That was a close one,” she said. “Thank you, darling.”

  “I am a Lestrade after all,�
�� Hill boasted.

  “Of course you are, dear. Why do you think I married you?”

  “You’ve told me many times,” said Hill.

  “Have I? I don’t remember.”

  “Yes. About once a week.”

  “Good. Then you know. Oh, look. I’m down. Your turn.”

  “Unhook yourself,” he called down.

  Despina undid the knot and let the rope drop. Hill tied one end around his waist and anchored the other one to a boulder. Then he climbed down too, being especially careful when he reached the spot where the damaged step had been.

  “That was a bit fraught,” said Despina when he’d reached the bottom.

  “I thought it was rather enjoyable,” said Hill. “Reminds me of my climbing days.”

  “You didn’t have any climbing days, dear.”

  He wiped some dust off his face. “Didn’t I?”

  “No, darling. That was Jeffrey.”

  “Oh, right. So it was.”

  “Anyway, we’re on the next level. Let’s see what this one has to offer.”

  Despina could see at once that this level was nothing like the one above it. Narrow, ragged, and just plain crude, it looked much older and way more secret than the one she knew so well. Whether it had been built by some prehistoric civilization or enterprising criminals she had no idea, but she was excited to explore it, as was Hill.

  “Now this is a tunnel,” he said. “I wish Jeffrey could see this.”

  Their son Jeffrey Lestrade, a New Scotland Yard Detective Inspector, had been a prisoner in the tunnels with them the previous year. But while his parents had seen the experience as an adventure, the newly minted Inspector Lestrade had taken well neither to captivity nor to the exotic wretch society that had seized them. In truth, Jeffrey was a bit of a prig.

  “I’ll say,” said Despina. “But no worries. We can show it to him later.”

  “A picnic,” said Hill brightly. “With prawn sandwiches for old time’s sake.”

  “I’ll take a few snaps, shall I?” said Despina. “To whet his appetite.”

  “Here, take me with the corridor behind me,” said Hill, getting into position. He smiled for the camera, looking like a dyspeptic chipmunk.

  Despina snapped the picture and texted it to her son with the caption “Guess where we are.”