Evie let her gaze search the place. Large stove on the center island, pots and pans in gleaming copper hanging overhead. Cupboards and cabinets made of the finest oak and crystal, and a stainless steel refrigerator the size of a three-car garage. In the corner of the kitchen stood a bookcase filled with cookbooks dating back at least a thousand years. Didn’t any of the Heyworths ever get rid of anything?
She let her gaze wander over the titles, until something caught her eye. Oh my God… that has to be it. It has to be.
There it sat, the Woman’s Companion twelve-volume encyclopedia of cookery. She picked up the first volume. The copyright was dated 1960.
Heat began to sizzle up her spine and her mouth went dry. She swallowed, then licked her lips. Slipping out each volume in turn, she flipped through the pages, carefully feeling under the end papers for an envelope-sized bulge.
And there it was. In the back of Volume 6. You are so lame, she thought, admonishing herself for not going straight to it. Volume 6 for the sixth clue.
Hurrying to the tile counter, Evie pulled a boning knife from the rack and sliced open the end paper, tugging out the envelope.
Rather than some elaborate address, this one simply said Evie and Max.
She returned the knife to the rack, closed the cookbook, and replaced it on the shelf. She wanted to read the clue right now, but Mrs. Stanley could return at any second. Besides, it would only be fair to wait for Max.
Eh, no it wouldn’t. She’d go to her room and read the clue. Time was of the essence, and it might take some thought to figure out where to look for Number Seven. The prize. The answer to everything, if Thomas had had time to change it, to name his killer, or at least provide some kind of evidence the police could use.
Five minutes later, her bedroom door closed, she sat on her bed and opened the envelope.
Her eyes flew over the words.
He'd never believed in the institution of marriage. After all, who wanted to live in an institution? Now, here he was, sailing along through his middle years and, bam!, he meets her. Smiling eyes guaranteed to knock a man's heart from here to Kingdom Come. And he starts thinking, maybe forevermore ain't such a bad thing…
T.E. Heyworth, 1991
The Changed Man Changes His Mind
Evie frowned. She remembered the book, even the passage. It had been so unlike Thomas’s other novels, this one had stood out in her mind even though she’d only been a teenager when she read it.
Then her fingers relaxed and the paper fluttered to her lap.
I know where it is. I know exactly where it is. It can only be—
An angry blast of wind interrupted her thoughts, startling her. A bough near the house crashed against her window, nearly splintering the glass. Jumping up, Evie ran and looked out. The storm was raging again, worse than before. Trees bent and shivered against the roar of wind off the sea. Afternoon had been turned to night by the thick blanket of clouds tumbling low overhead. Rain splattered the window like beads thrown on a glass table.
Max. Would he get back tonight? If he’d already started for the island, he would be caught in this. Could the yacht withstand such a storm?
Her head spun. Oh, God. First things first. Quickly, she refolded the clue and shoved it under her pillow.
Now, the llamas. Lily was very close to birthing. It had been raining for days, and the wind’s renewed force was sure to begin toppling the tall trees. She had to put the llamas inside the barn for their own safety.
As she pulled on her jacket, she heard her bedroom door open.
“Max?” She looked up, her heart fluttering and skipping and hoping.
But it was Lorna who peeked around the jamb. “I knocked, but you must not have heard,” she said. “Have you seen Dabney? The last I saw of him was lunch. I was sleepy and went to take a nap. He seems to have disappeared.”
Evie forced a smile even though something inside her went on alert.
“Must be the weather. Madame Grovda went to take a nap, too. Listen, I’m going to check on the llamas and put them in the barn until this storm passes. Do you want to come? We can look for Dabney on our way back.”
“Sure.” Relief eased the strain on Lorna’s face. “It’ll help me take my mind off things.” With a quick glance out the window, she said, “It’ll probably be pitch-dark by the time we get back. I think there are some big flashlights in the pantry off the kitchen.”
Amid gusts of wind and slanting pellets of rain, the two women hurried down the path toward the barn. A sickening crack to her left caused Evie to start as a Douglas fir snapped and fell, slamming into the earth.
Fernando, Lorenzo, and Lily were huddled together next to the side of the barn. They turned their heads and blinked at her as she opened the gate and scurried toward them.
With soothing words, she took hold of Fernando’s halter and began leading him toward the barn door Lorna was trying desperately to hold open.
Evie’s hair blew across her face, making it hard to see, so she swiped it away and moved forward. Fernando strolled along beside her, Lorenzo and Lily following his lead.
Once inside the barn, Lorna yanked the door closed.
Evie led the trio to the far end and put them in a roomy stall where they would be out of the wind and could kush down in the soft straw to sleep. They had food and water, and they would be safe. Even if a tree fell on the barn, the structure would absorb the blow and protect the animals much better than if they were outside with no roof over their heads.
Save for the light from the flashlights, the barn lay in shadows. Outside, the wind picked up, blasting against the north wall, seeking chinks through which to enter. A shrill squeal high overhead told her it had found a spot.
The gust passed, and in a moment of calm Evie heard a different noise. It seemed Lorna heard it, too.
“What’s that banging?” she said. Her brow furrowed. “Is it the wind?”
