by Julie Hyzy
“Yes, fine. What’s down there?”
“Gracie, be careful,” Bennett said from above.
“First rule,” Flynn said. “Don’t touch a thing. Here.” He dug out two pair of latex gloves and two sets of paper booties. He handed one set of each to me. “Put these on.”
“How much stuff do you carry?” I asked. “You had the baton, the flashlight, now all this.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he hollered up to Frances to call the department and request an evidence team.
“Now?” she asked. I could tell she’d done that to irk him. It worked.
“Yes, now. Grace and I will do our best not to disturb anything. This still may not have anything to do with the murder, but I don’t want to take chances.”
I stepped off the platform, surprised to find that the floor down here wasn’t dirt, like in my home’s hidden passage. This floor was solid. The walls were concrete and rounded, as though we were standing in an oversized storm drain. One tall enough to allow us both to walk upright.
It was dark in front of Flynn. I could only see about ten feet ahead. “Where do you think this leads?” he asked. He raised the light to the top of the circular space and traced it forward. “What’s above us in the mansion in this direction?”
I had to stop to think. Getting my bearings, I pointed over my right shoulder. “That way is the front of the house, which means we’re not far from the indoor swimming pool.” I reached out to skim the concrete side with my fingers. “The deep end of the pool is probably on the other side of this wall.”
“Maybe this is an access point for repairs?”
“Could be,” I said, but I was doubtful and my tone conveyed as much. We continued to creep forward as the tunnel made a sharp left. “I’m pretty sure that up ahead and to the right above us would be the Birdcage Room. There’s not much between here and there except—” I stopped myself.
“Except what?”
“There’s another passage that leads from the underground parking into the basement of the mansion. The employee entrance.”
He didn’t comment. The circular walkway we were in wasn’t wide enough for us to continue side by side, so I kept behind him. Now that it had become clear that the ceiling wasn’t about to collapse in on us, we’d even picked up the pace. So far I guessed we’d traveled about fifty feet, which meant we were still underneath the house.
“It smells like something. What do you think it is?” he asked.
I lifted my head a little and took in a deep whiff. “Whiskey?”
Flynn half turned. I could see the pleased look on his face. “Same thing I thought.” He stopped and glanced around. “When the evidence team gets here, I’ll have them look for the source.”
We found ourselves at a dead end—a flat iron wall with no discernible door—less than a minute later.
Flynn groaned. “Another puzzle to solve?”
“There has to be a way out,” I said. “And I’ll bet this one isn’t so hard to find. I mean, whoever built this didn’t want people to know about it, so they took precautions to keep the mechanism from being easily detected. But once a person was down here, I’m betting they wanted to keep things simple.”
I stepped into the flashlight’s beam and placed my hands on the circular iron wall, about where a doorknob would be. All I felt was cool, coarse metal. I moved my fingers a little higher up, then higher again. I was at about the mid-space between elbows and shoulders when I found it.
“Here we go,” I said.
Flynn came around me, directing his light straight on. There was a latch like the kind you might see inside a walk-in freezer, the kind where you lift the handle in order to open the door, only much smaller. Rather than have him push past me again, I decided to let him do the honors. “Go ahead. You know you want to.”
“Stand back.”
Yeah, like I was really going to do that.
He lifted the latch and pushed the door open. I blinked.
We weren’t in sunshine, but were definitely outdoors. A gust carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass rolled past us. We heard mowers in the distance. There was an underlying smell of hot, wet greenery, with a sweet twist of honeysuckle. The passageway opened into what felt like a mossy, underground cave with trailing vines covering its sunny mouth. From what I could tell, we were southeast of where we’d started.
I wondered how a spot like this could have gone unnoticed by our caretakers for so long. I’d have to ask them about it. But for now I needed to see where the light was coming from.
Flynn had remained silent but now swung his arm out, stopping me from pushing through the branches and shrubs that had blocked the opening.
“We’ve established that this leads to the outside. That’s good enough for me for now. Let’s go back.”
“Don’t you want to see where we are?”
He gestured for me to return to the dark passageway. “Our evidence techs will be able to tell if anyone has been through those weeds recently. If you and I go traipsing through there, we’ll muck it all up for them.”
“Good point,” I said.
“I know what I’m doing. Even though you and your assistant don’t think I do.”
“That’s not fair.”
He turned, briefly. “Isn’t it?”
There was a look in his eyes at that moment that I hadn’t expected. For that half second it was as though I could see how Frances and I must appear to him. Amateurs poking their noses in. Solving murders and putting themselves in danger. More to the point, in his mind, we undermined his authority. Regularly.
“We never intend to get involved,” I said to his back.
I saw him shrug. He flicked the flashlight back on, and we used it until the sharp turn. At that point there was enough light streaming in from above where we’d left Bennett and Frances. He shut it off again.
“Seriously. I realize I’ve probably been a pain in your side—”
He made an indescribable noise that conveyed “That’s an understatement.”
