Yuletide Peril

by Irene Brand

He telephoned the police station, and when Chief Goodman answered, he identified himself and asked, “Who was on duty at Mountjoy last night?”

  “My brother.”

  “Has he reported in this morning?”

  “No, but we’re shorthanded, and he said he’d do an extra shift. I hadn’t expected him to call.”

  Lance told him why he was uneasy, and the chief said, “Hold on a minute, I’ll contact Winston.”

  After a few minutes, Goodman came back to the line and said, “That’s strange. Winston doesn’t answer, either. I’ll run out there and see what’s going on.”

  “Stop by for me, will you?” Lance said. State board or not, he had a horrendous feeling that something was wrong at Mountjoy.

  Everything looked normal when the chief’s cruiser turned into Mountjoy’s driveway ten minutes later. Janice’s car was parked in its usual place. The deputy’s car was in front of the porch, but no one was inside. Before Goodman stopped, Lance jumped out of the car and ran to the house.

  “Hey,” Goodman called. “Lookee here.” He’d opened the rear door of the squad car and Lance hurried to his side.

  Winston Goodman was lying on the back seat of the cruiser. His arms were tied behind him, his feet shackled, and he was gagged. Leaving the chief to release his brother, Lance rushed to the house. The door stood ajar. He raced through every room. There was no sign of Janice or Brooke.

  By the time he got back outside, Winston was leaning against the cruiser, while the chief rubbed his arms to restore circulation.

  “I walked around the house about midnight, like I did every hour,” Winston said with an effort. “Somebody jumped out of the shadows, grabbed me and knocked me out. The next thing I knew I was trussed up like a turkey in the back seat of my car.”

  “Did you recognize who attacked you?” the chief said.

  “Didn’t see nobody,” Winston said. “It happened too fast.”

  “Did you hear anything out of Janice or Brooke?” Lance said.

  “Not a thing,” Winston said. “After I come to, I thought I heard a vehicle going down the driveway.” Apologetically, he looked at his brother, “Sorry I let you down.”

  “My fault,” Chief Goodman said. “I should have had two men on duty. The state troopers offered to help, but I told them we had enough officers. I’ll have to call on them now.”

  Winston started to protest, but Lance said, “And the sooner the better. If you don’t call them, I will.”

  He had never felt so confused and lost. What could he do? He walked through the house that was as empty as his heart. His mind refused to contemplate what had happened to Janice.

  The covers on Brooke’s bed were rumpled, but it was obvious Janice hadn’t gone to bed at all. He couldn’t see any indication of a struggle in the house. Lance went outside, looked around and wondered if Winston had told the truth. For one thing, he doubted if the bruise on the officer’s forehead was severe enough to have knocked him out. And in the muddy ground, Lance couldn’t see any evidence that there had been another car in and out of the driveway after Winston had arrived.

  Chief Goodman notified the state police, then sent Winston back to town for some rest. Lance knew he couldn’t return to work, so he called the school, thankful to learn that the call from the state office had been postponed until the next day. He told his secretary he was taking a day of personal leave.

  Lance drove to Henrietta’s house and told her about the disappearance. He also drove by the housing complex to tell Leroy and Florence what had happened.

  “I hate to think this about my own kin,” Leroy said, “but Albert might have done it, for he sure wanted our brother’s estate. He came to see me after we moved to Stanton asking me to help him get the money. I turned him down cold. I figured John had the right to do what he wanted to with his money.”

  “I’ll suggest to the police that they should investigate your brother and his family.”

  When he returned to Mountjoy, Sergeant Baxter and two deputy sheriffs had arrived, and they’d persuaded Chief Goodman to leave the investigation to them. Lance told Baxter why he suspected Winston’s story.

  “By the time we got here,” the trooper said, “the two Goodmans had turned their cars in the driveway, and there was nothing for us to see. If no car went out, then the Reids were either carried away or they’re still here someplace.”

  Lance wondered at the officer’s words. Could Brooke and Janice have been killed and buried on the grounds?

