The Murder of Shakespeare's Ghost

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Keeping our visit short appeals to me. If Danny De Voss was stabbed down here, his killer knows about these passageways, too.”

  “I agree. I want to see where the other corridors lead,” Joe said.

  “Don’t go too far, especially if it leads to another crossroad and you’re tempted to make another turn or two or three. Once you start making choices about which way to go in the dim light, it’ll be too easy to lose track of where you are.”

  “If you take the first passageway,” Midge said, “Marty and I will take the next one.”

  “We will?” Marty asked.

  “Hang on a second,” I said. Without further explanation, I ran back into the storage room and grabbed a bunch of big thick markers I’d seen in there. When I returned, I passed them out. “Before you head down a corridor, mark it with a big X or a black dot. Then, if you get lost, we have a chance of tracking you even if you can’t use the marks to backtrack and find your way out.”

  “That’s as good as bread crumbs. I like that!” Neely exclaimed. “Robyn and I will take the third passageway.”

  “There are probably bread crumbs in there, too,” I said. “I could look if you’d prefer to leave that kind of a trail to follow back.”

  “No!” Robyn asserted. “What if there are rats down here and the bread crumbs draw them out? I don’t trust myself not to panic and run. I’d be lost in no time.”

  “We’ll all meet back here in twenty minutes. That means we’ll give ourselves ten minutes out with ten minutes to get back. Miriam and I are going to put on the speed and not stop to look at anything along the way. I want to see if we can find where this main passageway ends.” With that we all took off at a clip. Teams peeled off as we came to each of the first three corridors which seemed to be spaced about a block apart. It was tempting to peek into the nooks and crannies we passed, but I resisted given the goal we’d set.

  That worked fine until I smelled mildew, dirt, and something rotten. Charly and I both stopped when we saw chunks of cement, rocks, and dirt in the corridor ahead of us. When we got closer, it was clear that part of the structure to our right had given way and lay in a pile of rubble. I couldn’t see daylight, but I caught a shred of bright orange webbing in the beam of my flash light. It was mixed in with more debris near the top of the rubble.

  “Oh, yuck,” I said as I stepped back quickly.

  “What is it?” Charly asked.

  “More bones including a skull with its eyes staring straight at me.”

  “Skulls can’t stare.” Then she stopped speaking. “It isn’t a pleasant sight, though, is it?”

  “No. This might give members of the forensics team an easier way to claim those stinky old bones, though, than going in from above.” Just then I felt a whoosh of cool air pass through my hair and around my neck. I reached up and touched my cheek. It’s as if something cool and clammy had touched me. A few more rocks and more dirt slid down and spilled out onto our path.

  “Did you feel that?” I asked.

  “Feel what? The rocks tumbling?”

  “No. I don’t know—never mind. I hope this place is structurally sound, don’t you?”

  “It seems pretty sturdy elsewhere. A big quake might shake things up, but what are the odds?”

  “How would I know that?” I asked with my voice starting to sound a little whiny. “Let’s finish the task we promised to do and then get out of here.”

  “At least we have an idea of how far we’ve come. A few blocks more and we’ll be near the clubhouse.” She tore off and I had to jog to catch up with her. “Another few blocks beyond that will take us outside our community. What if this corridor goes all the way to the old Hempstead Towers outbuildings that have been preserved?”

  “Exiting from down here into an old barn or stable would be one way to climb up out of the ground without being seen. I suppose even now that the property has been declared an historical site, that wouldn’t deter Ted De Voss from treating it as if he still owned it.”

  We were moving at top speed now. Twenty years older than me, Charly was in excellent condition. I didn’t mind. The image of the skull kept coming back to me, along with the memory of that cold, moist blast of air.

  “What if that was Cookie De Voss looking at me back there?” I asked. “Why would the killer have buried her there?”

