The match burned out, so I lit another one and pushed myself to my knees. Pain shot through my left wrist. Refusing to give up, I began crawling deeper into the tunnel. Every few seconds, I lit another match so I could see where I was going.
After a few minutes, I thought my eyes must be playing tricks on me. The light from the match showed that the texture of the dirt wall had changed. It was smooth and gray. I touched it, knocked on it. It was metal.
The match started to burn my fingers, so I dropped it and prepared to light another—only to discover I was out of matches. Crawling blindly now, I used my hands to feel my way along the metal wall, turning a corner. My fingers snagged on a sharp edge.
Ouch!
I pulled my fingers back, then realized I had been crawling with my eyes closed. I opened them and noticed a variation in the darkness. It wasn’t quite as inky as before. I reached my hands up to the wall again and felt slats.
Slats. Like in a vent or a grate.
I was behind the wall in the underground shelter at Fieldstone Park.
With a surge of hope, I put my face to the vent and called out. Or I tried to call out. My throat was so dry I couldn’t make a sound. I licked my cracked lips and tried again.
“Help!”
It came out as a whisper.
Using the last ounce of energy I could muster, I banged on the metal grate with the palms of my hands. The muted noise was answered by silence. There was no one out there to hear me.
Based on the level of darkness on the other side of the slats, I guessed it must still be Saturday night. When would someone come along? More importantly, how much longer could I hold on?
My head started to swim, and I realized I was in bad shape.
Closing my eyes, I tried to visualize a divine white light. I mentally summoned the Triple Goddess—Maiden, Mother, and Crone—and begged for help. Like a flash, I saw an image of a glowing silver pentagram behind my eyes.
Understanding, I fumbled with my necklace and managed to unclasp it. I slipped it through the slats, allowing it to drape over the edge of the metal rather than fall through.
Maybe Wes will see it. I had told him about the grates by the Fieldstone restroom. I had told him my theory that Charlie may have entered the tunnels here.
Wes knows this is my necklace.
With a vision of Wes lifting me up in his arms, I finally lost consciousness.
Chapter 28
“Keli? Can you hear me? Wake up, buttercup. Time to rise and shine.”
I opened my eyes and squinted into a haze of yellow light and confusion. My body felt like a lead weight, and there seemed to be a wire attached to the back of my hand. Where am I?
Someone squeezed my other hand, and then Farrah’s face came into view. She looked tired and pale, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, but she smiled. “You all right there, sistah? Speak to me, hon.”
“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that you scared the living daylights out of me,” said Farrah. “First you go MIA, so I’m frantically looking for you all over town. Then you go and get yourself trapped in an air duct.
“You’re okay now. Have a sip of this,” she said, holding a glass and bringing the straw to my mouth. “It’s juice.”
I tasted the juice and made a face. “Sour.”
“Want water instead? The IV is supposed to keep you hydrated. If you can drink on your own, they’ll probably remove it.”
I shook my head. “Give me the juice again,” I said. “It’s better than the nasty taste in my mouth.”
Farrah laughed and gave me the drink. I took a sip and gazed around the hospital room. Slowly the fog began to lift from my brain.
“What day is it?” I finally asked.
“Sunday, February third.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Eight-twenty in the morning.”
Closing my eyes, I leaned back on the pillow and breathed slowly. Yesterday had been the longest day of my life. Yet, something told me it wasn’t quite over. I reopened my eyes and turned to Farrah. She had a worried expression, which she dropped when she saw me looking at her.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
She sat up in her chair. “I followed a hunch. At around eight o’clock last night, I tried calling to check in with you, like we agreed. When you didn’t answer, I didn’t think anything of it at first. I tried again twenty minutes later, and then every few minutes for an hour. I drove over to your house and saw that your car was gone. I assumed you were with Rock Star, but it bugged me that you didn’t answer your phone, or at least send me a text.”
“Did you call Wes?”
“I would have, but I didn’t have his number. I decided to go to the Loose to track him down and ask about you. No luck there. Then I looked for your car at your office building and the municipal parking lot. Of course, with the festival and the concert, it wasn’t easy to get around. I enlisted Jake to help, and made him call Dave to get the police looking for you, too.”
I shook my head in wonder. All that time I was wandering around underground, there were all these people looking for me aboveground.
“I even drove by the Cadwelle bed-and-breakfast,” Farrah continued. “But the house was dark, and your car wasn’t there. Same for Moonstone Treasures and the places that had been burglarized.”
Farrah stood up and looked out the window. She squeezed her fingers as she recounted her ordeal. “I thought about the old man who had been murdered, and I was afraid something had happened to you, too. Then I remembered what you said about a possible tunnel entrance in the park. So I went there. And that’s when I found your necklace.”
She turned around and pulled my necklace from the pocket of her hoodie. “Here it is, by the way,” she said, smiling.
“You’re an angel,” I said, shaking my head. “An angel with mad detecting skills.”
“Ha! I guess so. Now, are you ready to tell me how in the heckfire you ended up behind that grate?”
“Sure,” I said. “But first, I want to know one more thing. How did you know that was my necklace?”
