by Traci Wilton
“I’ll make sure to get your book tonight.” Shelley rolled her eyes. “Otherwise you’ll never get a chance to order. I grew up in Boston, but there is so much I don’t know about Salem. Would you like to look at our menu, Patrick? Or has Charlene recommended something for you?”
Charlene laughed. “Now I’m more intrigued too—and I read the book already. One sitting. We’ll start with the chowder, please.”
After Shelley left, he raised his brows up and down. “You’re the real thing, aren’t you?”
Her cheeks warmed at his compliment. “I found your book fascinating and bought a copy for my den. Some days my guests enjoy sitting around the fire and reading, instead of touring. Rainy days especially.”
He glanced around the restaurant as if looking for someone. “You mind calling that Shelley girl back? If it’s okay with you, I’d enjoy a beer with lunch.”
“Of course. I’ll join you.”
Shelley dropped off two iced waters and Charlene told her they’d both like a beer. “We have a big selection. Any in particular?” she asked.
“Heineken,” Patrick said.
“Corona Light for me,” Charlene added.
Shelley hurried off.
Patrick bent over and reached for something in the brown leather sling on the floor next to his chair. He pulled out a large roll of yellowed paper, tied with a blue ribbon.
“What’s that?” She held her breath.
“The maps I used to research my book.”
Charlene’s pulse raced as she studied the old maps—he’d brought three and laid them across the table. A thrill of anticipation made her heart flutter.
“May I?” She changed her chair to sit next to him, and Patrick showed her the many tangled paths through the underground of Salem.
“Are the waterways connected to the tunnels? You hinted at a connection in your book but didn’t say.”
Patrick pursed his lower lip and glanced around the restaurant as if to make sure they weren’t overheard. “There are things in Salem that one doesn’t talk about in plain language.” He held her gaze. “Most of the tunnels I’ve found and marked were created to simplify movement of cargo beneath the city. Not all. The founders wanted Salem to be a major city on the East Coast. Late eighteenth century, early nineteenth.”
She listened, fascinated. He had the presence of a bard.
“To put that in perspective, the witch trials were in 1692, 1693. The height of the sea trade here was the mid–seventeen hundreds, especially after the Revolutionary War, through the War of 1812.”
“Over two hundred years ago,” Charlene said.
“America is a young country.” Patrick lifted the maps when Shelley brought their beers and set them on the table.
“I forget that, because of all the history around us all the time, it seems old.”
They clinked their glasses and he took a long, thirsty sip.
“Bootleggers used the tunnels but so did the men in town. Okay, young lady. Stop hedging around the subject and tell me what you really want to know.”
“The Hawthorne Hotel. Where would it be on this map?”
He brought the second map to the top of the stack. “Here. The hotel site started out as a small home on the Commons when it was used for the townsfolk to graze their livestock. Water them too. There was a river once.”
“You hinted at a secret reason for filling in the river.”
He raised his beer and drank. “The Salem Marine Society wanted to create a public area that all could use. Leveling the hills filled in the waterways and allowed for relatively even streets. Houses. And what is built aboveground provided a camouflage for what was being tunneled below.”
“Why was it a secret?”
“Dynastic power. There were certain families in Salem that held the most wealth and power. They wanted to keep it amongst themselves.”
Familiar story, unfortunately. “The waterways became roads?”
“Exactly.”
“Not tunnels.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Patrick chuckled. “Underground tours might be forbidden, but I can take you on a walking tour and show you.”
“I would love that! You mentioned in your book that mounds in the grass might be the brick from the ground settling around the tops of the arches of the tunnels.”
He nodded sagely. “It’s all there, right before us. If you see glass blocks in the street? Those are actually there to allow natural light into the tunnels.”
“Is there one under the Hawthorne Hotel?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Filled in a very long time ago, but it was used for deliveries when it was the Franklin building. It’s only been the Hawthorne since 1925.”
They laughed. “No time at all. You also hinted at something about chimneys in your book?”
“You paid attention!” Patrick rubbed his hands together. “Yes. The houses that were connected often had more chimney stacks than fireplaces as a marker.”
Charlene burst out laughing. “You’re kidding. Nobody caught on?”
Patrick grinned. “In the historic section of town, especially. The rich ladies of the day wouldn’t want to get their clothes or shoes wet—they didn’t have dry cleaners back then or automatic washing machines. You may have noticed that the weather in Salem on the harbor can be damp?”
“Yes. More drizzle here than in Chicago.”
“Well, the neighbors that were family or friends had tunnels leading from their homes to their friends’ homes. To their family business.” His eyes glittered. “Imagine all of the cargo coming in from the ports on those ships. Jewels, silks, spices. I think the tunnels were used as commonly as the streets above in some places.”
“It makes sense.”
He used his index finger to point to the hotel on the map. “There’s Derby Street. In the old days it separated the houses from the wharves.”
Charlene closed her eyes to imagine how it must have been—busy and built up.
She took a sip of her icy cold Corona. “Why are there so many secrets surrounding the tunnels?”
“Politics is my guess—our forefathers here in Salem thought to run the newly-born US—by hook or by crook.”
“That’s not as juicy as pirate treasure.”
