Altered to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  I hoped to come up with a plan before then. I wasn’t trusting myself to another Buford idea.

  “I’m thinking the door was created in an area that people didn’t see that often.” Wyatt went to a section of the brick wall almost in the corner of the house. “There was a large wood stove in this area. The pipe wasn’t hooked up to anything so I think it was a disguise. There was also a pantry here. It came apart easy. Too easy if you ask me.”

  “I’ll start on the left side,” I said, “you start on the right and we’ll meet in the middle.”

  “Sound goods. It’s probably low to the ground. Since it was a secret from Rudolph, I don’t think Clifford could’ve made it that tall. It would’ve been easier to spot.” Wyatt knocked and pushed on the bricks.

  I copied his movements, rapping and shoving, listening out for a different sound, or feel of the structure. Time ticked away. There were steps above us.

  “Here. I think something is here.” Wyatt stretched out on the floor, clothes soaking up the water. “Help me push. It’s stuck.”

  I crawled over, together we pushed on the section. It budged.

  “Put your hands up higher, Faith,” Wyatt whispered, “I’ll work on the bottom.”

  We tried again. It groaned, and moved forward, leaving a hole that was three feet by three feet.

  Wyatt grinned at me. “We found it.”

  “Now one of us has to go in.” I wasn’t too keen on the next step. I knew who was crawling in. Me. Wyatt’s bulk would never fit through the opening. It had been built woman sized. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  “Right here.” Wyatt handed it me, having figured out what I did. He wouldn’t fit.

  “Hopefully discovering where this leads gives us an answer.”

  “I just hope we’re asking the right question that needs answering.”

  I sat back on my heels. What was the question? Who had been killed? Why?

  The basement door creaked.

  “Go.” Wyatt nudged me. “Someone’s coming.”

  “The opening...”

  He nudged harder. “I’ll hide it. Hurry.”

  I crawled inside. The flashlight thudded on the ground with every inch forward. An ache went down my arm. Cobwebs tickled my face, quickly I swiped them away. The only thing stopping me from screaming was a fear of eating some of them. This idea was even more horrible than allowing Wyatt to turn me into a mummy. The air smelled stale and burned my lungs. I was churning up a lot of dirt.

  I flicked on the light and shone it down the long, long stretch of tunnel. Panic danced along my nerves. I was enclosed again. What if—Nope. Don’t go there. Look for clues. Think of nothing else. The errant thought tickled at my mind. I forced it out. The last thing I needed was to panic down here. No, the last thing you need to do is get buried here. Oh shut up, I told myself.

  I moved the beam of light, gauging the distance of the tunnel. Did I really want to crawl in there? Yes, I did. The sleuthing gene was stronger than the chicken gene. I pivoted. My foot struck something behind me. Sitting down, I scooted in a circle until what was behind me was illuminated. Stairs.

  Gingerly, I placed one foot on the first step. It groaned but held my weight. Placing my hand on the brick wall to steady myself, I made my way upstairs. There was no rail on the other side. If the stairs gave out, I’d have quite a fall to the ground. I reached the top and pushed on the brick wall. Nothing. Feeling around the bricks, I searched for a lever or other device to open the wall. There had to be a way inside. I doubted this was a staircase to nowhere.

  If I was going to hide a handle into a room, where would I put it? Esther wouldn’t want her to dad to see it and up on the wall would be easier to spot. The ground? I tapped the toe of my shoe against the wall. I hit something round like a button. Using the side of my foot, I pressed against the small round object and pushed. The wall inched forward. There was now enough space for me to slip through.

  The room I stepped into was approximately nine foot by nine foot. The walls were freshly painted and dark hardwood floors gleamed and bookcases lined the walls. Disappointment welled inside me. The room had been redone top to bottom and there was nothing to hint at whose it had once been. My guess was Esther. Clifford wouldn’t have built a hidden exit for anyone else.

  With one hand on the wall and the other shining the light on the small stairs, I carefully made my way down. Sweat trickled down my forehead, making me itch. I wanted to scratch it, but I refused to let go of the light or the comfort of leaning on the wall. The next step groaned. Quickly, I went down the last step. Too quick. The aging wood collapsed and my foot went through it, scraping on the jagged wood as it sank through. I hissed in a sharp breath.

  The flashlight slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground. I leaned toward the wall, sitting down so I didn’t wrench my knee or break my leg. I waited for the pain in my ankle to fade before I tried moving.

  I tried pulling my foot straight out, stopping when it scraped on the wood. There had to be a way to release my foot without doing any more damage to it. The flashlight was lying on its side, still operational. The bit of light let me see that the wood was cracked and a strong push or two would break the remainder of the step.

  Using the heel of my other foot, I banged on the wood until it collapsed and freed my foot. I rotated my ankle. It ached but nothing seemed broken. Gingerly, I put some weight on it and tested it by taking a few steps. All was good. I picked up the flashlight and fixed the beam on the stairs, hoping the secret staircase wasn’t going to come down around my head.

  Something glinted under the broken step. A necklace. There was also a stack of letters tied together. The last stair was a secret storage area. What was I going to do with my finds while I explored the tunnel? I needed to see where it went.

