Icy fingers of fear crawled up the back of my neck. I swallowed hard as I inched my way forward. By the light of the candle, I examined the walls as I went. They were also made of dirt, reinforced with concrete cinder blocks. No wonder it was so dusty in here. I felt a tickle in my nose and sneezed. The loudness of it startled me, as it echoed through the tunnel.
After sneezing three times in quick succession, I stood in the silence and rubbed my nose. What was that? I froze. I could have sworn I heard something in the tunnel ahead.
For a second, indecision paralyzed me. Should I blow out the candle? Run the other way? What should I say if I encountered someone down here?
Something moved in front of me, and I let out a yelp. Then I saw the candlelight reflected in jewel-like eyes.
“Drishti!” I said, relief flooding through me. “What are you doing in here?”
The gray cat sauntered over and rubbed her face against the side of my leg. I reached down to pet her.
“You little sneak,” I said softly. “You scared me half to death.” I realized she must have slipped into the closet and through the secret door while I was talking on the phone in the shop.
With Drishti for company, I continued down the tunnel. It might have been a false sense of security, but I felt immeasurably better when the cat decided to stay with me.
After a while, I checked my phone. I had been in the tunnel for more than thirty minutes. Maybe I should start walking faster. No sooner had I picked up the pace than I came upon a fork in the passageway.
The new tunnel was smaller than the main one. I would have to keep my head down to avoid scraping it along the dirt ceiling. Still, I was hopeful this branch would lead to a way out. I was rewarded a few minutes later when I came upon a wooden door.
“Check it out, Drishti! I wonder if we’re under the courthouse or the jailhouse now?” At this point, with all the twists and turns, I had lost track of where I was in relation to the town above.
I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it. It was locked. I looked around for something I could use to force the door open, but the tunnel was empty. Disappointed, I made my way back to the main passageway and kept going. Drishti stayed close to my ankles, sometimes padding ahead and then circling back.
For the next half hour or so, we scuttled down the dark tunnel, following every fork—and then backtracking when it took us to a dead end or locked door. At first I spoke softly to Drishti as a way to comfort both of us. Then my mouth became dry, and I decided I had better conserve my energy. I was also hungry and weary, not to mention exceptionally sore from the race.
At some point, I gave up on the tunnel offshoots and resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to see the main path to the end. I was pretty sure I knew what that end would be—I only hoped I would find it soon. My candle was now a stub of wax.
Gradually, I noticed the tunnel floor and walls had become smoother. Instead of bare earth, the floor seemed to be made from poured cement. It was still very dirty, but it felt harder under my feet. The walls appeared to be made from concrete as well.
Finally, I came to another fork, but this time the main path reverted to dirt, while the fork continued in concrete. I took the concrete path and soon found myself in a room that looked like a wine cellar. One wall was made from a familiar-looking wood panel.
I had made it to the Cadwelle Mansion.
“Thank Goddess!” I murmured.
Putting my ear to the panel, I listened for signs of life in the speakeasy. All was quiet. By this time, I was so desperate I would have pounded on the door regardless of who was on the other side. As it happened, I didn’t have to. I saw a latch, lifted it, and slid the panel open.
The speakeasy was nearly as dark as the tunnel. I felt Drishti streak by me into the room. She was as grateful as I was to be out of the passageway. Stepping into the basement, I blew out what was left of my candle.
Using my cell phone for illumination, I hurried across the room and up the stairs. Slowly, I opened the door a crack. The hallway was empty, but I heard voices in the kitchen. After placing the candle stub in my pocket, I slipped into the hall and listened by the kitchen door. It sounded like Danielle was arguing with Yvette.
“I thought you were my friend!” said Danielle. “Was that all a ruse, to give you an excuse to search the mansion?”
“Danielle, listen to me,” said Yvette. “Do you know—”
“I bet you’re not even having your condo renovated,” Danielle said. “I can’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth.”