Evie stood very still. A thumping, rhythmic and steady, echoed up from beneath them.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I—I think somebody’s down in the cavern.”
As they stared at each other, they heard the sound again.
Evie looked at the floor beneath her feet—the floor that had opened up one day and swallowed her whole. Falling to her knees, she shone her flashlight on the newly replaced boards.
“We’ll have to pry it up.”
Chapter 25
Dear Diary:
For my birthday, Thomas gave me a book of fairy tales with gorgeous illustrations by a man named Rackham. They are mostly stories about princesses who are rescued by handsome princes. I adore the book, and the princes are certainly handsome, but the stories aren’t realistic in any way! I mean, I’m not exactly brave and I’m definitely not as strong as a prince, but if I were one of those princesses, I think I’d find some way to rescue myself instead of just sitting in the face of danger and waiting for the love of my life to come. I mean, hello!
Evangeline—age 13
The wind beat against the sides of the barn like angry marauders as Evie watched Lorna raise her flashlight.
Over the din, Evie yelled, “Lorna? What are you doing?”
“There’s a crowbar hanging up there,” Lorna shouted. “On that hook. Do you see it?”
Evie got to her feet, stretched up and grasped the crowbar.
The sounds of intermittent thudding still echoed from beneath the floor, and both women dropped to their knees and began prying up the boards.
When the last section of wood came loose in Evie’s fingers, she shone her flashlight into the yawning cavity and felt her blood turn to ice.
“Been there,” she whispered to herself as a shiver of fear assaulted her. “Done that.”
“I can go,” offered Lorna.
“No.” Lifting her gaze to the other woman, she smiled weakly. “I know the way.”
Evie flicked the light down the slope of rocks that had nearly cost her life just two weeks ago. With a shake
of her head, she rose to her feet and went to the storage bin. Rummaging through it, she found a coil of rope.
Her fingers shook as she twisted one end into a bowline and wrapped it around one of the stall posts, shoving the end of the rope through the loop. As quickly as she could, she tied knots in the length of rope at three-foot intervals, then tossed the line through the chasm. Grabbing her flashlight, she shoved it into the waistband of her jeans.
“Shine your light down there so I can see where I’m landing,” she said, gesturing to the floor.
Lorna directed the beam, and Evie took hold of the knotted line. “No matter what,” she warned,
raising her voice above the screaming wind, “don’t come down after me. If something happens, go to the house and get help. Promise?”
“Evie, I—”
“Promise me!”
“All right!” she yelled. “I promise!”
With that, Evie began letting herself down into the darkness, with Lorna’s light on the rocks the only guide she had.
In her hands, the rope felt cold and slippery. Nausea tightened her stomach as she relived her fall into the cavern, the pain it caused, how it had nearly taken her life. She remembered the feel of Max’s strong arms around her, and she wished he were there now.
The toe of her boot, then her heel, touched the rock. Panting, sweating, fearing she might vomit, she paused for a moment.
Beneath her, the pounding noise had slowed, but was still steady.
“You okay?” Lorna shouted from above.
“So far so good.”
Evie pulled the flashlight from her waistband, flicked it on, and shone the beam at the rocks at her feet. Tucking herself down as low as she could, she began the slippery descent. The circle of light illumined the cavern, showing the rock walls, which were damp and covered with lichen. The floor beneath her seemed to be moving.
When she stepped down, cold seawater covered her boots to her ankles.
“Hello!” she shouted. “Hello? Who’s there?”
The thumping grew louder, more insistent.
She swished through the cold surge until she came to two rocks butting up against each other. Down near her knees, a gap between the rocks allowed seawater to rush in at an alarming rate. Shining the light on the opening, she could see that there was enough room for a person to crawl through—if they truly, with all their heart, wanted to go there.
Beyond the rocks, the thumping continued.
Taking a deep breath, Evie forced herself onto her knees and into the inches-deep surge. Squirming through the hole, she came through on the other side just as a slap of saltwater hit her face, filling her mouth.
Spitting and cursing, she pushed herself to her feet. With her wet jeans and sweater clinging to her body, chilling her, making her feel a hundred pounds heavier, she ran the beam of light along the walls, over her head, and down the passage in front of her. It was some kind of tunnel. Dark water rushed toward her, obviously pouring in from the sea. If it continued rising at that rate, she thought, the passage behind her would be underwater in minutes and she’d be trapped.
She considered going back, then heard it again— the thumping.
Cold water swirled around her calves now. Each passing minute brought the level up a few more inches.
“Damn it,” she swore out loud. “Somebody had better be in really deep doo-doo over there, or I am going to be really, really pissed.” She wanted to pinch her nose closed as a god-awful smell assaulted her.
To her left, a huge boulder blocked her view of the tunnel. Moving toward it, toward the sound, she turned the corner and the tip of her light touched something lying under the fast rising water.
A dead body? No, a man, alive, kicking frantically against a wooden support. His hands and feet were bound and a piece of silver duct tape had been pressed over his mouth.
Shoving her flashlight under her arm, Evie splashed forward, reached down and grasped his shoulders. With all the strength she possessed, she lifted him, bringing his head and upper body above the swirling foam.