  The necklace was easy. I’d wear it. I returned the letters to the hiding spot. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt them, and they wouldn’t get lost in the dark area, or get wet, if Wyatt decided to flood the basement again. The tunnel wasn’t tall enough for me to stand up in, or even hunch over and walk so I’d have to crawl.

  I inched forward, small stones biting into my palms and knees. As I crawled down the tunnel, excitement built up in me. I was going to find out where Esther’s escape path led.

  A cool breeze skittered by my cheek. I was getting to the finish line. I hurried toward the opening, eager to see where Esther had met Clifford. I quickened my pace and reached the end of the journey. Roots partially blocked what had once been Esther’s secret exit from her home. I peered through the opening. The entwined roots created an arch big enough for a child or animal to get through.

  Dare I risk it? With some wiggling I might be able to make it out. I tugged on some of the thinner parts of the roots, breaking off a few and widening the hole. That should do it.

  A strip of yellow flickered toward me. Was that crime scene tape?

  Face down, I started inch-worming my way out of the tunnel, twisting and turning until my head and shoulders were out. I clawed at the soft dirt, drawing myself out little by little. I sucked in a breath, giving me a needed inch or two to clear my stomach. Almost there. The belt loop on my jeans snagged on one of the roots. I was stuck.

  I swiveled my hips, hoping it would free the loop or loosen the hold of the roots. No such luck. There wasn’t enough space for me to get a hand inside to unsnag the loop. Maybe if I backed up and turned sideways a little I could get out. No such luck.

  This was quite an interesting predicament I got myself into. Sighing, I leaned my arms on a large root, resting for a bit before I worked on getting out of the secret tunnel. I hoped if I strained forward hard enough, the loop on my jeans would give. The spot where the tunnel ended was in a wooded area, or had been one. A portion of it had been cleared for an access road. My guess was for delivery trucks as the main road to the mansion was steep.

/>   A strip of crime scene tape flickered back and forth, an end tied to a tree. I didn’t know the crime scene extended this far away from the area where Wayne had dug. The spot where the bones were found was about a hundred yards away and on the east side of the house, while this was a little downhill and more south. I arched my back to get a better look at the area.

  A voice came toward me. Ted and Officer Mitchell. This wasn’t good. I tried sliding back into the hole to wait them out. I couldn’t go backward either. What in the heck had I caught myself on? I grabbed at one of the roots, hoping to break it off. It wasn’t budging.

  How in the world was I going to explain this? I wiggled more frantically, hoping my frenzied moments snapped a root or allowed me to hide back in the tunnel.

  The voices stopped. Had Ted and Mitchell decided to go in a different direction or had they heard me and were carefully making their way toward an intruder? An intruder who might be dangerous, or a murderer who was coming back to the scene of their crime to make sure no long ago evidence was still around? Cops were edgy when people were skulking about a crime scene.

  There was only one way to ensure I didn’t get shot. Identify myself. “Ted! I need some help.”

  “What the—” He censored himself. Footsteps came in my direction.

  This was going to be fun to explain. Not.

  “Do I even want to know?” Ted glared at me.

  Mitchell stood a few feet away, tinkering with his handcuffs.

  “Probably not. I’m stuck on a branch.”

  Ted reached down and clamped onto my arm, yanking me from the tunnel. Pain radiated from the spot Ted touched. I hissed, holding in a cry as tears clouded my vision.

  “I could use some help,” Ted said. “She’s really wedged in here.”

  “I’d think she could manage on her own. She’s an expert at getting herself into and out of messes.” Mitchell walked over and examined the tree. “The Buford’s probably have a saw or an ax.”

  I wasn’t liking the idea of Wayne or Wyatt hacking away at a root I was attached to. “I’ll just keep wiggling around.”

  “You’ve already hurt yourself doing that,” Ted said.

  “That’s from—” I stopped talking. I had decided not to mention that to Ted. Hank was wrong. Very wrong. The man never should’ve put his hands on me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to escalate the matter. Ted would. There was no way he’d ignore it, not just because it was me but because it was his job. He wouldn’t stand by and let someone get away with hurting another person.

  Ted knelt and pushed up my sleeves. There was an ugly bruise on my arm. Ted’s gaze searched mine for an answer. Excuses for the cause of the bruise ran through my head. I was in the tunnel. There was plenty of ways to hurt myself in there. No. The truth. Secrets caused problems.

  “Hank wanted me to talk to him, I didn’t, so he forced the issue,” I said.

  Mitchell squatted down by me. “Why didn’t you say something when I showed up at the house?”

  “It didn’t happen then.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Ted’s gaze volleyed between us.

  Mitchell told him about being called to Georgia’s house because I was creating a disturbance according to Matthew Brodart. “If I had known he touched her, I’d have brought him in, Detective. I swear I wouldn’t have stood by for that.”

  I was a little touched that Mitchell would’ve defended me. “He did that later.”

  As Ted and Mitchell worked to free me, I explained what happened at Scrap This.

  “He grabbed you.” A root cracked in Ted’s hand.

  Mitchell wedged a shoulder under the tree stump and pushed up. I swung my legs out.