I heard the front door open and my heart skipped a beat. Pivoting on my feet, I dashed into the powder room and locked the door. In the relative safety of the small room, I breathed a little easier. If anyone heard me in here, they would probably assume I was one of the guests—that is, if there were any other guests.
I turned the light on and looked at myself in the mirror. What a mess. I almost laughed at the sight of my tangled hair and dirt-streaked face. Instead, I used the sink to wash my hands and face. I let the water flow into my cupped hands and drank from the tap until my thirst was quenched.
Running my fingers through my hair, I tried to decide what to do. I was so fatigued, I couldn’t think straight. I should text Farrah, I decided. Ask her to pick me up here.
I fumbled in my purse for my phone when a knock on the door made me jump. Maybe if I ignore them, they’ll go away, I thought hopefully.
The person knocked again.
“Danielle? Are you in there?” It was Marco.
I plastered a smile on my face and opened the door.
“Hello,” I said.
“Oh!” he said, appearing startled. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” I said. “I was just freshening up.”
Danielle rounded the corner from the foyer and started down the hall. She was wearing a fur-trimmed stocking cap and a bright purple ski jacket. She stopped short when she saw us.
“There you are,” said Marco. “I was hoping you hadn’t left yet. You forgot . . . your list.” He held up a folded piece of paper and handed it to Danielle.
“Thanks,” she said, eyeing me. “That’s what I came back for.”
I batted my eyes and continued to smile. I knew I should make up a story, but my mind was blank. Luckily, Marco and Danielle both seemed too distracted to ask me what I was doing in their home. Maybe I could just excuse myself and walk out the front door.
Danielle slipped the folded paper into her white leather purse and turned to go.
“I’ll walk out with you,” I said quickly.
“Oh, don’t go yet,” said Marco. “I’m going to have a nightcap with Yvette. Won’t you join us?”
“Well . . . ” I trailed off. I supposed it would be better to wait for Farrah inside than start walking outside in the cold, dark night.
Wait. I hadn’t even called Farrah yet. I needed to pull myself together.
“I’ll see you later,” said Danielle, turning on her heels. As I watched her walk away, I felt a slight queasiness come over me. It was probably because I hadn’t eaten in more than ten hours. Alcohol was probably not the best idea for me right now.
“Come on into the parlor,” Marco said, leading the way.
I looked around as I followed him. The B&B was quiet, and when we entered the parlor it was empty. Marco headed straight for the liquor cabinet.
“Where’s Yvette?” I asked.
Marco gave me an expressionless look and then laughed. “Oh, right. She’s probably in the library. I’ll go see.”
I trailed him to the library, but it was dark. Marco shrugged.
“Maybe she went downstairs to the speakeasy,” he said. “She likes it down there.”
We walked down the hall toward the basement. The door was still open a crack, just as I had left it, and the lights were off.
“You know what,” said Marco, opening the door wider and flipping on the light switch, “we should have our drinks in the speakeasy
anyway. You go on down and decide what you’d like. I’ll go upstairs and knock on Yvette’s door and let her know where we are.”
I nodded and headed down the steps. This would give me a chance to look for Drishti. The poor thing was probably hiding somewhere. I had no idea how I was going to sneak her out.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I walked over to the bar and slipped behind the counter. I crouched down and peered in the corners.
“Drishti?” I called. “Where ya hiding, kitty?”
There was a cardboard box of spirits on the floor in front of some shelves. I imagined the dark shelves would make a perfect hiding place for a skittish cat, so I dragged the box away from the corner to have a look. As I did so, I noticed the shipping label on the box. It was addressed to “Gigi’s Bar and Grill.”
I stood up and felt the room spin. It could have been hunger and fatigue causing my light-headedness—or it could have been my sudden realization. I now knew for sure who was using the tunnels.
Either Marco or Danielle, or both of them, was the burglar.
Which meant one of them was most likely the killer, too.
