Killer Bunny Hill

by Denise Robbins

  Samantha straightened her clothes, mumbled her thanks, opened the door, and flipped a switch.

  Max was pleasantly surprised as he followed Sam down the wood stairs and onto a carpeted floor. “Did you buy the place like this or did you finish the basement yourself?”

  “Most of the work had already been done. The previous owner left some of the granite walls for his own makeshift wine cellar. When I bought the place, I improved upon it. In the main part of the basement, the previous owner had added insulation and put up walls. When I moved in, I painted the walls and put in the carpeting. I also built the wine racks and had the cellar finished off. Most New Englander’s would be just as happy to leave a cellar as dirt or cement slab, but I like to go barefooted, and when it’s ten below outside I don’t want to walk on a cold floor or have to put shoes on just to grab a bottle of chardonnay.”

  He smiled at the vivid vision of Sam walking down the stairs, in a nightgown and bare feet to get a bottle of wine. As long as she was getting it to share with him, he liked the idea.

  The basement consisted of white cabinets along two finished walls. He assumed she used them for storage. At the back of the room was the wine storage area. “Uh, apparently you take your wine seriously.”

  She turned to him and grinned. “A long time ago someone gave me a gift of a wine club for a year. Every month I received two bottles of wine. I decided to go to wine tastings and realized I liked it. It became a hobby.”

  Hobby? He figured she had wine crates stacked against a wall or something. Instead, she had a glass-enclosed room for her wine. When she pulled the door open, the popping of the seal made an unmistakable sound.

  “Go ahead, check it out,” she offered.

  He stepped inside the enclosed room and was amazed. All three walls had mahogany racks to hold the various wines. Each wall held a different kind of wine. The left wall had white, the right wall red, and the middle held more champagne than he had ever seen in his entire life. “I take it you’re fond of champagne?”

  “I’m partial to it, yes. Can you think of a better way to celebrate than a bottle of St. Jacques?”

  He looked at her, meeting her green gaze under the LED lights. A slow grin spread across his face, and he laughed. “Uh, yeah, I can think of something better.”

  She rolled her eyes, and he laughed some more. Then he straightened and grew serious. “Okay, where do we look?”

  Sam took a step back and surveyed the room. “My guess is it would be whichever wall faces the mountain, wouldn’t you?”

  “Good thought. Makes sense as that was where the opening had been to the secondary tunnel in Michael’s cottage.”

  “If it exists, it has to be along the back wall. Someone could have covered it up, sealed it in, who knows.” She shrugged.

  The back wall was partially built out into the general basement area and the champagne section of the wine cellar. Max stepped back out of the wine area and stood next to a frowning Sam, arms crossed over her chest. “Let’s think about this for a second. If it still exists and is being used then it can’t be covered up by drywall. Agree?”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “That means if we don’t find it on the granite wall section then it’s not being used and we don’t have to worry about it. We won’t tear down walls.”

  Max smiled as Sam physically relaxed, her shoulders dropping on a sigh of relief. He kissed her forehead. “Feel better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. You start on this side of the cellar and I’ll look on the other side. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  Running his hands and eyes along the wall, Max kept a steady conversation going. He had learned a lot about Samantha today. “Did you build the entire wine storage yourself?”

  “No, I built the racks, sanded, and stained the racks. I had help anchoring them to the wall and putting in the sealed door.”

  “That must have cost a pretty penny to have a professional do the work.”

  Sam laughed. “I couldn’t afford a professional, I had a starving business. I got labor the old-fashioned way.”

  Max glanced up from the bottom part of the wall. She grinned. “I offered pizza and beer.”

  He chuckled. “The way to a man’s heart, huh?”

  “More like the way to get a man to do anything.”

  “I assume your dad helped. Who else?”

  “Who do you think?”

  He stiffened. “Brad.”

