Baking exceptional cupcakes, it turns out, is my other ability that is slightly beyond normal. So I wasn’t kidding when I told Ammon that the ingredient I’d left out of the cupcakes recipe was magic.
There was a lot of loud banging on the front door to the bakery, and Glo went to investigate.
“It’s Josh,” she said, unlocking the door and letting him in.
Josh was soot smudged and sweaty. His puffy pirate shirt was untucked and streaked with black grime, his striped pants had a hole in the knee, and his hair was an unruly mess.
“They’re freaking crazy!” Josh said. “They set a match to the Pirate Museum. I barely got out alive. Had to crawl out the basement window.”
Broom smacked Josh in the head.
“Ow!” Josh said. “That hurt.”
“It was Broom,” Glo said.
“It was you,” Josh said. “You’re holding Broom.”
“Were you the only one in the museum?” I asked him.
“Yes. The museum manager got a call to pick up a package, so I shut the doors for a spell. Too difficult to run the show alone. It’s a slow time for us anyway. People are thinking about dinner and not pirates. It picks up again when the ghost tour starts.”
“How did the fire start?”
Josh got whacked with the broom again.
“Okay, I get it,” Josh said to Glo. “You’re mad at me. I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I don’t know what the heck I was thinking.”
“About the fire,” I said.
“We were all locked up, but someone was knocking and knocking and knocking, and, like an idiot, I went to the door. It was three guys in suits. They pushed me back into the museum, and one of them hit me on the head with his gun. When I came around there was fire everywhere. Lucky I was near the trapdoor that goes to the basement. It’s just a crawl space down there with the rats and the spiders, but I got to the small half window that’s on the back alley side and managed to squeeze out. The police were out front and the fire trucks were pulling up, but all I could think of was putting distance between me and the men in suits. I figured they were lurking somewhere close, waiting until someone discovered my charred remains.”
“They kidnapped Clara’s grandfather,” Glo said.
“That’s horrible,” Josh said. “Is he okay?”
“We don’t know,” I said.
Rutherford called on my cellphone. “Good evening,” he said. “Mr. Ammon would like to speak to you.”
There were some scuffling sounds and Ammon came on the phone. “I trust you’ve heard the news by now that there was a fire at the Pirate Museum. I thought the symbolism was appropriate since we seem to have a theme of fire and brimstone. Rrrruff, ruff. Excuse me. Remnants of my concussion. I trust you’re working hard to find the coin for me. We’ll have a wonderful future together once you’ve found the coin. Aaarooo.”
More scuffling, and Rutherford took over. “Mr. Ammon has gone to get a cough drop,” Rutherford said, “but it sounds like the conversation went well. I have to say I saw some of the fire at the museum, and it was spectacular. Did you get to see any of it?”
“No.”
“Well, there will be other opportunities. Mr. Ammon has a list of activities prepared to demonstrate his commitment to completing Mammon’s holy ceremony.”
“More fires and kidnappings?”
“Very definitely. Mr. Ammon is still a bit under the weather from time to time, but he’s a master at planning a campaign such as this. He would have made a wonderful general. A regular Napoleon.”
There was some offstage growling and a muffled conversation.
“One last thing,” Rutherford said, returning to the phone. “Mr. Ammon would like to order a dozen cupcakes. Six chocolate and six red velvet with cream cheese icing. I’ll send someone over to pick them up.”
I disconnected, grabbed a cupcake container, and filled it with the dozen cupcakes. I wrote “Martin Ammon” on the container, and set it out front next to the door.
“Gather up some food and kill the lights,” I said to Clara, Josh, and Glo. “We’re going underground until Diesel returns.”
Five minutes later we locked the bakery, took the stairs to the storeroom, and moved into the tunnel. I pulled the shelves back in place, so the tunnel entrance wasn’t visible. Clara led the way with the big spotlight. Glo and I had smaller flashlights tucked into our tote bags. Carl skipped alongside me. Josh carried two large freezer bags filled with meat pies and muffins. We would be able to get water at the speakeasy.