The creak of a floorboard upstairs spurred me to action. With a trembling finger, I dialed the OPEN code into the antique telephone, causing the secret panel to open. I scanned the room, but there was no sign of Drishti. She’s a good hider. She’ll be fine until I come back with help.
I dashed inside the hidden room and watched as the door automatically slid closed.
I didn’t have a plan. All I knew was that I had to get the hell out of there.
Chapter 27
It was a nightmare come true. I was fleeing a bad guy, stumbling in the dark, lost in an underground labyrinth. My only thought was escape. After darting through the speakeasy exit, I tore blindly down the tunnel, my arms outstretched in front of me.
I didn’t get far. In the pitch blackness, I failed to see the curve of the tunnel wall. I bumped into it at full speed and bounced back, landing on my rear end.
Stunned, I sat on the cold ground and rubbed my knuckles where they had scraped the wall. Other than a few scratches and a stubbed toe, I seemed to be okay. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly and deeply. Goddess, help me.
Reaching into my purse, I found my cell phone, then pulled it out and turned it on. Of course, there was still no signal to the outside world. My battery power was now at 20%. Holding the phone up, I used its dim light to try to get my bearings.
The ground was soft dirt. That meant I had already passed the last fork I had encountered, right before I found the speakeasy in my earlier trek through the tunnels. Well, I thought, that fork didn’t seem very promising anyway. It headed farther away from downtown. I wanted to head back toward civilization.
I stood up and began walking. There had to be another way out. I would use my phone sparingly, I decided, turning it on long enough so that at least I wouldn’t bump into any more walls.
No sooner had I resolved to stay calm than a sound behind me caused my heart to jump to my throat. Straining in the darkness, I heard it again, a scuffling noise, like someone moving around. It was coming from the direction of the speakeasy.
Before I could react, I heard another noise, this time the jingle of keys. Worse, it was coming from the tunnel ahead of me.
I inched forward with my hand on the wall, hoping desperately that I would come upon an opening, a crevice, anywhere to hide. The bright beam of a flashlight played across the ground in front of me.
There was nothing I could do but wait for the person to find me. For a fleeting moment, I dared to hope it could be a friend. A rescuer. But I knew that wasn’t likely. Farrah and Wes had no idea I had even gone to Moonstone, let alone entered the tunnels. Mila was in jail. Catrina was clueless, and possibly unstable.
With a mental plea to Morpheus, I prayed for invisibility as I flattened myself against the wall. The beam from the flashlight brightened, and soon a person’s brown boots came into view. It was a man. A bald man.
As soon as I recognized the stranger who had been driving the car with the California plates, I knew he was no friend. He must be working with Marco. Frantically, I thought about the contents of my purse, trying to determine whether I had anything I could use to defend myself. Wallet, makeup, tissues—nothing useful. Why didn’t I carry pepper spray?
I reached into my coat pockets. My fingers closed over something with sharp edges. It was the broken clock face I had found outside Moonstone Treasures after it was first vandalized. I had forgotten to return it to Mila.
Still grasping the clock face, I pulled my hand from my pocket and kept my eyes glued to the figure approaching me. When he was a few feet away, he halted. He had spotted me. In the next moment, he raised to his toes as if he was about to lunge. I was two seconds ahead of him. With all my might, I hurled the clock face at the man’s head. It struck him in the forehead, causing him to drop the flashlight as he grabbed his face in pain. I brushed past him and grabbed the flashlight, leaving him in darkness as I bolted.
With the light to guide me, I flew down the passageway as fast as my feet would carry me. As I ran, absurd thoughts swirled in my head. I longed for sleep. I wished I could just go to bed and wake up to do the whole day over again differently, like Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day.
I just clocked a guy with a clock, I thought madly.
Fighting hysteria, I sprinted as if my life depended on it. In fact, I realized, it probably did. Danielle or Marco, or their bald cohort, must have killed Charlie because Charlie had found the tunnels. Charlie had probably interrupted a burglary in progress. From what I had heard at the B&B, Yvette must have found the tunnels, too—and now Yvette seemed to be missing.