  “Yup.” She continued talking without looking up. “He was a huge help. It was his idea to put in that special door. When my father couldn’t wait around for the delivery of it, Brad volunteered. He spent hours in that wine vault anchoring the racks to the wall. He said he didn’t trust anyone else because he wanted to help me preserve as much of the history of the place as possible.”

  Now she glanced up. “History of the place.”

  Max nodded and got to his feet, meeting Sam in front of the door. “It’s in the vault.”

  Sam groaned as she stepped into the room.

  “What?”

  “It’s on the champagne wall. But how? That wall has to weigh a ton, especially with all those bottles, not to mention the mahogany racks. I had the wood delivered and brought to the basement so I wouldn’t have to carry the finished work down here.”

  “The one in Mickey’s basement had some kind of spot in the wall that triggered a release of the door. Pretty impressive technology for being so damn old.” He went to the right side of the champagne wall and Sam took the left. Once again, they started the search for whatever mechanism might open a hidden passage.

  The search was as slow and tedious as his search for Kevin’s clue. He stepped back, ran his fingers through his hair, and blew out a frustrated breath. “I got nothing.”

  Sam stood from her crouched position, wiped dust off on the seat of her pants. A small chuckle escaped his lips when he saw the prints left on her backside.

  “Nothing here either. This may sound really stupid, but what if the mechanism is pulling on one of the bottles.”

  “If the intent was to keep the tunnel a secret, I’d say that would be a risky method. No telling when you’d pull out the wrong bottle and accidentally have a wall shift.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” She kicked her feet against the carpet, frustration obvious on her pouty lip.

  He reached out, pulled her into his arms, and kissed away her pout. It felt so good he kissed her again until they were both breathless.

  Sam stepped back, held a hand up palm out, and between pants suggested, “If the champagne wall is the opening then one of the other walls could be the trigger.”

  His chest heaving just as fast and as hard as hers, he couldn’t help himself, he kissed her again. “You are so smart.”

  She shoved at his chest, but offered up a wide smile and a shrug. “I know.”

  “And my kisses make you that much smarter,” he suggested as he swatted her ass.

  With a shake of her head, she strode to the red wine wall. He took the white.

  He never wanted to see another bottle of wine again. He had no idea there could be so many damned varieties. There were chardonnays, Chenin Blanc, Reislings, pinot grigio, and on and on. For a woman who did not drink a lot of wine, Sam could recite the differences between them as if a connoisseur. Hands behind his back, he stretched, and then stepped back from the racks he had searched but come up empty.

  “Max.”

  “Hm?”

  He pivoted in time to see Samantha on tiptoe, reaching for an area above the red wines, a view of her incredible butt wiggling in frustration greeted him. Mm. Mm. Mm. He cleared his throat. “What do you have?”

  “Not sure. The wood definitely has a texture change. I…just …can’t…reach it well enough.” Breathless, she dropped back on her feet.

  “Ah, so you only want me for my height.” He reached up to where her hand had been. Sure enough, he felt a dimple in the otherwise smooth surface. Mentally cro
ssing his fingers, he closed his eyes and pressed the indentation.

  Her heart jumped for joy as the champagne wall came to life, sliding almost silently open before her very eyes.

  They found it!

  In her excitement, she spun, grabbed Max’s face in her hands, tugged his head to hers, and kissed him. Tongue and all. “It’s a lot more than your height,” she told a stunned Max. “Come on.” She tugged at him. “Let’s see where it goes.”

  Blocking her view, Max peered down the passage. “It looks similar to the one underneath Mickey’s place, only this one doesn’t have any cobwebs.”

  Glancing past him, Sam regarded the tunnel. She did not see any cobwebs, thank goodness, she shivered. Heck, she barely saw anything.

  “Got any flashlights?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Be right back.” She took off up the stairs at a dead run.

  Max checked his watch. What was taking Samantha so long? If she were anything like him, she probably had no clue where the flashlights were actually located. Or maybe the batteries were dead. Yeah, he reassured himself. If she did not stay at the cabin often then either one of those scenarios was more than plausible.