  “I was wondering about that last night. I’m pretty sure the golf course wasn’t installed here until the seventies. You can probably get the date by searching the archives. If they were installing the irrigation system and whatever else went into the ground with it, why not stash her dead body in a shallow grave in a field that was already churned up?”

  “Well, she deserves a better resting place than that—done wrong in life and in death—that’s a double injustice.”

  “I agree.” We’d covered a lot of ground as we spoke, although I was now breathing so hard, I was no longer interested in chatting. I thought I felt the ground shake above us.

  “Cars driving above us,” Charly commented and pressed on.

  I lit the corridor ahead of us with my flashlight, checking the walls and the roof, as well as the path underfoot. We’d gone about another block when my beam picked up the gleam of metal. A metal stair rail and stairs led up to the surface. When we got closer, I stopped in my tracks. Something dead ahead moved.

  17 Strange Bedfellows

  “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows” – The Tempest

  ∞

  “What was that?” Charly asked in a whisper.

  “I’m glad you noticed it. I was afraid I was seeing things.”

  “I don’t see or hear anybody. Let’s take a closer look, then we’ve got to head back, or we’ll be late for our rendezvous.” We walked a little closer with both of our flashlights on the wall ahead of us. We’d clearly come to the end of the road.

  Upon closer inspection, it was also clear that what rose up in front of us was another point of entry and exit. Although it was painted to match the surrounding rock wall, we were staring at a door. A big one that could have allowed someone to drive that forklift in here. What had move was a scrap of something caught in the door near the cement floor.

  “I’m not going to touch it or move it. There’s a small branch of bougainvillea caught in the door. Someone tracked this in here recently because the leaves aren’t faded and dried out yet. There’s also part of a narrow tire track near it, too.”

  “Maybe Shakespeare or his killer rode in and out of here on a motorbike or scooter. There’s room enough, anywhere along the route, to turn around on one of those. I only remember seeing one or two places big enough for the forklift or anything as large as a golf cart to do that.”

  “I haven’t smelled gasoline or exhaust, have you?” I asked.

  “No, but there must be some reason this entire area doesn’t stink like a basement. When we passed some of the corridors, I felt cross breezes.”

  “I did, too—ocean breezes. I don’t know how that’s possible, but this is a place with mysteries that could take a lifetime to unravel.”

  “Let’s get back to the others. We’re already going to be late.” Charly was right about that. We hadn’t gone far though, before we heard the rumbling of motors and saw headlights in the distance coming toward us.

  “I hope they’re on our side. I’m going to signal them, so we don’t get run over.” I flicked the beam on my flashlight on and off a few times. We got a response back. When they got closer, a minute or two later, they slowed.

  “Charly’s Angels, to the rescue!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Thanks, Joe,” I replied.

  “Hop on, and we’ll take you back.” Charly didn’t hesitate, but I wasn’t sure the motor bike could accommodate two people. When Charly settled in behind Joe, I did the same on the bike Carl rode.

  Somehow, I squeezed in, and we sped away. In minutes we were back with the rest of our crew. They had no trouble seeing us coming because someone had found a way
to light the area near the stairs leading from the cottage.

  “Where did you find these?” I asked as I climbed off the bike.

  “There were several of them in an alcove off the corridor we explored,” Carl replied.

  “That’s not all. We saw all kinds of stuff in there. Some of it’s old, right Carl?”

  “Yes. The older stuff was farther away. You were right to tell us not to make unmarked turns, Charly. It’s like a maze once you leave the main corridor. The markers worked fine for the first couple of turns and then the cement walls ended. It’s dirt after that.” They stashed the bikes out of the way as Neely chimed in.

  “The corridor we were in sloped down toward the beach. We followed some of the twists and turns. It felt like we were inside an anthill. The turns make it easy to lose track of the direction in which you’re moving. We didn’t have to use the felt tip pen. Someone had left arrows for us to follow so we could find our way back to where we’d started. The cement floors gave way to dirt, as well as the walls.”