Now that I knew their secret, there was no way they would let me out alive.
When I came to a split in the tunnel, I skidded to a stop. It was a fork in the path I hadn’t tried before. It could very well lead to a dead end, but if I kept going the way I had come, I knew I would wind up at a locked door. Without sparing another second to think about it, I turned off the main passageway.
By this time, I couldn’t run anymore. I was out of breath and plagued by a side cramp I couldn’t ignore. With labored breathing, I limped along, shakily shining the flashlight ahead of me.
After a few minutes, the roof of the tunnel sloped downward, and the winding tunnel became less like a human-made passage and more like a warren burrowed by a small mammal. Like Eddie the groundhog. I stifled a giggle and wondered if I was becoming delirious.
I continued to follow the path, stooping in places to avoid hitting my head. As I advanced, I noticed a small opening in the side of the tunnel wall. And then another. I couldn’t tell if these were smaller tunnels that led anywhere, or just the abandoned start of new passageways.
After passing three such openings, I paused. I had detected a change in the air. It smelled different. I closed my eyes and tried to place the faint odor. It was like old fuel or motor oil—like the smell of a garage.
As I tried to make sense of this information, I noticed a shadow on the wall. What in the world? I tilted my head, trying to figure out what it was. At the last second, I knew.
I swirled around in time to see Marco raise a thick board. I screamed and ducked. Without a word, he raised the board again as I backed away.
“Please!” I begged. “Don’t do this!”
Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. With a headlamp strapped tightly around his stocking cap, his face appeared pinched and distorted. His eyes had a murderous gleam.
Thinking fast, I pointed the flashlight into his face, hoping to blind him. It only made him angrier. He swung the board low, nicking my hip. I screamed again, as much from horror as from pain.
Scrambling backward, I came upon another gap in the wall. This time I darted inside. Marco followed.
“Marco, please,” I repeated. “Can’t we talk about this? Maybe I can help you.”
There was no reason
ing with him. He lifted the board again, and I covered my head, preparing to be hit.
But when I heard the thud of the board making contact, I didn’t feel a thing. I opened my eyes. Marco had hit the ceiling instead. I watched as he swung the board like a bat, striking upward at the top of the tunnel before him. Dirt sprinkled down.
In a last-ditch effort to escape, I lunged at Marco’s legs and grabbed on. He elbowed me in the back and kicked me off. I twisted away, landed hard on my left wrist. As I curled on the ground, wincing in pain, he kicked me again, his boot landing on my lower back. He continued to strike at the ceiling while he backed out of the crevice. Again and again he broke into the crude structure until it began to crumble.
Feeling clods of dirt and stone hit my head and body, I rolled deeper into the gap, away from Marco. My last thought, as I surrendered to the inevitable, was that I had entered the belly of the earth. The womb of the Mother Goddess.
* * *
The tickle in my throat was unbearable. Coughing and gagging, I tried to sit up. I needed to get out of bed and go to the bathroom for a drink of water. Then my hand clutched dirt instead of bedsheets, and I remembered.
Oh, no.
Lying in the coal-black earth and covered in dirt, I tried to take stock. It was so dark I wasn’t sure if my eyes were opened or closed. My body hurt from head to toe. With a dim recollection of all I had been through, I halfheartedly wondered if any of my muscle aches were due to the 10K I ran with Farrah so many hours ago. So many lifetimes ago.
At least I was alive. I was breathing. Somehow, someway, there was oxygen in here.
Carefully I touched the ground around me and felt clumps of dirt and rock. My purse was no longer on my shoulder. Searching my pockets, I found the remnants of the candle I took from Moonstone—and the book of matches.
I lit a match and looked around. By the light of the flame, I could see a huge pile of debris blocking the way to the main passage. Marco had succeeded in causing a cave-in. I wouldn’t be getting out that way. Looking up, I wondered about the stability of the ceiling above me.
Bell, Book & Candlemas Page 19