  He waited another five minutes and started to get worried. Forget started, he was worried. No way did it take that long to locate a flashlight, check to see if it worked or not, and then replace the batteries if necessary.

  Pushing fear aside, he started up the stairs. Halfway up, he halted.

  * * * *

  “Where the hell were the dumb flashlights?” Rummaging through the third kitchen drawer, Sam slammed it shut when she came up empty.

  In the drawer next to the refrigerator, she found a boatload of batteries. “Might need those,” if she ever found the flashlights. She set them on the counter then thought of her nightstand. When she turned to go to the bedroom, the sight of Brad’s body halted her in her tracks and she had to suppress a scream. Swallowing hard, she pushed back the bile that rose in the back of her throat.

  In all the excitement, she had forgotten about Brad. How could she forget about a dead man on her floor, a ski pole sticking out of his chest? Oh. In an attempt to hold back the vomit that burned, Sam covered her mouth, and took shallow breaths through her nose.

  Tears stung her eyes as she remembered the Brad she grew up with, the Brad she had thought she loved at one point. They met the first day of second grade when his family moved up from Boston. Their teacher, Mrs. Brown, seated Brad next to her and asked her to be his class buddy. From that day forward, they became inseparable and best friends. In the third grade, he kissed her, for no reason, but to see what all the fuss was about. In high school, he kissed her for real.

  The kiss occurred at a Sadie Hawkins’ dance, where the girls invited the boys out. Uncomfortable with the idea of asking a guy, she finally broke down and asked Brad, but only after he dropped several hints. Apparently, he was not thrilled with waiting to see who would ask him out. During the dance, someone threw Brad in the mock jail and she bailed him out. Walking away with her ex-con, a slow song began to play.

  She pictured it. Lights low, disco ball on the ceiling, hay bales lined the walls for seating and everyone dressed in jeans or denim skirts, plaid and flannel shirts, cowboy boots, and of course a cowboy hat. As ‘Can I Have This Dance’ started to play, Brad took her into his arms and swayed to the music. Her head on his shoulder, she recalled the feeling of his strong hand grasping hers, and the rhythm of his heart as it beat against her ear. When the music stopped, her pulse raced as he lifted her chin with his forefinger, and pressed his lips to hers. At first, her eyes were wide open, and as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, her eyelids drifted shut. He swept her away.

  Now, staring down at the blood and what was left of her once best friend and lover, she wished she had kept her eyes wide open the entire time.

  Averting her gaze, Samantha held her breath and stepped around Brad’s body, careful to avoid messing up any evidence that the killer may have left behind. As soon as she made it past him, she exhaled and ran to the bedroom, straight for the closest nightstand. Sure enough, right on top lay one of her yellow flashlights. Flipping the switch, she tested the batteries. “Good.”

  On the far side of the bed, she checked the second nightstand and found the other light. She frowned when she tested the second light and shrugged. At least she already located the batteries so that would be a quick fix and then she and Max would be on their way through the tunnel and what she hoped would be answers.

  Shutting the drawer, she spun on her booted heel to go back to the kitchen, and stopped short when she heard a voice. “Going somewhere?”

  Her head snapped up, surprised to see a man standing in the door. After swallowing her shock, Sam recovered enough to get her voice back. “Did Max call you? I didn’t think he wanted anyone here yet.” She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Oh, well. I feel better now that you’re here.”

  She took a step toward him, staggered, and dropped the flashlights when he raised his arm. He aimed a pistol directly at her. A finger to his lips, he instructed her to be silent. With a wave of his gun hand, he indicated her to move toward the door. When she was within his reach, he grabbed her arm and spun her around, patted her down, removed her 9-millimeter, and slapped cuffs on her.