  “When we hit dirt, that was it for me,” Robyn added.

  “We ran into a little dirt along the way, too.” Charly explained that we’d found an underground route to the sinkhole the dogs had played in the day before.

  “More bones and a skull,” I added. I’m sure if I’d kept silent, Charly would have mentioned it. For some reason, I suddenly felt the need to wrap this up.

  “We didn’t find motorbikes, but someone left this light in a crevice cut into the dirt wall,” Midge said.

  “I wouldn’t go down any of those passageways without a flashlight, that’s for sure. I’ll bet Danny De Voss has been all through there if he’s been treasure hunting. I wonder if he found the note that he had with him when he was killed down here somewhere.”

  “No one would have tried to stop him from doing whatever he wanted for as long as he wanted,” Carl added.

  “If that note’s not the only clue he found, someone may have stopped Danny from claiming the treasure, though. Why not leave the note behind if they killed him to get something else that was better than that?” Neely asked.

  “Well, if what’s going on in the cottage has had anything to do with the smuggling ring, we didn’t stumble across any evidence of it. No fake Gucci purses or Givenchy shoes—nothing to suggest the smugglers were stashing counterfeit goods down here.”

  “It could be done. Miriam and I didn’t climb the stairs to confirm that the exit at the end of the main corridor opens to a ramp that leads up into the old Hempstead Towers barn. I’m guessing that’s about where it would be, though given the distance we covered. The door we found is big enough to allow forklifts to haul stuff in here.”

  “I can’t understand storing stuff down here for very long. In a jam, though, it would work. There must be miles of passageways to search. Unless the smugglers drew them a map, the police would never find where they’d hidden the goods.”

  “Carl’s right about that,” Robyn said. “Even if they got hold of a map, all you’d have to do is come down here and move it.” Midge was playing with the switch on the light she held, getting antsy or nervous.

  “That’s a black light, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “A professional one like crime scene investigators use,” Midge responded. “It’ll pick up bodily fluids that have been left behind at the scene of a crime.”

  “Lights like that can also read invisible ink, but that spy technique’s no longer in vogue the way it was during most of the major wars in U.S. history, starting with George Washington,” Charly said. “Still, a group of Russian spies exposed in 2010 were using it. UV light can read anything written using an organic fluid like blood or urine.”

  “I’ve got one of those to make sure Scheherazade can’t hide her mistakes from me,” Marty offered.

  “I get it,” I said not wanting any more details than that. Something about the idea nagged at me though. The concept was intriguing—using invisible ink to hide the truth in plain sight.

  “We didn’t find anything of much value, although some of the junk piled up in places might be of interest to collectors. There’s a box of old bottles that must have come from the De Voss family misadventures during Prohibition. If it’s Depression-era glass, Marty says that’ll bring in a few bucks if you can find the right collector,” Midge said.

  “There were a few places that had odd markings—like cave paintings. Stones laid out in patterns or embedded in the walls. Now that I’m talking about it, my skin is getting goosebumps. If Daniel and Constance were into occult practices, I can’t imagine a creepier place to practice them than in that network of passageways.”

  “As stoned as Daniel De Voss was, it’s amazing he didn’t get lost down here,” Joe commented. “Maybe that’s why no one knows where the family vault is—they lost it down here. Whoever wrote that note must still be laughing even if he’s long dead. It’s too bad walls can’t talk,” Joe said. “Treasure hunting and sleuthing sure works up an appetite. Let’s get out of here and go see what Chef Tony has on the menu for lunch.”

  “What if walls can talk?” I asked. “If the handwriting is on the wall, you might not be able to hear it, but you could sure see it. Especially if the Great Wall gives up its secrets.” I hustled over to the storage room, went in, and picked up a picture I’d noticed earlier. I brought it back to the others. It was a vibrant painting tagged: The Great Southern Wall of Isengard, signed in one corner by D.B. De Voss. It was dated ’71.