“These tunnels go for miles and miles under Salem,” Clara said. “The speakeasy is the most elaborate of the hidey-holes, but there are storerooms and bunk rooms all over the place. Houses and office buildings have changed hands and been renovated, and the current owners probably have no idea they’re living over tunnel entrances.”
We reached the speakeasy and settled in, allowing ourselves light from just one lightbulb in case Rutherford returned to Gramps’s house.
“We’ll know if someone is in the house,” Clara said. “You can hear people walking overhead on the creaky floorboards. And if you climb the stairs and stand in front of the door, you might be able to get cell service.”
We ate meat pies and played checkers. I tried to reach Diesel a couple times but had no success. At nine o’clock Clara wanted to check on the bakery, so we left Josh and Glo and Carl at the speakeasy, and Clara led me through the tunnels to a trapdoor. We unlatched the door and popped up in a dark, musty shed that was housing a lawnmower.
“This shed belongs to Myra Belkar,” Clara said. “It’s a total wreck, and Myra would love to demolish it and put up a garage. Unfortunately for Myra, the shed is deemed historic, so she can’t change it, and she can’t tear it down.”
We crept out of the unlocked shed and looked around. There were no streetlights on the narrow street. The small houses crammed into small pieces of land were in dark shadow. Lights were on in the houses. None had shades drawn. We could see Myra in her kitchen, at the sink. The bakery was a block away. We walked to the corner and looked down the street. We didn’t see any fire-blackened buildings. No fire trucks. No yellow crime scene tape. No lunatic Ammon employees hanging out. It all felt benign. I supposed Martin Ammon was happy with the cupcakes.
“At least they didn’t attack the bakery,” Clara said. “It would be painful to see it destroyed. My first instinct is to stand my ground and protect it, but I know that’s not smart. It’s just a building after all. It can be rebuilt.”
My phone chirped with a text message from Diesel. It was just one word…success. He had the coin. I messaged back that there were problems, and we’d gone underground. Look before you shoot was his answer. I assumed that meant he’d try to find us.
Clara and I retraced our steps and returned to the speakeasy. Josh and Carl were playing checkers in the dim light.
“Who’s winning?” I asked.
“Carl is winning,” Glo said. “If we don’t let him win he pitches a tantrum and throws the checkers all around the room.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
When you’re underground, the only way to know if it’s day or night is to check your watch. And I imagine if you were underground long enough even your watch wouldn’t keep you from being disoriented. It was close to midnight when I fell asleep. I was on the floor, using my tote bag as a pillow. I awoke at five, drifted back into a restless sleep, and woke up again at seven.
Glo was up and pacing, Josh was playing solitaire, and Carl was sprawled on top of a poker table sound asleep.
“Where’s Clara?” I asked Glo.
“In the tunnels. She said she needed exercise. Personally I think it’s a creepy place to go for a walk.”
“Not for Clara. She played in these tunnels when she was a kid. And she’s probably freaked out that the bakery is closed. The bakery is never closed.”
Clara returned at seven-thirty, and moments later we heard someone walking overhead. We snapped the light off and froz
e. No one spoke. I looked at my cellphone. No bars. If it was Diesel upstairs, looking for the entrance to the speakeasy, he couldn’t reach me. I tiptoed to the stairs and crept up to the door. A text message flashed on from Diesel. Can’t find entrance.
I texted back broom closet. A moment later I heard the broom closet door open and mops and a bucket getting kicked around. I opened the secret door at the back of the closet, and Diesel handed me a cardboard box with four coffees from Starbucks.
“Morning,” Diesel said. “You look like you got run over by a truck.”
“I slept on the floor last night.”
“There are these things in the house called beds,” Diesel said.
“We were afraid Rutherford and his men would return. They kidnapped Gramps, tried to kill Josh, and burned down the Pirate Museum.”
“I go away for a couple hours and the world falls apart,” Diesel said.
Carl woke up at Diesel’s voice. He stretched, scratched his ass, and ambled off to the rest room. Everyone else took a coffee.
“Did you have trouble finding the coin?” I asked Diesel.
