by Susan Hatler
Slitting the envelope with my finger, I pulled out a single piece of cream-colored paper with a bunch of newspaper clippings attached to it with a paperclip. I frowned, tucking my chin back. What in the world was this? I unfolded the note.
Dear Avery,
I heard about the trouble with Founding Friendships and these newspaper clippings could help you solve their housing problem. Read the articles carefully. They will help you if you pay attention.
Kind regards,
A Friend
My frown deepened as I read and reread the note. There was no information on the person who signed the note, not even an email address. Just the reference to the newspaper clippings. Huh. I pulled those out next.
The first article was printed from a local newspaper column and dated back to the nineteen-thirties. There was a reference to a group of teenagers, who claimed they had found and explored underground tunnels here in Sacramento, and a ghost had chased them out.
Okay. . .
The second clipping was a pamphlet printed by a local historic society. Someone had highlighted a section that talked about the history of the gold rush—snooze—in an area around the Founding Friendships building. According to local legend, one miner had hit the mother lode, but instead of cashing in the gold, he’d hidden the buckets. No one was sure where he had stashed his find, but that hadn’t stopped people from looking for the gold.
Another highlighted section of the pamphlet talked about the same rumored tunnels that the miners had used, carting gold nuggets up to the surface. I had never been one to pay attention to history in high school, or the few classes I’d taken in community college, so I didn’t really understand the whole gold mining era.
What I also didn’t get was why someone would find gold and then hide it. I mean, if you went to all the work to get the gold then why not cash it in? This seemed to be pretty far-fetched, but, then again, there were multiple articles from different sources over several decades on this same topic. Interesting. I wondered if the local historical society believed it really existed. If so, maybe I could contact someone over there.
The last article had to do with more rumors about treasure hunting. The piece stated some teenagers had been caught trespassing on private property. I noticed the address was near the Founding Friendships building, next to East Sierra Park. When the police interviewed the teens, they had claimed to be searching for the mysterious tunnels under the city so that they could hunt for the gold hidden in there.
When I checked the date of the article, I was surprised to see that this piece had been written last year. Hmm. . . Maybe I could contact the person who had written the article. But even if I could, what would I do with the information I obtained? A developer was still purchasing the building and all of the current residents would still have to move.
I wasn’t sure how this information from “A Friend” would help.
I folded the clippings with the note, and then slipped them into the front pocket of my apron. I’d have to think about these articles and what they might mean later. Right now, I had baking to do. I wanted to get started on the Bingo cake I planned to make for Erica’s grandma. But even as I prepared the cake batter, my mind kept thinking about those articles, and wondering who “A Friend” could possibly be.
Chapter Seven
After work that day, I locked the front door of the bakery, keeping one eye on the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. I’d thought about those hidden tunnels all day and knew I had to find out if they were real. One of the articles had mentioned that some teenagers had been arrested at a park near the Founding Friendships building.
Coincidence? Unlikely.
Whoever had sent the articles to me obviously thought they would help Founding Friendships. East Sierra Park was a three-acre park near the Founding Friendships building, which had trails leading up a rocky hill with a scattering of trees.
I felt a certainty deep in my gut that if the tunnels were real then the entrance to the tunnels would be somewhere hidden in those rocky outcroppings. I had to find out for sure.
Just as I pulled my key from the lock, I heard footsteps on the pavement behind me. Startled, I whirled around with the keys wedged between my fingers as a meager weapon. When I saw that it was Jason, I leaned back against the bakery’s front door and started to laugh.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said, giving me an easy grin, that magic dimple of his appearing in his cheek. “Next time I’ll announce myself when I’m approaching. My evening plans got canceled, so I brought you Thai food for dinner. You mentioned that it was your favorite.” He held up a bag from the absolute best Thai restaurant in town.
I smiled back at him, touched by the gesture. “That’s so thoughtful of you. But I’m actually just heading out. I have someplace to be.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Count me in for volunteering again.”
“Um, well, I’m not going to Founding Friendships tonight,” I said, biting my lip. He was being so sweet bringing me dinner, but he might think I was crazy if I told him where I planned to go and what I planned to do there. Honestly, even I thought my plan was a tad insane.
“I’m pretty handy with all kinds of things, and if all else fails, I have Thai food, which could be used as a bribe for whatever you need,” he said, giving me a grin.
I laughed. “Are you saying I might need to bribe someone?”
He raised a shoulder. “I never know what I’m getting into when I’m with you—though I’m not complaining. Surprises are one of the things I like about you. There’s more to you than meets the eye, Avery. Besides, you haven’t told me where you were going, so I’m covering my bases.”
He liked that I was full of surprises? I wondered if living at a bakery was one of them. Oh, embarrassment. Well, how far behind could searching for phantom tunnels be?