Farrah folded her arms and tilted her head at me. “Remember those ‘mad detecting skills’ you just mentioned? Well, girlfriend, I can put two and two together. I saw how friendly you were with Mila, the Wiccan psychic. She even said you were hiding something during your palm reading. And you told me about how you were into learning about the metaphysical when you were younger.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Besides,” Farrah added, “I’ve known you for a while now. You’re always doing weird little things—like collecting that white rose off the ground after the race yesterday.”
Farrah came over and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry, lady. I always knew you were a hippie-chick. I still love you.”
* * *
Between nurse examinations to check my vitals, an interview with Detective Rhinehardt, and a visit from Wes, I finally managed to tell Farrah the whole story of my terrifying night in the tunnels. She bit her nails, cursed, and hopped out of her seat several times before my tale was complete.
“Jesus Christ, Keli! If you were a cat, I’d say you used up at least seven of your nine lives last night.”
At the word cat, I slapped my forehead. “Drishti! I left Mila’s cat at the B&B. I forgot to tell Detective Rhinehardt to look for her.”
“Give him a call,” said Farrah. “He’s probably arrested Marco by now. This gives you a good excuse to find out what happened.”
An orderly entered the room, pushing a food cart, so I had to eat lunch before calling the detective. Farrah had made sure the hospital was aware of my dietary restrictions, so my meal consisted of a passably decent salad and apple slices with peanut butter. Farrah drank coffee while I ate.
By this time, the nurse had removed my IV and told me that I would probably be discharged later that afternoon. I was eager to talk to Detective Rhinehardt again. I still had so many
unanswered questions.
As it happened, I had to leave a message for the detective. Since my cell phone was still buried in the collapsed tunnel, I asked him to call me at the hospital. He still hadn’t called by 3:00, when Mila stopped by.
She knocked on the door and peeked in. “Are you awake?”
“Hey!” I said when I saw her. “You’re out of jail!” I sat up in the hospital bed and beckoned her in.
“Yes. They dropped the charges.” Mila waved her hand dismissively and entered the room. She was carrying a large bouquet of red, yellow, and white daisies and a basket of assorted teas including jasmine and hibiscus. I knew she had carefully chosen these particular gifts to speed my healing process.
Farrah stood up, allowing Mila to sit in the chair next to my bed. “What lovely flowers,” she said. She took the gifts from Mila and found a place for them on a table.
“Thanks,” Mila said to Farrah. She sat down and took my hand. “Keli, I am so—”
“Mila,” I interrupted, “I have to tell you something. It’s about Drishti.”
Mila smiled. “Drishti is fine. A police officer brought her home an hour ago. I hadn’t been to the shop yet, so I didn’t even know she was missing. The officer also told me what happened to you.” Mila’s eyes darkened.
I put my hand to my chest and sighed. “I’m so relieved Drishti is okay. But how did the officer know she was your cat?”
“Her collar says ‘Moonstone Treasures,’” Mila explained. “Plus, the collar is enchanted. I cast a little spell to ensure Drishti always finds her way home.”
“Cool,” said Farrah. She perched on the edge of a chair in the corner and listened to Mila with interest.
“And she was okay?” I asked.
Mila nodded. “Perfectly okay. But how are you? Are you in pain?”
“I’m much better now. And it could have been worse.”
“Well, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you in one piece. I was horrified when I found out what you went through.” She reached over and placed her hand on my shoulder, sending me positive vibes. “Catrina sends her best wishes as well. She also wanted me to give you this.” Mila reached into her purse and handed me a brochure.
It was yet another publication by the First Church of the New Believers. I read the title out loud: “Turn Away from Satan: What the Bible Says about Fortune-telling, Sorcery, and Witchcraft.”
Farrah stood up. “Get out! What does it say?” She walked up to my bed and read over my shoulder.
I opened the brochure to find a smattering of biblical quotations—including all the passages that were referenced in the threatening notes.
Mila pursed her lips. “Catrina did a little snooping of her own and found this at Reverend Natty’s church. She thought she had found proof that he was the culprit.”
So this is what she wanted to show me last night. I couldn’t blame Catrina for thinking this implicated Reverend Natty. I might have thought the same thing. Of course, anyone could have seen a copy of this brochure. It was probably what gave Marco and Danielle the idea for the notes in the first place. What I still didn’t know was why they wanted to scare Mila away. I voiced my thoughts aloud.
“Do you have any idea why the Thomisons wanted you to close your shop?” I asked.
Mila looked surprised. “I assumed it was their fear of alternative religions. There are certainly plenty of misguided people out there.” She twisted the silver rings on her fingers. “I’m glad this is over, but I still feel awful that your life was endangered because of me.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t because of you. It was my decision to enter the tunnels. Twice.” I grimaced. Then I squeezed Mila’s hand. “You’ve taken enough blame for the actions of others. Now that we know who was behind it all, justice will be served. You can reopen your shop and reclaim your life.”
Mila’s eyes brightened and she lifted her chin. “That’s music to my ears, Keli. I will never forget how you helped me.”
I shrugged. “That’s what friends are for.”