“No. It was in Devereaux’s pocket. I helicoptered to the island, but the pilot decided it was too dangerous to land at the top of the bowl, so he set me down by the tiki hut. I hiked to the bowl, found the tunnel entrance, and rappelled down the shaft. The ropes were still there from Rutherford’s excursion. I found the coin and heard a chopper in the distance. Obviously its pilot had more guts than mine because it landed on the rim and dropped a bunch of Ammon’s zombies into the bowl. I didn’t feel like taking on the zombie army, so I hid in an alcove and waited for them to leave.”
“They went back for the coin,” I said.
“The coin and the rest of the treasure,” Diesel said. “They packed it all out. Took them hours. They were like worker ants. They even took Devereaux. Maybe they thought he hid the coin on him…or in him. They took their ropes, too, so I had to use the stairs. They weren’t bad going up, but I’m glad I didn’t have to use them going down.”
“We need to get Gramps,” Clara said. “He needs his blood pressure medicine.”
“Do you have any idea where they’re holding him?” Diesel asked.
“No,” I said. “They sent me a photo but there’s nothing recognizable in it.”
I showed Diesel the photo of Gramps waving. There were no background objects. Just a white wall and two faceless thugs.
“I have a list of all properties owned by Ammon Enterprises,” Diesel said. “There are four in Salem, seven in Boston, one in southern New Hampshire, and Ammon’s personal house in Marblehead. I got the list because I thought Ammon would be at least temporarily storing the treasure in one of his buildings, and the stone might be with it.”
Clara put a bag of muffins on the bar, and we all took one.
“The best candidate for treasure storage is Ammon’s property on Green Street,” Diesel said. “He owns a four-story office building that used to be a bank, complete with a vault. The building is currently empty, slated for renovation.”
“I know where that is,” Clara said. “One of the tunnels runs under it, and then the tunnel continues on to the harbor. It meets up with another tunnel that goes to the lighthouse.”
“How long would it take us to get from here to the bank building using the tunnel system?” Diesel asked Clara.
“Maybe forty-five minutes. The tunnels don’t go in a straight line.”
Diesel pulled a map of Salem out of his backpack. “I’ve marked Ammon’s properties in orange,” he said to Clara. “Are any of these other addresses accessible by tunnel?”
Clara looked at the map. “I’m not familiar with the whole tunnel system. I only know the area around the bakery, the waterfront, and the area around Gramps’s house. A tunnel would run under the house on Marjorie Street, and the warehouse on First Avenue definitely has access.”
Diesel took the Blue Diamond out of his pack and handed it to me. “It found the stone on the island. Maybe it can find the stone in Salem. And if we’re lucky, Gramps will be with the stone.”
We all left the speakeasy and followed Clara through the tunnels.
“We’re like the seven dwarfs going off to work in the mine,” Glo said. “Except there are only six of us.”
I didn’t feel up to dwarf level. The dwarfs knew where they were going every day. I was blindly walking behind Diesel. If I were a dwarf my name would be Clueless.
I checked the diamond from time to time, but nothing was registering. No blue glow. Not even a flicker. We walked for over a half hour, and Clara finally stopped and looked around. We were at yet another fork in the tunnel system.
“The left fork goes to the Wessel House,” Clara said. “The house has been in the Wessel family for generations. Jerome Wessel was a ship’s captain when the house was built. Bitsy Wessel ran a boardinghouse there during Prohibition and never lacked for boarders since there was a steady flow of rum punch coming out of the root cellar in the backyard. I dated Kenny Wessel when I was in high school, and we used to make out in the tunnel. The Wessel House is a block from Ammon’s bank building. I’m pretty sure the tunnel runs under the bank building, but I don’t think there’s access. The men who built the tunnels didn’t care about robbing a bank. That part of the tunnel dead-ends two blocks beyond the bank at the corner of Marjorie and Clinton. The right fork goes to the warehouse on First. The rumrunners brought their small boats into the shallow water or to the lighthouse. From those two points the hooch was transferred to the warehouse and beyond.”