  “And pushed me.” Tears gathered in my eyes as the incident replayed in my head. I swiped them away and stood. “I’m okay though. My arm just hurts a little. Not too bad. I was able to crawl through Esther’s secret tunnel.”

  Ted drew me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. I relaxed, taking comfort in the sweet, loose embrace. Ted tilted my chin up. “I want you to stay away from Hank.”

  “Trust me, I don’t want to be anywhere around him.”

  “What’s the matter? You’re shaking.”

  How did one ask their friend if their husband was abusing them? I kept consoling myself that I hadn’t seen any marks on Sierra and my head responded back with you never looked. I hadn’t. None of us had. Yes, Hank had a temper. The town knew it. Sierra seemed happy with life even with all the trouble her boys created.

  Was it all an act?

  I told him what had set Hank off and how Sierra and Henry saw the altercation.

  Ted and Mitchell exchanged a quick glance. They were worried about the family.

  “I’ll check in on Sierra and her boys,” Ted said.

  I clutched at his arms, fear trampling through my heart. “Hank will know I told you. He’ll get mad.”

  “Hank is more of an idiot than I think he is, if he believes I wouldn’t find out.”

  “How about I stop by and chat with him?” Mitchell hiked up his utility belt. “Or at least swing by and see how his mom is. The whole thing started this morning because Hank didn’t want Faith talking to his mom. That concerns me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ted said. “Check in on Georgia, and I’ll have a word with Hank.”

  “It might be best if Officer Mitchell talks to him,” I said. “What if Hank says something to make you lose your temper? It could cost you your job. Hank doesn’t like me and might say you’re making up lies because I don’t like him.”

  “Neither of those are good reasons not to say anything to him.”

  “I’m not saying don’t, just it might be better if another officer does.”

  “You might be right.” Ted sighed. “I’ll talk with Chief Moore and see how he advises we handle the manner.”

  “I need help!” Wyatt’s frantic plea reached our ears. We started running. I stumbled to a stop at Wyatt’s next sentence. “Faith is missing!”

  Ted and Mitchell both stopped and turned to stare at me.

  Oops. I forgot I had a partner in crime. “I guess I was taking longer than he thought I should.”

  “What has been going on today?” Ted fixed a hard gaze on Wyatt. Snow drifted down on us.

  “Can we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

  “No one is going back inside,” Ted said.

  I bit my lip to stop from arguing. I needed to go back inside. The letters were in the step.

  Mitchell had left to check on Georgia. The Buford brothers, Bob, and I were being interrogated outside in the cold by a very unhappy Ted. I had a feeling his mood had more to do with Hank than our scheming into the house, even though that wasn’t something he was pleased about either.

  “Wyatt saw there was a change in the plans from the one that is at the historical society,” Wayne said. “He thought there was a secret door.”

  “There is one,” I defended Wyatt. “It leads from Esther’s room, or I think it was Esther’s room, to the basement and also outside.”

  “You got stuck in the tree by following the proverbial yellow brick road.”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  Ted turned slowly and fixed his angriest glare at his Bob who wasn’t fazed by it. “And how did you get wrangled into this scheme?”

  “Keeping an eye on Faith.”

  “I don’t need you looking after me,” I huffed.

  “Really?” Bob tilted his head to the side. “I’m not the one who got themselves stuck in a tree. How does one do that?”

  By following a plan devised by Wyatt Buford.

  “And what did you find out about this secret door?” Ted asked.

  A brilliant idea popped into my brain. “It leads from a bedroom to an area outside the basement where you eith
er enter the basement or a path that leads outside,” I said. “Let me show you.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door.

  “I don’t think so.” Ted dragged his feet, but my enthusiasm was winning.

  “Maybe you can find where the pipes were leaving the house,” I said. “It might give you some clues on the murder.”

  “That is true.”

  “I’d like to look too,” Wayne said. “I want to see if the pipes had originally started to be laid where the plans indicate and if the terrain or something else dictated the change. Or it was a ruse to start off with.”

  The pipes were drawn there so no one would ever dig there for planting or other improvements. The only thing that would require digging in that area was if the pipes needed replaced after a few decades—long enough for the murderer to live a nice, long life without the crime being discovered.

  “Field trip time,” Bob said.

  “We’re not all going to fit,” I said. Now that I think about it, I wasn’t sure any of the men would be able to get inside the space with their broad shoulders.

  “Once you show me where it is, I can go inside. I don’t think I’ll get lost.” Ted said.

  How was I going to get the letters? Ask him. That was the simplest way, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to share that with Ted. Truth be told, I was worried he’d confiscate them before I had a chance to read them.

  Wyatt and I lead everyone to the secret door.

  Ted studied the opening. “We’re going to have to widen the entrance.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Pancake is going to like that,” Wyatt said. “This project is already going over budget.”

  “She doesn’t have a say,” Ted said. “This is a crime scene, and I need to get in there.”

  “That secret room is part of the house’s charm,” Wyatt’s voice rose. “We should preserve it, not damage it.”

  “The stairs are falling apart,” I said.

  The men looked at me.

  “A little rickety and the bottom one has a hole in it.” I refrained from mentioning how.