My heart rate kicked up a notch as I stared at Jason, debating if I should tell him about my plan, and if I should invite him along. Watching him wiggle the bag of Thai food and grin at me, I so wanted him to come with me. That realization hit me full force, knocking the air out of my lungs. Breathe, Avery. Breathe.
So, I liked Jason’s company. What sane woman wouldn’t? And what could it hurt if I asked him to come along? There was that whole saying about two heads being better than one, so maybe we’d find the entrance to the tunnels faster if we worked together.
Or maybe I was telling myself that because I had a crush on a cute boy. Next stop: writing his name in sparkly gel pen on my notebook, then drawing a heart around it. Gag.
“I’d love your company, Jason. But where I’m going is kind of . . . unique.” I pulled out the newspaper articles and handed them to him. He took the pieces of paper, his eyes skimming the lines. I watched for his reaction as he read it. Something flickered across his face that I couldn’t pinpoint, but when he looked up at me, his eyes were shining, and there was excited energy vibrating off of him.
“Are you planning to—”
“I’m going to see if I can find those tunnels. Do you think I’m crazy?”
He shook his head. “This is a very cool adventure.”
I tilted my head. “A little crazy?”
He winked at me. “A minor amount.”
The corners of my mouth twitched. “You really want to come with me?”
“Definitely,” he said, clapping his hands together. He seemed to have forgotten that he was holding a bag full of food, the brown paper crinkling in his fingers. My stomach rumbled, and he smiled at me again. “Maybe we can eat dinner before we start the hunt.”
“Sounds like a plan. Would you mind driving? That way I can navigate.”
“Sure thing,” he said.
Once we were in his car, I realized I was sitting in a Ferrari. I had no idea how much one of these cost, but I’m guessing a couple years worth of my future rent. The interior felt sleek and sporty, but kind of squooshy if I were being honest. What can I say? I’m a woman who likes legroom. Although, zippi
ng down the street in this was pretty exhilarating.
He followed my directions to the park and parked alongside the road. He pointed up a small hill to a couple of picnic tables.
“We could eat over there,” he suggested.
“Lead the way,” I said, noticing that there weren’t many other people in the park. I decided this would be a good thing since we didn’t exactly want to advertise our search for the entrance to a tunnel supposedly filled with gold.
Yeah, not a good idea.
Jason set the takeout containers on the worn wooden picnic table, including utensils and paper napkins.
“Pad Thai is my favorite,” I said, my tummy rumbling.
“You mentioned that the other day when we were at Founding Friendships.”
I smiled. “You’re a good listener. Thanks.”
“I try.” He winked.
While we ate, we chatted easily about tunnels, treasures, and the fact that we both had loved the movie The Goonies as kids. He was shocked that I’d never seen National Treasure and promised to invite me over sometime to watch it. The offer, though sweet, ended the conversation and we both grew silent.
I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was . . . that he lived an hour and a half away in San Francisco and it wouldn’t exactly be easy for me to pop by on a Friday night to watch a movie and order takeout with him.
Still, I was glad that I’d asked him to come with me—and not just because he was observant when it came to my favorite Thai dish. The fact was that whether or not it was only for another week, I enjoyed spending time with him.
“So.” He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over us. He set his fork across his empty plate. “I’ve never searched for a secret tunnel before. What do you think we should be keeping an eye out for?”
I dabbed the paper napkin to my mouth. “Well, the articles, just like the one you read, all talk about there being a tunnel entrance hidden in the foothills. After looking at online maps, this seemed like the best place to start.”
“How did you find those articles?” he asked.
“They were in a package that was delivered to the bakery for me,” I said, humming the tune from The Twilight Zone. “Whoever sent them clearly wanted to help me figure out a way to save Founding Friendships from some cold, heartless person who plans to tear down the building, kick out the homeless program, and build some upscale condos. At least that was what Jill Parnell told me their plans were when I talked to her the other day.”
“Maybe the buyer didn’t know the program was part of the building when they were purchasing,” he said, his voice sounding a tad defensive for the heartless buyers. He frowned, but I couldn’t tell why he’d be defending the very people who were destroying one of the things I loved most in this world.
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you seriously defending them? Why?”
He raised his palms. “Not defending them, just pointing out the company might not know who the occupants are when they purchase a property. They might know what they want to do with a property, but not what the property was before.”
“Then they’d have to be blind and uninformed. Founding Friendships is all over the local news. Jill is fabulous with marketing and fundraising,” I said, losing all interest in his point. I took another bite of my Pad Thai, chewing slowly while I thought about what Jason had said. “If it isn’t already obvious, then I don’t know how to convey to you how awful it will be for all those people to have to leave the home that they only just found.”
“I understand that, Avery.” His tone sounded annoyed, making it clear we were having our first disagreement. “I know this program is doing some really important things. Why is Founding Friendships so important to you?”
“That’s a long story,” I said, a strained smile tugging at my lips.
“I’ve got time.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with interest. When I didn’t answer, he opened his mouth to say something, but my phone buzzed, breaking us out of the moment.