We went left, walking under the Wessel House and under the bank building. We continued on to the end of the tunnel. We didn’t see any access points beyond the Wessel House, and the diamond never glowed or flickered or felt warm. We retraced our steps and took the right fork. We walked past the warehouse entrance and went all the way to the lighthouse. Again, no sign from the diamond.
“Okay, we go to plan B,” Diesel said. “We’re not picking up any vibes in the tunnels, so Lizzy and I will go aboveground. Everyone else will go back to the speakeasy.”
“Check for text messages once in a while,” I said to Clara. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Diesel and I exited through the root cellar in the Wessels’ backyard. It was locked from the outside, but that wasn’t a problem for Diesel. No one was out and about when we emerged. We walked toward the bank building and watched it from half a block away. It looked abandoned. Windows and doors were boarded over. No one stood guard at the door. We continued on to the warehouse on First. It had no doubt been impressive when it was built. Today it looked quaintly historic. A single loading dock in the back. Two stories. Lettering on the door said AMMON ENTERPRISES. No guys standing guard. No tingles. No glow from the rock.
“I don’t think he’s here,” I said. “I don’t think anyone is here.”
“Ammon has a house in southern New Hampshire that’s a fortress. It’s a huge stone monstrosity set in the middle of a hundred acres. I have someone checking it out. In the meantime, I think we should negotiate for Gramps.”
“Are you willing to give them the coin for Gramps?”
“Yeah. They have the stone. I don’t see where the coin is going to make a difference. The stone, the coin, and all the tea in China isn’t going to awaken Mammon. Rutherford, Ammon, and their followers are already delusional and greedy. A couple more degrees of greed won’t make a big difference. Ultimately I need to get the stone and the coin back anyway.”
“I have Rutherford’s number programmed into my phone.”
“Make a deal.”
I called Rutherford and told him I had the coin.
“I want to swap the coin for Gramps,” I said.
“I knew we could count on you. Mr. Ammon will be pleased. He’ll insist that we prove the authenticity of the coin, of course.”
“The coin is divided into eight pieces, and it has the chop marks needed to read the map. Beyond that, I don’t know how to prove i
ts authenticity to you, since I’m the only one able to sense the power of the stone.”
“As luck would have it we picked up a gentleman named Hatchet. He’s a little odd, but we’ve been assured he’s your equal. We found him wandering around naked on Brimstone Island, and he’s now in service to Mammon.”
“I think he’s already in service to someone else.”
“Finders keepers,” Rutherford said. Very jovial.
Good luck with that one, I thought. I wouldn’t want to tangle with Wulf.
“Where do you want to make the swap?” I asked Rutherford.
“We would like the transaction to take place at Mr. Ammon’s country residence in southern New Hampshire. You can come at your convenience. And you must come alone.”
“Okeydokey,” I said. “See you soon.”
I disconnected and looked over at Diesel. “He’s in the New Hampshire house. They want me to come alone. And they have Hatchet.”
Diesel’s face creased into a wide grin. “They have Hatchet?”
“Rutherford said they picked him up naked on Brimstone and you know…‘finders keepers.’ ”
“It’ll be more like ‘finders weepers’ when Wulf shows up. He’s not good at sharing.”
I texted Clara that we had a lead on Gramps, but that they should still stay underground until we returned.
“We need to use your car,” Diesel said to me. “We can’t fit Gramps in the Porsche.”
“I’m supposed to go alone.”
“I’ll wait by the car. I’m not sending you off completely alone.”
That sounded like an okay plan. I didn’t want to go alone. And I wasn’t sure my junker car could make it to New Hampshire and back. At least I’d have Diesel to push me to a service station or zap up a new car.
It wasn’t a far walk to the bakery. Diesel let us in, and we packed a lunch for us and a bag of food for Clara, Glo, Josh, and Carl. I texted Clara that food was waiting for her in the tunnel. We locked up behind ourselves and chugged off in my car. We made a fast stop at my house, so I could take a shower and change my clothes. Men can be heroic when they’re wrinkled and smell bad. Women work better with a little lip gloss and clean hair. I gave Cat fresh water and a new bowl of food. I grabbed my tote bag, and Diesel and I took off for New Hampshire.
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