“You have to admit that we’ve helped. Whether we intended to be part of your investigation or not, the fact is that a lot of recent murders were solved because we got involved.”
He spun and spoke in a low voice. “I would have been able to solve every single case without your help.”
His brows were tight, and even in the dim light I could see the shimmer of fury burning in his eyes.
I chose to say nothing.
“But because you and your wicked witch assistant jump in, no one gives our department any credit. It’s all you. All because of you. And the media eats that right up.”
I hadn’t realized how much antipathy Flynn held smoldering in there. I probably should have, but I’d always reasoned that the end justified the means. “I’ve never looked to take credit. What difference does it make as long as the killer is brought to justice?”
Still talking softly, he said, “It matters to me.”
“That’s why you’re including us this time, isn’t it?” The light was beginning to dawn. If he included us, then he would be able to control the message. If this murder was solved successfully, he could bask in the glow of a job well done.
“It’s all about the attention,” I said as we neared the opening. Borrowing from Frances, I said, “Tsk,” then added, “I expected better from you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Rather than answer, I brushed past him and stood on the platform, looking up. Bennett and Frances seemed relieved to see us. “When Flynn joins me aboard the platform top, how about you hit that button?” I said to Frances. “I’m sure this will hold us both, and I’d much prefer riding than having to climb up there in a skirt.”
Chapter 23
Bennett dropped by my office shortly before the end of the day. I was on the phone with Ronny
Tooney at the time and I gestured to Bennett to sit, letting him know I wouldn’t be long.
Even though I knew that Flynn was looking into where the moonshine had come from that had killed Keay, I didn’t think it would hurt for our would-be private eye to lend a hand as well. Given our recent conversation, I’d been surprised when I’d broached the idea to Flynn and he’d agreed. “Go ahead,” he’d said. “We have limited resources. And those moonshiners can spot a cop a mile away. Tooney might actually have better luck.”
Now, talking with the man on the phone, I reminded him to stay out of trouble. “All we’re looking for is who might have bought the alcohol,” I said. “I’m not interested in shutting the moonshiners down.”
“I’ll bet Flynn would be, though,” Tooney said.
“Be careful, okay?”
He promised he would.
When we hung up, Bennett asked, “So? Big plans this weekend?”
Frances had followed him in and watched me closely as I answered. “Except for figuring out what to do with the secret passage in my house, no, nothing special.”
He smiled. “A young woman like you should be out enjoying herself on her days off.”
“With my house in the state it’s in—half-finished, with people running in and out constantly—I’m better off staying put.”
As he settled himself into one of the wing chairs and indicated for Frances to join us, he asked, “Are the evidence technicians still here?”
“They left about twenty minutes ago,” I told him. Frances nodded. “They took a load of samples from the passageway and, at least according to what Flynn told us, found two unlabeled jars that may have held alcohol.”
“The killer left evidence behind? That seems sloppy.”
“Not if he or she didn’t expect us to find the trapdoor.”
“True enough,” Bennett agreed. “Have you seen where the tunnel ends? You said it opened to the outside. I can’t imagine where.”
I’d been surprised. “You know where the employee entrance is? Not where we pull in, but the underground walkway that leads into the basement?”
He nodded. Frances had gone with me to look, so she already knew all this.
“The drain tile, or whatever it was we walked through, crisscrosses directly above that. They occupy the same underground space at different levels.”
“How did we never hear of this before?”
Earlier, I’d pulled out the floor plans we regularly consulted whenever a structural question came up. They were still on my desk, rolled up on my right. I opened them and indicated the spot where the employee walkway had been constructed.
“I checked back in the records. When this construction was going on, the crew found what they described as an extra-large drain tile—exactly what Flynn and I walked through today. Because they were reluctant to mess with drainage, the decision was made to not attempt to relocate it. They simply dug the walkway a little deeper. Other than that mention, I can find no record of it.”
“My grandfather had to have been aware.”
I nodded. “That would be my assumption.”
“I have a few records of my own. Diaries from my father and grandfather. I’ll have a look and let you know if I come up with anything.”
“I’d appreciate that. It’s a mystery.”
“And we know you can’t let any of those go unsolved, don’t we?” he asked.
“Don’t distract her,” Frances said to Bennett. “You know she can’t resist anything to do with Marshfield history.” She crossed her arms. “But none of that will help us find the murderer. The jars, now maybe that’s a clue.”
“You’re right, Frances,” I said. “But it’s interesting and I’d like to know why the passage is there. What’s key here is knowing who else knew about it.”
“Joyce Swedburg, for one.” Frances beamed. “What did I tell you? I knew she did it. I knew it. Convenient for her to get sick that night, wasn’t it?”
“Flynn did say the attack was personal,” I said.
Bennett chimed in. “And whoever killed Keay clearly planned this well in advance.”
“Serena told us that Dr. Keay told her he was going to meet someone. I wish I knew who that was.”