“There’s no treasure.” His bushy brow rose in caution. “Fools have been lost under the city searching for El Dorado. Idiots.”
“No lost city of gold?” Charlene sat back when Shelley delivered a tray with two steaming clam chowders and a side dish filled with hunks of French bread and crackers.
“I get a little passionate.” Patrick rolled up his maps and put them in the leather bag.
Charlene felt a sense of loss when he tucked them away and he laughed at her expression. “We can look at them again after. You might be a convert.”
She’d always loved Salem’s history. “Might be.”
Patrick unfolded his napkin and stuffed the top into his plaid shirt, removing his wool hat at last.
Shelley offered him his bowl, then one to Charlene, putting the bread basket in the center. “Anything else?”
She turned to Shelley. “I’d like to order the lobster rolls for our main course.”
“You got it! How’s your beers?”
“I’ll have another,” Patrick said.
“I’m fine for now.” Charlene breathed in the salty aroma of her chowder. “Let’s eat!”
After a few moments, Charlene said, “I just can’t get the idea out of my head that there are roads beneath Salem.”
“The city is safe enough.” Patrick chuckled. “I know of one entrance that isn’t watched so much, by the Old Burying Point Cemetery. You know where that is?”
“Of course! I recommend it to my guests—they’re always hoping to see a ghost.” She could make a fortune off of Jack, but never would. He was hers alone.
“Well, here’s a story for your guests.” Patrick paused dramatically. “Diggers went too deep and one poor so
ul dropped into the tunnel below—rats and stinky water, and the corpse of a woman from hundreds of years ago.” He wiped his mouth and snickered. “The construction guy fainted,” he said. “His coworkers pulled him out and they realized they’d uncovered a secret tomb, probably from the Underground Railroad days when Salem hid slaves.”
She spooned her chowder to her mouth and swallowed. “You should have put that in your book. Readers would love to know things like that.”
“I suppose I could always write another one. Been thinkin’ on it for a while.”
“Definitely, you should.”
“When Salem Confidential came out I had some acclaim, but not what I’d hoped for. And now twice this week?”
“That’s right,” Charlene said. She’d been so interested in the subject that fact had slipped her mind. “You mentioned last night that someone else had talked to you about your book.”
“Guy offered me five hundred bucks just to go down there.” He gestured to the floor. “I said no. It’s against the law.”
Charlene studied her nearly empty crock of chowder to hide her reaction. Five hundred bucks? “How odd!” she managed.
“A book is like a child,” Patrick said. “You want them to be popular and well-liked, and I admit I had delusions of grandeur. Hoped for a series on any of the major networks but it didn’t pan out. It was for the best, really.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Charlene glanced toward the kitchen, but Shelley was with another table. “Do you know who it was that wanted to see the tunnels?”
“Didn’t get a name. Tall guy. Dark hair.”
Well, that described Alaric, Orpheus, and Dru. Not to mention Asher and Tommy. It even described Sam! Asher had cash, and lots of it.
Charlene watched Patrick drain half of his second beer, hoping it might loosen his tongue. Was a trip under the tunnels really against the law?
“Rolls are on their way,” Shelley called as she passed to deliver lunch to a different table.
Patrick finished his clam chowder, scraping a crust of bread along the bottom of the dish. “You’ve got good taste, Charlene. This was the best chowder I’ve ever had.”
She set her spoon alongside her empty bowl. “Were you serious about the tunnels being illegal? It seems that doing individual tours of this underground tunnel system might be a great source of income.”
“I’m set for money,” Patrick assured her. “Thirty years as a professor in history . . . I started writing after my wife died to ease the loneliness.”
“I’m sorry.” She could relate to that.
“Some of the tunnels are on or under private property so you can’t just wander around willy-nilly. You need to have a license to operate tours and I’ve let mine lapse. Liability insurance is through the roof being below ground—if I could get it.”
“But it’s obvious that folks are interested. You’d be a perfect host. If your pirate costume is anything to judge by, you have the knack for entertaining. You could wear it while doing the tours!”
Patrick gave a hearty laugh. “No, no. It’s cheaper and less hassle for folks to just read my book. Sometimes the past needs to stay buried.”
“I’d like to take you up on your offer of a walking tour aboveground. I can pay you. You’re so knowledgeable.”
“I’d do it for free, friend to friend, so that we aren’t tweaking the city council’s nose.” He raised his almost empty beer to her.
“Awesome.” Her stomach jumped with excitement . . . Surely she could wear him down and get more information about the guy who’d requested a tour. She had a hunch that it tied in, but she couldn’t get the pieces to gel yet.
She finished her Corona. “I’m still curious about this other man . . . I wonder if he was one of my guests interested in your book? Everybody wanted to read it.” That could be Tommy or Asher, if there was a connection.
“Funny name.” He tapped his temple. “My memory’s not so good these days, but at the time I figured it was made-up so I didn’t commit it to mind.”
“Asher?”
“No. Crazier than that. Had flashy earrings; I remember thinking they had to be cubic zirconia.”
She pleated her paper napkin, attempting for casual even though her heart was racing. “Did he give you a hint of what he wanted?”