  “As for Winston, we’ve been watching him for months. There’s a police leak somewhere, and we believe it’s coming from the city officers instead of the state or county guys. It could be Chief Goodman, but I suspect Winston, and we only have his word for what happened here last night. Maybe he was attacked, but I doubt it.”

  “It will be hard to prove,” Lance said.

  Baxter nodded in agreement. “We’ve also been tailing Albert Reid and his boy, who do have an alibi for last night. They were in the local bar drinking and carousing all night, so they didn’t take them.”

  “If they didn’t kidnap Brooke and Janice, who did?”

  “Probably the people who stored drugs and money in the attic and were raising marijuana on the hill.”

  “It’s worried me that the drug dealers haven’t been caught,” Lance said.

  “The fire marshal has verified that the fire was caused by exploding elements like paint thinner, ammonia, or turpentine,” Baxter said. “All of these things are used in making meth, so there’s probably a meth lab somewhere on this property. It must be underground because we’ve combed the rest of this property without any success. Could there be a basement area that we don’t know about?”

  “Leroy Reid might be able to tell us,” Lance said. “Or Henrietta—she lived here for several years.”

  “We’re also working on another angle.” Baxter took a bracelet from his pocket. “Do you recognize this?”

  Recognition of the item startled Lance. “Yes, it’s Brooke’s charm bracelet. My niece gave it to her for Christmas.”

  Motioning to the barn on the adjoining Janice’s property, he said, “We found it near the barn, which belongs to Mr. Santrock. We’ll get his permission to go on his property. Janice and Brooke may be inside the barn. By the way, when’s the dog coming home?”

  “The vet said I could pick him up today.”

  “I want him before we go into that barn. I think the animal was trained for a police dog, because he sure knew what he was after when he led us to the attic.”

  “I’ll go get him after I talk to Leroy about a basement under Mountjoy. Since Janice moved in the house, there’s been an offensive odor off and on, sometimes bad enough to cause headaches.” He paled when he considered the situation. “But if there’s a meth lab under this house, it could have exploded and killed both of them, especially during the fire.”

  “I know,” Baxter said grimly.

  Sick at heart, Lance drove to the building site where Janice’s father worked to ask if there was a basement under the main part of the house.

  “The only basement we’ve found under Mountjoy is the one that leads from the back porch,” Lance told him, “and I think it was dug in the last fifty years to accommodate the furnace and water system.”

  “I kinda think there was a basement under the house,” Leroy said, “but I’ll admit to you, Mr. Gordon, all the years of drugs and alcohol have ruined my memory. Albert might know.”

  “But we don’t want Albert to know what we suspect. If he is involved in the gang that’s trying to destroy Janice, they can’t be warned. You try to remember and let me know if you think of anything.” Lance gave Leroy his cell phone number before he went to see Henrietta, who also had no knowledge of a basement.

  Before he returned to Mountjoy, Lance called the pastor of Bethesda Church and asked him to activate the prayer chain on behalf of Janice and Brooke. He tried to pray for their safety, although he felt so lost and hopeless he couldn
’t pray. A verse from the book of Romans came to mind. ‘“We do not know what we ought to pray, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.’” When he couldn’t come up with a definite petition, he prayed, “God, help us,” over and over.

  The police couldn’t locate Santrock to get permission to search the building, and Miss Banner was worried about him. He hadn’t come to the office or called to say he would be late, and the police started to suspect that Santrock had also been kidnapped. Securing a warrant without his permission, they searched the barn, disappointed when they found nothing but farm machinery and several bales of hay.

  When Lance arrived with Hungry, the dog was still weak, and he sniffed around the outside of the barn without much interest. When Lance took him inside, Sergeant Baxter held Brooke’s bracelet to the dog’s nose. Hungry put back his head and brayed like a hunting dog and raced around the barn floor. He started growling and dug frantically beside the bales of hay. The police motioned for Lance to restrain Hungry. They hurriedly pushed the large bales of hay aside and uncovered a trapdoor in the floor. Motioning for silence, Baxter looked significantly at Lance.