She yanked off the tape, and he began to cough and choke, gasping for air. He pushed with his bound legs until he scooted to a rock, which he leaned against for support.
Evie shined her light on his face. It was Dabney James.
“Thank you,” he rasped between coughs. “There’s a knife in my right boot, but I couldn’t reach it.”
She shined the light down his legs and reached into the water-soaked leather to retrieve a Swiss Army knife. Her hands trembled from cold and sheer terror as she yanked open the biggest blade and began sawing at the ropes that bound his hands. When they came lose, he took the knife from her and quickly cut through the ropes binding his feet.
“Who did this to you?” she asked.
“Later,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”
“What’s that horrible smell?” she yelled.
He gestured to a pile of rocks near the opening to the sea. “Earl Stanley. He’s been dead for days. Just like I would have been if you hadn’t showed up.”
Evie tried to process this shocking information, but they had a more pressing problem to deal with—the water had risen to her waist.
“Can you stand?” she asked.
Dabney snapped the knife closed and shoved it into his pocket. With her help, he was able to grab a hold on the rock and pull himself to his feet.
“Go ahead,” he said to her. “I’m right behind you.”
Flashlight in hand, Evie splashed around the rock, to where she had entered the tunnel, but every step seemed to take forever. By the time she reached the gap, it was submerged under several feet of churning seawater as more continued to pour in. If they tried to go underneath it, the storm surge would either shove them into the rocks or suck them back out to sea. Either way, they’d probably drown.
Their only escape route had been cut off.
It was dark as pitch now, a windy, storm-ravaged, moonless night as Max stalked from the dock to the house.
He’d been anxious about Evie all day, but he’d had to get to the mainland and see McKennitt. Besides, anybody set on hurting her would have to be a complete idiot to try to navigate out to the island in weather like this. And with both Edmunds and Nate watching out for her, he told himself, she would be fine.
Just as he got to the back door, the lights in the house flickered. Around him, the wind screeched like a demon, bending the trees, creating a wall of noise he could barely think through. The lights flickered again, then went out.
Great. Just frigging great.
The kitchen was empty. Unable to see anything in the dark, he headed for what he remembered was the storeroom where the flashlights were kept. Finally finding the knob, he turned it, then felt around until his fingers curled around a likely handle.
One flick, and the flashlight’s bright beam lit up the small room.
Moving quickly through the house, he took the stairs two at a time until he reached Evie’s bedroom door. Without knocking, he flung it open, calling her name. Empty.
Fie searched from room to room until he heard voices in the library. As he approached the wide double doors, he stopped and flicked off his flashlight, peering inside.
“My dear madame,” Edmunds was saying to the frantic-looking psychic. “I assure you, we possess enough hurricane lamps to light a Broadway stage. We often lose power at Mayhem Manor, and have come to take it in stride.”
She responded in near hysterical Russian, and the butler continued, “I have some matches just here. I don’t mind losing power, actually, save for when I’m in the middle of a good book, or watching The Daily Show.”
“Edmunds,” Max said as he entered the library, flicking on his flashlight. “Where’s Evie?”
The butler lit a lamp, then turned to face him. “Detective Galloway,” he said with a smile. “Just before the lights went out, I saw her and Miss Whitney go down to the kitchen. I’m sure if you—”
“I just ca
me in through the kitchen. Nobody’s there.”
Edmunds lit another lamp. “Oh. Well, then. Perhaps her room—”
“Max!”
He turned to see Lorna rush through the doors behind him, a flashlight in her hand, a look of panic on her face.
“What happened?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, alarm chilling his blood. Through clenched teeth, he growled, “Where is Evie?”
“I’m sorry!” she cried. “She… she… we heard a noise under the floor of the barn. So we pried up the boards, and she went down there. The cavern is flooded with seawater. Oh, Max,” she sobbed, “I think she may have drowned!”
In the total darkness outside the library doors, Felix Barlow clutched the piece of paper in his hands, the paper he’d retrieved from the Randall woman’s room, the paper that would bring it all to an end. It hadn’t taken him long to find it under her pillow.
Clue Number Six. He didn’t know what it meant, but he’d wager everything that she did.
For days, the weather had prevented him from getting to the island to finish his work, but the break today had been all he’d needed—until the storm had picked up again. He hoped his boat was where he’d left it, otherwise he’d be in really deep shit.
Time was running out. His plans were going to hell, and he’d decided the best he could do now was leave the country. He had to get back to Port Henry, retrieve his laptop and papers, then get to Canada and from there hop a flight to parts unknown.
But he still had time. He’d retrieved her clue, and if he could just decipher the fucking thing, he could steal Number Seven, and maybe prevent his having to flee to Canada.
The truth was, he didn’t want to leave Port Henry or the life he’d established for himself there, but he didn’t want to end up in prison, either. He could barely imagine sharing breathing space with the lowlife scum who inhabited penitentiaries. The prospect was unthinkable.
Curling his fingers into fists, he stood absolutely still. While they all went looking for that Randall bitch, he could get the last clue and slip away.
Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie Page 25
