If Laura had hated going down into the basement before Cassie’s death, now she dreaded it. Since then, she had avoided it as much as possible, even though every effort had been made to remove any reminder of the tragic accident. As soon as the police investigation was over, Mike had arranged for a professional cleaning crew to scour away all traces. His buddy, the electrician, had hung new fluorescent fixtures that brightly illuminated the laundry and cat box area. It helped, but not much.
Now going down there meant wading through eight inches of murky water. No way is that going to happen. “Somehow I don’t think we need to worry about that. See you soon.”
Mike arrived an hour later with take out from the nearby Chinese restaurant. And an hour after that, the plumber Laura called showed up. He put on a pair of rubber boots, waded over to the far corner of the cellar, and spent about five seconds assessing the situation while Laura stood on the middle stair and watched. He reached down, removed the cover on the pump and pushed a button. Laura could hear the pump turn back on and hear the movement of the water. “That’ll do you for now, Ms. Wagner,” the plumber said. “But if I were you, I’d get that pump replaced. You’re lucky it’s still working at all – looks to me to be about twenty years old or so.”
“Yeah, it’s my lucky day,” she said, heading back up the stairs, followed by the man. “How much will a new pump set me back?”
He quoted the price. She did the mental math. It would almost completely deplete her savings, but having a cellar that stayed dry was important. “Fine,” she said, “can you do it fairly soon?”
“I can start tomorrow if you like. It’s probably no more than a one day job to replace the pump. If you wanted French drains it would be more, of course. Both in money and time.”
Laura shook her head. “I have to work tomorrow. So I don’t know…”
“I’ve got the day off tomorrow, so I can be here,” Mike said. “What time?”
Once all the arrangements had been made, the plumber left and Mike checked on the water level before relocking the door. “Yeah, it seems to be draining pretty well. I think we can stay dry enough tonight.”
“Finally,” Laura said, sighing, “some good news. I really could use a drink.”
“Can’t help you there, but how about a hug?” Mike held out his arms and she went to him and snuggled up to his chest. He stroked her hair away from her face. “You’ve been having a rough time, babe. I’m sorry. But things have got to improve, right?”
“Shhhh,” Laura said, putting a finger up to his lips, “don’t say that. I said that to myself right before I found Cassie.”
Laura began to cry again, a soft sobbing that nevertheless seemed to echo off walls. Mike put an arm around, took her back to bed and tucked the covers up around her, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Stay tonight?”
“Yes,” he reached over and stroked her hair again, “of course I will. And things will get better, just wait and see.”
Chapter Twenty
Laura did feel better in the morning. Waking up to the smell of hot coffee brewing helped, as did finding Mike up and in the kitchen, fixing them both some breakfast.
He sat her down gently down at the table as if she might break. Laura reached up and pulled his face down to hers for a long, hard kiss. “You’re too good to be true, sweetheart.”
He turned away and picked up the plates from the counter, setting one in front of both of them. “We’re not all bastards, Laura.”
She took a bite of her eggs. “Who’s we? Men? Cops?”
He smiled. “Both. Neither. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Laura giggled. “Too bad I have to get to work in less than an hour.”
“I’ll be here when you get home. And if the plumber is done by then…”
“That reminds me. You might as well have him start the French drains while he’s at it. I can scrape up the money from somewhere. No sense doing half of the job.”
She thought how domestic this whole conversation sounded and how comfortable she was with that thought. Laura sopped up the rest of egg yolk with her last piece of toast, then got up and carried the plate to the sink. “Thank you for a wonderful breakfast. I could get used to this, you know.”
“That’s the plan, babe.”
Laura carried that conversation and the warmth it brought her throughout the day. It wasn’t much of a conversation, really, but maybe in the whole scheme of things, what it represented – kindness and love and someone who cared about what happened to her – could be thought of as a trivial thing. But it made all the difference in the world. She thought back to when this all started and how despairing she’d been. How willing she’d been to throw her life away. And now each and every moment spent with the man, who she’d thought at that time had ruined her life, were precious. Amazing.
Laura gave a broad smile to her customer, startling her out of her own problems and eliciting a smile in return. Laura felt good.
So good, in fact, that she only paused for a few minutes in front of the liquor store on her way home. All of her good feelings evaporated, and she thought about Cassie, of how her craving had caused her to steal her sister’s pills and how the use of those pills had caused her to fall down the stairs to her death. The worst part of these thoughts, though, was Laura’s internal admission that she understood why Cassie had done it. If Mike wasn’t around, if I didn’t have the joint custody of the girls in my sights, that could have just as easily been me. Laura shivered and tried to push the negative thoughts out of her mind, tried to recapture her earlier happiness. But the mood was gone. And its absence led Laura into the old familiar thoughts of despair and the futility of life.
She turned her key in the door, so lost in her thoughts she scarcely remembered the rest of her walk home.
Better off dead.
Mike greeted her at the door with a big kiss and a hug. She could hear the sound of hammer against concrete bouncing off the cellar walls. “I guess the plumber’s still here,” Laura said, wincing at the next clang to echo.
Mike laughed. “What was your first clue?”