  “It’s one of Tolkien’s valleys,” Neely said without hesitation.

  “Signed by Daniel Bradley De Voss,” Charly added. “Ted De Voss’s dead brother the same year he died.”

  “Given what a stoner and hippy he was, it’s not surprising he painted something from Tolkien, is it?” Joe asked. “I don’t see any handwriting on the wall, either. Can we go eat, now?”

  “I want to try something, then we can go. Pass me the black light, will you Midge?” I propped the painting against the door of the storage room.

  “Sure.”

  “Here goes nothing,” I whispered as I turned the black light on and swept the surface of the painting. At first, I didn’t see a thing. Then, Neely, who has the poorest sight among us, gasped.

  “This great wall has given up its secrets. That’s a map of the tunnels with the location of the vault marked on it is in Roman numerals,” she said. Then she gazed at me. “How much do you want to bet those numbers are a combination for the vault?” Suddenly, we heard slow, rhythmic clapping. When we all turned away from the painting, we stood there with our mouths gaping.

  “‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows,’ doesn’t it?” Midge asked. None of us could bring ourselves to respond when the gun pointing at us took aim at Midge.

  18 Foregone Conclusion

  “But this denoted a foregone conclusion.” – Othello

  ∞

  “Shut up and step away from the painting,” Eddie Vargas ordered as he shifted his aim again, pointing at Carl. He moved toward us as he issued that command. We all did as he asked, although I edged backward, not away from the painting. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. When his co-conspirator distracted him, I scooted even a little closer to the painting.

  “You’d better do as he says,” Bernie De Voss shrieked as she moved down the stairs and stood next to the detective. “He’s even handier with a gun than he is with a knife.”

  “No!” Marty gasped. “If you’re saying Eddie Vargas killed your son, don’t you care?”

  “Danny wasn’t my son. I can’t believe you nosy snoops didn’t figure that out. Cookie was his mom.”

  “Even if he was Cookie’s son, instead of yours, doesn’t that matter to you?” Charly asked in a calm, steady voice.

  “Why? Cookie De Voss took everything from me! Daniel was supposed to marry me. He would have, too, until she seduced him and then convinced him she was pregnant. He believed her, too, when she said he was the baby’s father.” Bernie was shaking w
ith emotion.

  “Wasn’t he?” I asked suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity. As Eddie and Bernie glared at me, Charlie inched closer to Eddie.

  “No, he was not. He was Ted’s son. Why else would my husband have married so soon after Daniel and Cookie did? It killed Daniel when Ted told him the truth. He was a sweet, gentle soul, and those two ripped his heart out.”

  “A sweet, gentle soul who was trafficking and dealing drugs. That’s a new one,” Midge said in a disgusted tone.

  “Don’t say that! Kill her, Eddie. She gets to be the first to die.”

  “Like Cookie De Voss, you mean?” Charly asked. “We found her, although I’m afraid her resting place isn’t going to remain a secret much longer. Did you kill her or did her sweet, gentle husband do that?”

  “Stop it! I wasn’t even around here until after she disappeared, and Daniel would never have done that. You can’t believe a word Ted tells you. He’s a monster.” Bernie dissolved into tears. “When he told me what he’d done and where she was buried, I couldn’t live here anymore. She was so close I couldn’t stand the sight of the cottage or the golf course. That’s also when I noticed things were being moved. At first, I thought Ted was doing it to drive me mad. When he was gone for months, it continued. That’s when I made Ted buy a house in Santa Barbara and rent the cottage.”

  “Aw, come on. Cookie De Voss had plenty of reason to haunt you, but that was your son—sorry—Ted’s son, sneaking around here looking for the family vault, wasn’t it? You must know that, now.” Bernie glared at Neely before she spoke in an eerily controlled voice, still seething with rage.

  “Now, she gets to be first to die. Start shooting, Eddie. What are you waiting for? No one can hear us down here.”