* * *
Farrah brought me home from the hospital, after making me promise to call her the minute I heard anything from Detective Rhinehardt. She would have stayed the night in my guest room if not for the fact that Wes was coming over. He had insisted on making dinner for me.
At half past five, Wes showed up at my door with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine. I kissed his cheek and showed him to the kitchen. I perched on a stool and watched with admiration and gratitude as he set about making pasta and a homemade marinara sauce. Other than a sprained wrist, a bruised hip, and a sore back, I was starting to feel almost normal again.
“I still can’t believe what you went through last night,” he said as he sautéed garlic and herbs. “I feel so terrible I wasn’t out there searching for you with Farrah. I was holed up in my apartment watching bad television and thinking you didn’t want to go out with me.”
Not again, I thought with a frown.
I set down my wineglass and folded my arms. “After Friday night at the B&B? You really doubted I would want to go out with you again?”
He glanced up at me and hedged. “Well, I mean, I knew you were really tired after the run, so I figured you decided to stay in.”
“That’s not what you said.” I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. This relationship was too important to me.
Wes shrugged. “Okay. Part of me thought you might have changed your mind about dating me.” He stirred in the tomato sauce and avoided my eyes.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Have I done something to make you think that?”
He shook his head but didn’t say anything. I watched as he filled a pot with water, placed it on the stovetop, and turned on the burner. Then he turned the sauce down to simmer and walked around to join me at the counter.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I have an insecurity thing going on again, just like a few months ago. I mean, hanging out and dating casually is one thing. I didn’t really question that. But I was finding it hard to believe you’d want to get serious with me.”
“Why, Wes?” I could tell this was difficult for him, but I needed him to articulate his feelings.
He looked away, but then finally met my eyes. “Because you’re this successful attorney, surrounded by other successful professionals every day. Making good money, doing important things. And I’m . . . not on that level. Hell, until a couple months ago, I was living in my parents’ house.”
“You had extenuating circumstances,” I said. “I knew that. Anyway, what do you mean ‘not on that level’? You’re a talented, professional photographer. I thought so even before you got the job with the newspaper. I’ve never thought I was somehow better than you. I hope I never made you feel that way.”
“No. You never did.” He smiled sheepishly. “This is my hang-up. It’s stupid, I know.”
He stood up and went back to the stove, where he added spaghetti to the boiling water and stirred the sauce again. I got up and followed him. When he put the lid back on the saucepan, I took his hand.
“Wes, let’s be open with each other, okay? Completely open.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said.
I took a breath and allowed my words to tumble forth. “I completely respect you and enjoy hanging out with you, and . . . I don’t want to see anyone else. I want to see you exclusively.”
His face broke into a wide grin. “Same here.” He leaned down and softly kissed my lips. My heart soared.
All through dinner, we talked eagerly, like old friends sharing confidences. I admitted I had been slightly jealous of Sheana, and Wes admitted he was wary of Crenshaw—which made me choke on my wine from laughing. I even told Wes about the love spell I had cast before we met and how terrified I was that he might feel manipulated. To my relief, it didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he found it intriguing.
I began clearing the dinner plates when the doorbell rang.
Wes walked to the door with me and looked through the peephole.
“It’s the detective,” he said, opening the door. Detective Rhinehardt stood at my doorstep with a solemn expression.
“Hello, Detective,” I said. “Please come in. Can I get you something to drink?” I was anxious to hear all about Marco’s arrest and any confession he may have made.
The detective shook his head. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to warn you to be careful. The suspects are at large.”
I wasn’t sure if I had heard him correctly. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“They’ve disappeared. All of them. The Thomisons. Their guests. Everyone. The Cadwelle Mansion is empty.”
Chapter 29
I finally did it. After six years of perfect attendance at Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty, I finally called in sick on Monday morning. Of course, I had a legitimate excuse. Being hospitalized—nearly killed, actually—after being trapped in an underground cave-in totally warranted a day off.
As sore as I was, though, my aches and pains were not the real reason I wanted to take a sick day. The real reason was that I couldn’t stop thinking about Marco and Danielle. And their possible whereabouts.
How far could they have gotten? Would they really abandon their home and all their possessions? All those valuable antiques?
I guess that’s what it means to be a fugitive.
The police had scoured the tunnels and were watching the mansion 24/7. Detective Rhinehardt assured me they had issued an APB for the Thomisons’ arrest. Law enforcement officials in all the surrounding counties would be on the lookout. Naturally, they would also be watching for any charges on the Thomisons’ credit cards.
After a careful shower, I pulled on a fluffy robe and hobbled to the kitchen to make breakfast, a hearty bowl of oatmeal with pecans and thawed blueberries from the freezer. While the oatmeal was cooking, I gazed out the glass sliding door onto my deck and the backyard below, my mind spinning.
Detective Rhinehardt told me most of the guests had checked out of the B&B earlier in the day yesterday. The only ones who appeared to have left suddenly were Yvette Prime and the guy who was staying in the carriage house. He must have been the bald guy I clocked in the tunnels. I shuddered to think of him on the loose.
Bell, Book & Candlemas Page 20