I glanced at my text message, and then my eye widened.
“Good news?” he asked.
“Yes! My Realtor found another apartment for me to look at. She says this one has a great view. She’s sending me the link in a minute,” I said, my stomach bubbly with anticipation. If this place was good, I couldn’t lose it this time. “I need a good view.”
“Doesn’t everyone love a place with a view?”
“I suppose. But, I think it means even more to me than to most.” I sucked in a breath, wanting to tell him why the view was so important to me. “When I was a little girl, we lived in a house on a bluff that overlooked a forest. My mom was still married to my stepdad and we were happy. We were a family. The view was a part of it. I’d love to recreate that feeling, you know?”
“What happened?” His voice was gentle and he held my hand.
I cleared my throat. “My stepdad abandoned us, actually. He left my mom so he could travel the world. I never saw him again.”
He paused a moment. “I’m sorry. That’s rough . . .”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “You asked me why Founding Friendships is so important to me? It’s something I don’t tell anyone.”
He squeezed my hand. “I’m listening.”
“After stepdad number one left, my mom remarried quickly. The next husband was a volatile match. They fought all the time. Anyway, long story short, he kicked us out after less than a year and we . . . ended up living in our car.”
A line formed between his brows. “You were homeless.”
I nodded, feeling ashamed, even though I knew that was stupid. A flush crept up my neck—I was technically homeless at that very minute, but he seemed to forget that, which made me glad. “There’s a lot of shame being homeless. It’s not something I like to talk about.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said.
“The memories from that time are painful.” My throat tightened as my mind flew back to those days, living in the car, not knowing when my next meal would be. And then I told him something I’d never told anyone. “The kids at school made fun of me when I’d wear the same clothes for days in a row. Or if I didn’t shower that week. My mom and I were run out of more than one parking lot by business owners or when the police found us in the middle of the night. A few times we even had to dumpster dive for food.”
The silence that fell between us felt thick and awkward, but then Jason laced his fingers through mine. Tears burned my eyes. The gesture comforted me more than I could say.
Before I could say anything else, my phone buzzed again. “Oh, no,” I said, reading the text again to make sure I’d understood it correctly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“The Realtor says that if I want a chance at this apartment, I have to look at it right now.” I bit my lip, knowing I couldn’t keep sleeping on the bakery couch. “That would mean I can’t look for the tunnel entrance tonight.”
“I can come with you, if you want,” he said, gathering our leftovers as if there wasn’t even a choice about looking for the tunnels versus the apartment.
I only hesitated a moment, before I beamed at him. “Yes, I’d love for you to come.”
Chapter Eight
We plugged the apartment address from the Realtor into the navigation app on my phone and pulled into the building’s parking lot ten minutes later. Jason killed the engine as I gazed up at the four-story brick building, wondering if this could be the end to my search.
The exterior had the weathered look of an older building, which gave off some charm, and it seemed solid, durable, and safe. No red flags—yet. We climbed out, and Jillian, my Realtor, waved to us from the front steps of the building’s entrance.
“Hi, Jillian. This is Jason, my . . . friend,” I said, for lack of a better word.
Jason raised his eyebrows, giving me a look that said, “Oh, really? Is that what we are?” and then he extended his hand toward the pretty blonde. �
��Very nice to meet you, Jillian.”
“You as well.” She gestured to the brick building as if it were on display at a museum. “This building was built in 1915. The historic aspect alone holds value for this property,” she said as we stood beside her on the steps. “I know that this apartment isn’t as new as some of the other places we’ve looked at, but let’s try to keep an open mind.”
I glanced at Jason to see what he was thinking, but I couldn’t read anything from the attentive expression he wore. “Well, I’m ready to see it,” I said.
“The apartment is on the top floor,” Jillian said, holding the door open for us as we walked into the lobby. “Normally, there is an elevator we could use. But it’s out of order this week, so we’ll have to take the stairs. I do apologize.”
If the elevator was going to be out of order on a regular basis, I’d just think of the climb as a new workout routine. After two flights, hiking up these stairs already had my thighs burning. Although Jillian had told me this place was within my budget, I reminded myself not to get my hopes up. The apartment could be a dump. Jillian jabbered on about the building, but I was too nervous to pay attention. All I felt was my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
Would the place be sufficient?
Would I be able to move out of the office at Bernie’s Bakery?
“Here we are,” Jillian said, using a singsong tone.
I held my breath as she pushed open the door, completely aware of Jason behind me, hanging back until I stepped into the apartment. The first thing I noticed was the way the trim on both of the living room windows slanted to the right, as if the apartment were tilted. I bit my lip so that I wouldn’t say anything critical aloud. There was still a lot of apartment to look over, and I could hide the trim with pretty curtains.
It wasn’t like I would set my standards too high with my limited budget and the fact that I was currently and secretly sleeping on someone else’s couch.