“Nope. Like you, he’d read my book and wanted to see the underground for himself.” He pushed his empty bowl away, wiped his mouth, then drained his Heineken.
Shelley cleaned the table then returned with the two lobster rolls. “There you go. Hope you left some room.”
“I’ll be boxing half mine to take home, but let’s see how Patrick makes out.”
“Enjoy!” Shelley smiled at Patrick. “I bet you’ll eat every bite.”
“I might at that.” He glanced at Charlene after Shelley had hustled away. “No need for a fork and knife right?”
“Right. Just go for it.” She sliced hers in two and picked up the smaller one. The half-pound chunks of lobster slid from the sides of her bun, but she picked them up and popped them in her mouth.
He didn’t need any more encouragement and dived right in.
The opportunity didn’t arise again for her to question him about the mystery man, but it had to be Orpheus. Asher had flashy rings, but nothing in his ears.
They both devoured their meal, and Shelley had been right. Not a speck of lobster or bun was left on Patrick’s plate. As she paid the bill, Shelley placed a plastic container for the remainder of her sandwich. It would make a nice lunch for the following day.
“I’d love to take that tour. Let me know when it’s a good time. I have an hour or so free right now.” She hated to press the author, but this was for Serenity.
“Can’t do it this week. Can I get your card? I’ll call you to set up something next Tuesday.”
Hiding her disappointment, she reached into the side pocket of her purse and handed a card to him. “Thank you, so much. I had a great time. I hope you’ll give some thought to doing a second book.”
They shook hands on the street. Patrick hunched his shoulders and jammed his red hat over his white hair. “I just might. Salem’s Secrets?” He mused over the possible title. “There’s a guy out there who wrote Salem’s Secret Underground. Now that’s catchy! Good book too.”
“I’m happy to help you brainstorm over another lobster roll,” she offered.
“I’ll be in touch.” Patrick bundled up under his wool coat and wrapped a plaid scarf around his neck, then strode into the brisk Salem wind.
“Darn it.” Charlene returned to her car. “I really wanted to take that tour.”
CHAPTER 15
Charlene got behind the wheel of her Pilot and dialed Kevin’s cell phone number.
“This is Kevin!”
Hearing music and laughter in the background, she checked the time on her radio. It was two in the afternoon and he must be working his bartender job at Brews and Broomsticks. “Hi, Kev, it’s Charlene.”
“My favorite B and B owner. What’s up?”
“You do amazing tours around Salem.”
“Is that a question?” He laughed.
“Nope. I’m thinking out loud. What do you know about the underground tunnels?”
“Folks always want to see those, but there is no official tour. In fact, it might be trespassing. I went in as a kid, and later snuck in. After nine-eleven happened, the powers that be really tightened security under Salem Town Hall and the other government buildings.”
“That makes sense.” She shifted on her seat, still in park. The heater kept the inside of the SUV nice and toasty. “What’s with all the drama around the tunnels?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, why are the tunnels referred to with such hush-hushiness?”
Snorting, Kevin said, “I think I understand what you mean. The thing is, Salem has a lot of history under the city streets. Our forefathers knew how to build to last, but after two hundred years they haven’t been
kept up. Some of the tunnels are dilapidated. Broken. Filled with sewage and completely disgusting.”
“Ew.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well.” She bit her lower lip. “I was hoping I could talk you into taking me inside them.”
“Got your tetanus shot?”
“Funny.”
“Not joking,” Kevin countered. “But if you’re up for it, I can ask around and see where we might still be able to get in that isn’t locked or patrolled. I got a buddy that works at Oregon State Hospital and there were tunnels there. I don’t know if they ever closed them off.”
Where was that in conjunction to Derby Wharf? She and Jack could look it up later. “You’ll check for me?”
“I will. Dare I ask why we’d be risking the plague?”
She shivered at the idea of disease-ridden rats. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Deal. I hope it’s not a rumor of buried treasure. That’s been debunked! Gotta run. Stop in sometime for a glass of wine, on me. Haven’t seen you in months.”
He had an amazing girlfriend who took up his free time, but Charlene didn’t point that out. She happened to like Amy a lot. “You have your tour guide license?”
“Where we’d be going it wouldn’t help. If we get caught, you pay the fine.”
“All right.” That was only fair.
She ended the call and put her phone on the dashboard holder. Her purse was on the opposite seat, and she unzipped it to reveal her pepper spray. And a pen. And her business cards.
There was just enough time to take the scenic route around the Commons and Alaric’s rental house before she should be home. Avery no longer needed her guidance in cleaning the rooms, but Charlene liked to be there to hear about her day.
Her phone dinged a text. Brandy?
Serenity only spent half the morning in tears—an improvement. Cops just left with questions about the exact last time she saw Alaric. The meaning of the pentagram. No respect whatsoever for our religion. Nothing’s changed in three hundred years.
Charlene stayed focused on her loose plan, not wanting to get sidetracked by Brandy, and drove away from the wharf toward the Hawthorne Hotel. She passed by the ornate building, trying to imagine it as a little house with a yard. The fenced-in Commons, surrounded by elm trees, once an open field with cows and chickens. A river. So different from now.