  “We may have all kinds of trouble when we open this door, so you stand aside, Mr. Gordon.”

  Baxter reached for the handle, but he pulled back when Leroy Reid stumbled into the barn, puffing like a steam engine.

  “Let me get my breath,” he panted. “I ran up the hill.”

  One of the officers uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to Leroy. He took a big swallow.

  “Mr. Gordon,” he said, “I just remembered. There is a basement under the house, and the door goes down from the pantry floor. There was an old house on this spot before my granddaddy bought it. The house belonged to an abolitionist. He had a cellar under his house that led through a tunnel with the opening a mile away. He’d hide runaways in his cellar and then take them out through the tunnel and into Pennsylvania when it was safe for them to leave.”

  “That’s your answer, Sergeant,” Lance said. “Janice didn’t get to replace the tile covering on the pantry, so we didn’t see the door. Will you give me time to find out if the door is still there before you enter the tunnel? It’s just possible that the people who’ve been using Mountjoy don’t know about the tunnel. Nobody will be expecting us to come from the house. I’m afraid for them if you attack from this point.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Baxter said. “The rest of you stay in this barn and see that no one goes out and pay particular attention to anyone who wants to go in.”

  Working as quietly as possible, Lance knelt on the pantry floor and, using a knife from the kitchen, he cut a large square in the tile and pushed the pieces to one side. He grinned up at Baxter when a trapdoor similar to the one in the barn was uncovered. He cringed when the hinges on the door squeaked as he lifted it. Baxter handed Lance a flashlight and he sent the beams around the opening.

  “The steps look safe enough,” he whispered. “I’m going down.”

  Baxter nodded. “Be careful,” he said, drawing his gun. “I’ll be right behind you. If there is a meth lab down here, we should have on Tyvek suits before we go in, but it might be dangerous for the girls if we wait. We need to rescue them before the place explodes.”

  “Yes, we can’t wait.”

  The ten steps led to a cellar under the two rear rooms of the house. He soon found a door that entered a tunnel. Walking rapidly and quietly, Lance hadn’t gone far until the tunnel was blocked by a cave-in. So frustrated that he could hardly stand it, Lance started to return to Baxter, but he halted when he heard voices. Apparently the wall of dirt wasn’t too thick, because he heard Janice’s voice, and he praised God that she was still alive. Then there was a man’s voice and, listening intently, he was sure it was Loren Santrock’s. So he had been kidnapped!

  Breathless, Lance motioned for Baxter to follow him to the foot of the steps. “The tunnel is blocked by a cave-in,” he whispered, “but I heard Janice’s voice. I also think I heard Santrock talking. Is he involved in this or has he been kidnapped?”

  “Everybody is a suspect at this point,” Baxter said.

  “That dirt isn’t very thick, and I figure I can tunnel through it. There’s a shovel on the back porch. If you can create a diversion of some kind, I might be able to dig a hole big enough to bring Janice and Brooke out this way.”

  “I’ll get the shovel for you,” Baxter said. “But don’t start digging until you hear something from our end of the tunnel. They might kill the sisters if they know they’re trapped.”

  Janice felt as if she were walking through a thick fog, and she wasn’t making any progress. Her head ached and when she tried to lift her hand, her arm wouldn’t move. With an effort she forced her eyes open and looked around. She was in a cave or cellar. Her hands and feet were bound, she was gagged and lying on the damp ground. A dim florescent bulb cast shadows around the room.

  The place looked like a laboratory, containing a collection of jugs with tubes running into the jugs from pots on gas burners. The burners weren’t lit, but the smell in the room reminded her of the odor that had often infiltrated her house. She’d seen enough pictures of illegal meth labs to recognize the equipment. She had a sinking feeling that this cave was under Mountjoy.

  How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was when Winston had called her out on the porch. She’d heard someone behind her, and when she started to turn, he’d hit her on the head. No wonder she’d never trusted the guy.