Frances gave a condescending snort. “If we knew that, we’d have the murder solved by now, wouldn’t we?” She gave Bennett a look that seemed to ask how oblivious I could be sometimes, and went on. “According to Flynn, who questioned Serena a couple more times, the young lady has nothing more to offer. She said that Keay never told her who he was meeting. A dead end. Now, Joyce, on the other hand—she knew about this secret way in. I think she’s worth another look.”
“We know that Joyce studied the plans. We don’t know if she knew about the trapdoor elevator,” I corrected her. “That makes David Cherk a likely suspect as well because he studied the plans before the party, too.”
“He did that because he was presenting here.” She sniffed. “Perfectly acceptable reason.”
“Having a reason to examine the plans doesn’t exonerate Cherk, Frances. In fact, it’s an ideal cover for a crime like this.”
Bennett stood. “Time for me to head back upstairs, but one of the things we need to think about is what David Cherk might have had against Dr. Keay.”
“I don’t know of anything,” Frances said.
Neither did I.
“See?” she said, reading my expression. “It was Joyce. I’ve been right from the very start.”
* * *
At home, after the workers left for the day, I changed into yoga pants and a stretched-out T-shirt before heading into the kitchen to make dinner. As I donned an apron and assembled my ingredients for one of my go-to recipes, chicken with mushroom sauce, I jotted on a piece of scrap paper notes that had nothing to do with the menu and everything to do with recent revelations.
All possible suspects made the list: Joyce, David, Serena, plus a couple of the doctors who had been in attendance at the fund-raiser. I considered them all for a moment and then added Todd Pedota’s name. Even though he seemed to have gotten past his anger at Dr. Keay, you never really knew what someone held deep in his heart. People showed you their best selves, and often the truth lay hidden until they were presented with the right moment to act. Perhaps this had been the opportunity for revenge he’d been waiting for. He didn’t seem like a murderer to me, but then again, who did?
I hadn’t intended to think about the murder case tonight—I’d planned to relax my brain and put my feet up. Stepping away from a problem for a while often helped me find answers. But tonight I simply couldn’t quiet my mind. I knew why, of course: the discovery of Marshfield’s secret passage with the hidden elevator. That had certainly widened the net on possible suspects, which was why Joyce and Todd had made it onto my list. I hated to have to admit it, but Frances’s contention that it was Joyce who’d done the deed was beginning to be our best guess.
The chicken I’d braised was warming in the oven and the mushroom sauce had almost thickened completely when the doorbell rang.
Bootsie looked up at me as if to say, “Who can it be?” before trotting off to find out.
“Good luck answering the door without opposable thumbs,” I called to her departing figure as I shut off the burners, covered the pan, and wiped my hands on my apron.
At the front door, I peeked out the side window, forgetting that the porch lights were out of commission. The old fixture had been removed in the renovation. A new one had been ordered but hadn’t yet been installed. Even though it wasn’t true dark yet, dusk had begun to settle, and with the shade of the trees blocking ambient light, I couldn’t quite make out who it was on my doorstep. All I could tell was that the person had half turned away.
The heavy wooden door—Hillary hadn’t decided whether to replace or repair this yet—squeaked as I opened it and Adam spun t
o face me, holding a heavy armload of gorgeous blooms.
I laughed as he handed them to me. “Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?”
He took a step backward, and even in the dim light I could see a hint of doubt flicker in his eyes. “I don’t mean to intrude, and if this isn’t a good time for you, I can go.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. And I was. “I just wasn’t expecting you.” I held the door open. “Come in. Please.”
“You’re sure?”
I turned to give Bootsie a warning glare not to run out, but she’d scampered onto a nearby table to get a better view. “I’m not really dressed for this.” I pushed the door open wider. “But I’d love company and I made dinner. Are you hungry?”
“Starved. I’d planned to take you out, if you were willing.” He sniffed the air. “But it smells great and if you’ve already gone to all that trouble—”
Adam was a big guy. Although not so tall as to be required to duck through doorways, he didn’t leave a lot of clearance. He had bold features, a full head of dark hair, and creased, pockmarked skin. When I’d first met him, he’d sported a chunky diamond stud in one ear, and had been carrying a long black wig. The leader of the rock band SlickBlade, Adam had turned out to be as far from the rocker, partyer stereotype as I could have imagined. I’d learned that during his downtime, his three favorite pursuits were reading, experimenting in the kitchen, and touring historical landmarks. Lately, he’d added a fourth: visiting me here in Emberstowne. A far cry from getting wasted at high-class New York bars with his younger bandmates.
He bent down to pick Bootsie up. “How’s the little sweetheart?” he asked as he stroked under her chin. Her eyes closed and she purred loud enough for me to hear.
“You know,” I said, as we made our way into the kitchen, “you don’t have to bring me flowers when you come to visit.”
He put Bootsie down gently and gave me a shy grin. “They make you smile,” he said. “Every time.”
“Did you ever think that maybe seeing you is what makes me smile?”
He blinked, as though struck by an electrical jolt. “Does it?”