“How long has that noise been going on? How can you stand it?”
“He just started that a few minutes before you came in.”
“Lucky me.” Laura took off her coat, hung it up in the closet, and sat down on the bench near the door to take her boots off.
“Bad day?”
“Actually it was a pretty good day.” She gave him a sad little smile. “Entirely your doing. But on the way home I have to pass the liquor store and I started to think about Cassie and life and death and everything. I wonder why any of us try.”
“Laura, babe, we try because that’s what you have to do to live. Keep moving forward, keep looking forward and only take it one day at a time.”
She sighed. “I know, I know. But, Mike, I’m so very tired.”
He took her by the shoulders. “It’s okay to be tired. But you can’t give up. I couldn’t bear it.”
Laura smiled a genuine smile. “Okay. But just for you.”
“And for your girls.”
“Yeah, for them too.”
“Soon, Laura, all of this will be behind you and we can be a family. You and me and Amanda and Lizzy.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box, “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks now and it never seemed to be the right time, but I can’t wait forever for the perfect moment…”
Laura felt a great swell of happiness. Finally he was proposing. He snapped the box open. “Laura,” he said earnestly, taking out the ring and sliding it onto her finger, “will you marry me?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Yes, of course.” She went into his arms and raised her head to kiss him.
At that moment, though, the cellar door opened.
“Ms. Wagner?”
She pulled away from Mike. “What’s up?”
“Did you know you had a door in the cellar? Cemented over with co
ncrete?”
“Um, no. I had no idea. Why would anyone do that? And to where does it lead, do you think?”
“Root cellar most likely. This house is the original farmhouse, you know. That’s why it’s different from all the others.”
“So I’ve heard. Okay, let’s go down and see what you’ve found. It’s like a secret treasure hunt.”
Laura put her foot on the first step and shivered, feeling a wave a nausea come over her. She swallowed hard and climbed down the rest of the stairs. Why am I so scared? she wondered. It’s only a root cellar like the guy said. Nothing to be frightened about.
But the room had an odd odor. An odd feel. She stared at the pile of broken concrete strewn beneath the old wooden door. She took in a deep breath, afraid to let it out. Laura put her hand to the door, and felt a jolt of pain, almost electric in its feel.
“I lost my balance,” the plumber said, his voice sounding indistinct and far away, “and accidentally hit the door with the sledgehammer. The surface just crumbled away to nothing. Weird.”
Run away, she told herself. Turn around and go back up the stairs. Run away. Hide. Don’t open that door.
Her hand reached over and touched an old rusted latch. The door swung inward, but caught halfway on an old bundle of dirty, tattered rags tossed on the floor. Laura blinked, coughed and covered her mouth and nose with her hand. A putrid odor washed over her.
The room itself was dank and dark, but sunlight shone through the sliding glass doors and fell on the room’s contents. For a few seconds, her eyes took in the sight without having to comprehend what she saw. At first she saw only what she was capable of seeing: the bundle of old rags, the low shelves covered with blankets. She saw six little shelves with six more bundles of rags, tossed aside carelessly. Six white china cups with tiny red rose buds were carefully lined up on the floor – all of them showing a black crusty stain at their bottoms.
Laura drew in another ragged breath and only when she exhaled did she notice a tiny hand, grey and skeletal, peeking out beneath one of the blankets.
“Oh, dear God.”
She ran up the stairs and dashed into the bathroom. She cried almost as violently as she vomited. Laura didn’t think it would ever subside.
“Oh, dear God. They’re children.”
Better off dead.
“No!”
Mike had noticed the silence in the cellar. Then he heard Laura’s painful cry. Seconds later she flew out of the cellar door and into the bathroom. He heard her crying and vomiting. He went to the bathroom door, pushed it open a bit. “Laura?”
She shook her head. “Downstairs,” she whispered, “they need you downstairs.”
He passed the plumber on the stairs. The man’s face looked ashen and tears trailed through the dust on his cheeks. Mike nodded to him. “Stay here,” he said, “while I check this out. Don’t leave – depending on what’s going on, we might need a statement from you before you go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” the plumber said, holding his hand out so that Mike could set how badly it shook. “Doubt I could drive anyways.”
Mike smelled the decay before he even got to the door. He took one look inside and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, hitting the speed dial number for the police station. No wonder Laura reacted the way she did, he thought, taking a scarf from the clothesline and wrapping it around his mouth and nose. He felt like vomiting himself, but in times of crisis, his police training took over. He knew from experience that he’d react to the situation later on and would end up paying the price for the repression of emotions. For now he had to do his job.
Still, when he clicked his phone shut, all he could do for a few more minutes was stare in disbelief. This, he thought, before finally closing off his mind to the horror, this is the kind of shit that made me drink in the first place.
A soft meowing woke him out of his dark thoughts. “Hey, Bonehead,” Mike said picking him up, “this place is off limits for you for a while.” He carried the cat back up the stairs and put him into the bedroom Laura’s girls had occupied during their visit, then closed the door.
“Laura,” he said to her small trembling form crouched over on the couch, “are you okay, babe?”