  A shiver of panic swept through Janice. What had they done with Brooke? She began to shake as fearful images built in her mind, but her fears were premature. She squirmed on the cold floor until she turned on her side and saw Brooke lying a few feet away, also bound and gagged. Had they killed her? Probably not, or she wouldn’t be tied. But as she struggled to scoot across the floor, Brooke opened her eyes. It was maddening not to be able to reach her sister or even communicate with her, but she didn’t seem to have any bruises. At least Brooke was alive, but for how long?

  Janice kept twisting and pushing until she achieved a more upright position against the earthen wall. The small room opened into a tunnel to the right. Fortunately, none of the burners were active now, but a meth lab was a dangerous place to be. How could they escape?

  Alert to a scuffling sound in the tunnel, she batted her eyes at Brooke, hoping she would get the message. Janice closed her eyes and pretended to be unconscious. She sensed that someone was standing over her. Her foot was nudged roughly but she didn’t move.

  More than one person was in the room now, and she slitted her eyes slightly, seeing four feet and legs. Only two people so far, but there might as well have been a hundred for all she could do about it.

  “Can’t I ever depend on you to do anything right? If you’ve killed her or knocked her into a coma, my patience is at an end with you,” a voice said. The shock of discovery hit Janice like a jolt of electricity, and her eyes popped open. Astonished, she stared upward into the face of Loren Santrock. Winston Goodman stood beside him.

  “Oh, so you’re awake after all,” Santrock said with a sneer. All vestige of the suave, fatherly attorney had disappeared. How could this man have duped her and everyone else in Stanton? But she’d always known that somebody with brains had to be behind the drug ring.

  Her opinion of him must have shown in her eyes, because he gave a bitter laugh. “Surprised you, didn’t I, as well as all the other good people in this area? Take that gag off, Winston. I want some information.”

  The gag had been drawn so tight that Janice’s mouth was numb. She licked her lips trying to restore some feeling. Alarm and anger swept through her body when she realized how she’d trusted this man.

  She was so furious she could hardly speak, but when the numbness left her lips, she demanded harshly, “Is this cellar on my property?”

  “Yes, right below your bedroom, in fact.”

  “So that’s the reason every now and then I
smelled something in my house that made me sick. If this place had exploded, Brooke and I could have been killed.”

  “The ones who operate this lab are cautious—their lives depend on it. If they’re careless, they can be killed. And if the explosion didn’t kill them, they know I would.”

  He wouldn’t be telling her this if he didn’t expect to kill her, too, so Janice thought she might as well learn what she could. “Like you killed Uncle John.”

  “Ah, you’re wrong there, Missy. I never killed anyone…yet.”

  “And why did you try to burn down the house to kill me?”

  “Do you think I’m crazy? The last thing I wanted was for Mountjoy to burn. I lay those arson attempts at your uncle’s door. He’d naturally bungle any job he tried.”

  “What would he gain by killing Brooke and me?” Janice said. “You’re just blaming him to hide your own crimes.”

  “Believe what you will, but your father wouldn’t have been any match for Albert—who would have all of John’s money before you were cold in the grave.”

  He pulled a rickety chair closer to her and sat facing Janice. “Okay, missy, I’m out of patience with you. You’ve been a thorn in my flesh since the first day you showed up in Stanton, when I had to avoid you because we hadn’t hidden everything here at Mountjoy. I’ve tried everything peaceable to get you to give up this property, and by delaying, you’ve cost me over a million dollars. But I’m going to get part of that back. You’re going to turn all of your money over to me. Thanks to you, our activities are finished at Stanton, but I’m taking your money with me when I leave.”

  With a harsh laugh, Janice said, “The state police will get you sooner or later. You don’t have a chance to get away with this.”

  “I’ve been getting away with it for ten years—ever since John Reid moved to town.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how John got wise to me, but he made a few remarks that made me realize he suspected something. When he came to investigate, one of my men killed him, but I made it look like suicide.”

  Was there no end to this man’s wickedness?