She turned her face up to him; her skin, blotchy and red. “No,” she said, “how does one recover from something like this? But don’t worry about me. You go and do your thing – take care of those poor children.” She attempted a smile, but burst back into tears instead. “Poor little kids.”
“I can’t leave until the rest of the guys from the station and the FBI get here. But when they do, I’ll get you out of here, okay?”
“Please.”
“For now, though, are you all right?”
“Well,” Laura sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue. “Considering what’s down in my cellar, I’m doing okay.” She paused and sniffed again. “I can barely grasp any of it right now. Maybe once I do…”
Mike nodded and looked over at the plumber seated at the other end of Laura’s couch. “Can I get you anything?”
The man blinked. “A good stiff drink would be nice.”
“Sorry, we’re clean out. How about a fresh cup of coffee?”
Laura stood up, gathered all the used tissues from the couch and floor area. “I’ll make it. Have to do something, don’t I? And the place will be crawling with people in a bit. The least I can do is give them some coffee.”
Walking across the room seemed like such an effort. Rather than taking a direct route to the kitchen and walking past the cellar door, Laura went through the dining room. She felt glad to have something to occupy herself, even if it was only making coffee. She wondered how many law enforcement types they could fit into that room. Better them than me, she thought. I’ll never go down into that cellar again. Suddenly, she had a sharp stab of bitter amusement. I should have let Cassie burn down the house. Then she’d be alive and I’d never have known I had the bodies of six children buried in the basement. She shivered again, but kept back her tears. Instead, she set out mugs and spoons on her counter, along with napkins, sweeteners and milk, for the officers and agents.
Mike came back upstairs with a roll of duct tape in his hand. He sealed the outside of the cat door.
“Uh oh,” Laura said, “the cat’s not down there, is he?”
“Nope, I carried him up and locked him in the girls’ room. But I don’t want him down there, so I figured I’d tape up his entrance.”
“Good idea. His cat box is up here anyway since the flood. Happily, I put it in the girls’ room as well.” She smiled at Mike, then frowned. “Will I be able to take him with me? I really don’t want to leave him behind.”
“I’m not supposed to have any sort of pet, but I think this qualifies as an emergency.”
Laura relaxed slightly. “Good. He’s family, after all. So what happens now?”
“The guys from my station should be here soon and then I can get you out of here. They might want to ask you some questions, but it’s only routine. Obviously you had nothing to do with what happened down there.”
Laura shivered. Ever since they’d made the discovery she’d been so cold. “Should I pack a few things?”
Mike nodded. “It may take them a day or two to get everything here under control. Then once everything’s been inventoried and removed, you should be able to come back.”
“I’m not sure I want to. But a few days away is a great idea, either way.”
Someone knocked heavily on the front door; Laura gave an audible gasp and jumped. Mike stroked her arm then went to answer the door.
After all the questions had been asked and answered, Mike helped Laura gather her stuff and put Anubis in his cat carrier, getting scratched up in the process.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, “he’s usually well-mannered as you know. But he hates riding in the car. And he knows that’s where he’s going when I get the crate out.”
“No harm done, babe. If someon
e tried to stuff me into a little plastic cage, I’d probably scratch too.”
I wish I had a safe little cage to retreat to, Laura thought, and gave a little laugh. Mike’s apartment was tiny, so her wish would soon be granted.
They smuggled the cat in to Mike’s place and brought the cat supplies and Laura’s clothes in a suitcase. He fussed over her, until she kissed him and sent him on his way. He seemed eager to get back; she knew that he’d been horrified over what had been found. But she also suspected he was excited by the prospect of such a big case being dropped right in his lap. She didn’t understand it. You’d better start trying, she told herself, pretty soon you’re going to be a cop’s wife.
Smiling at that thought, she hung up the few clothes she’d brought in Mike’s small but neat closet. Then she set up the cat box in his bathroom, put food and water out in the kitchen, and opened up the cage to let Anubis out.
He looked around, sniffed at the house plants a bit, then leapt up to the back of Mike’s leather recliner, curled up with his tail over his eyes and promptly fell asleep.
Not for the first time in the last few weeks, Laura envied him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to sleep again.
The investigation continued for three days, at the end of which the evidence pointed to Dolores Wellman murdering the children and her husband, then walling up the root cellar and eventually committing suicide in the bathtub. It would be months before solid IDs for the victims could be established and the official rulings made, but the facts were unofficially obvious.
What details Laura couldn’t get from the news, Mike supplied, watered down for her consumption. “Somehow she got them to come with her to the house – the trees were fairly thick then, since construction around the old house hadn’t yet begun – and gave them a cup of cocoa with poison. Then she carried them downstairs, laid them on the cots and covered them over with a blanket. The coroner thinks they died quickly, without suffering.”
“That’s something, I guess.” Laura and Mike were eating dinner, together for a change, in his small apartment. Frozen dinners weren’t really much of a meal, but to finally have him working reasonable hours made it feel like a feast. “And it will be a comfort of sorts. It always helped me when Matthew died – knowing he just fell asleep and never woke up. Not, of course, that one ever really recovers from the death of a child.”
Modern Magic Page 17