  “What the…” What the hell was happening? He was supposed to be one of the good guys. He was the law. Pain struck her head and her world faded black.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Shaking his head, Max could have sworn he heard voices, but now he was not certain. Now, as he ascended the stairs to the kitchen, the small cottage seemed deadly quiet. At the thought, a shiver ran up his spine and he took the rest of the steps two at a time. When he reached the kitchen, he saw the batteries on the counter but no Sam.

  “Sam?”

  No response.

  “Samantha?” He yelled again as he stepped over Brad and into the dining room on his way to the bedroom. “Sam, this is no time for games, damn it!”

  When he reached the bedroom door, he hesitated, then drew his weapon, and kicked the door that was ajar completely open. There, at the foot of the bed, on the carpeted floor, lay two yellow flashlights. But no Sam. “Shit!”

  “Not again.” He groaned, bent over and picked up one of the lights then chucked it against the wall. “How?” How did they get her out of the house without him knowing it? Sam would have screamed, put up a fight, anything. “Who?” He tugged at his hair as he paced the small room. It did not make any sense. Then a thought hit. Someone she knew. Someone she trusted.

  Damn. No wonder she had trouble trusting. Look at all the people around her. Who could she trust?

  This was his fault. He knew she had taken too long to return to the basement. He should have come upstairs sooner. He should have gone up the stairs with her to look for the damn flashlights. Walking into the living room, he opened the front door, and glanced around. Nothing. With more force than necessary, he slammed it shut.

  He strode to the only lead he had and stood over the dead body of Brad. It was there that he found a note. For fear of leaving prints, he read the note without picking it up. Besides, whoever left it, wrote it in blood, which meant the writing was bright enough to read standing up.

  “We want the diamonds.”

  “No, no, no. Not again!”

  Spinning on his heels, Max ran out the front door and straight for his SUV. He jumped in, turned the ignition over then gunned the engine in reverse. The vehicle lurched forward and his foot pressed pedal to the metal, his goal Sam Spenser’s house and the baggie of diamonds.

  He thumped his fist against the cold steering wheel. Tears threatened the back of his eyes. He would not lose Sam. She should have been safe with him around. How could someone have snuck in and taken her right out from underneath his nose? He took a deep breath and exhaled. Okay, think. Who would Sam mistakenly trust? It was not her father or Betty Jacks. As far as he knew, they were both out of town in hidi
ng. Brad lay dead on the floor. That left her business partner.

  Max shook his head. He could not picture it, but he could verify it. What was the guy’s name? With a snap of his finger, he remembered. He picked up his cell off the seat and placed a call. It rang, and rang, and rang again. Damn! He ended the call. After counting to ten, he hit redial. After the fourth ring, it went to voicemail. “Casey, this is Max Stone, a friend of Samantha’s. When you get this message, please call me. It’s urgent. She’s in trouble.” He recited his cell number and hung up. Then he placed another call.

  “Ruby.” His voice was desperate and breathless, certain his fear came across. “I need a favor.”

  “Max, what is it?”

  “They kidnapped Samantha.” He swallowed the fear. “Right from under my nose.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the problem,” he shouted, “I don’t know, but I think I’m beginning to. I need you to locate and/or do a check on Casey —Shit!” He didn’t know the man’s last name. “Sam has a business partner named Casey, unknown last name. Find him.”

  “What do you want me to do after I locate him?”

  “Hold him, lock him up, pin him down. I don’t give a shit! Just do not let him out of your sight. If he’s not involved then you’re acting as bodyguard.”

  “And if I can’t find him?”

  “Then he may be part of the problem. See if you can nail anything to him in regards to these diamonds or Sixth Element.”

  “I’m on it. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.” Ruby ended the call.

  It may not make any sense, but his gut told him something was hinky with this Casey guy. Sam had told him that she and her business partner bought the vacation place together, which meant he probably spent as much time or more in the cottage. He probably knew Brad. If he knew Brad, how close were they? Did he know about the tunnels? Max had a bad feeling.

  All he cared about was getting to Sam in time. He would not lose her. He could not go through that loss again.

  By the time he made it to Sam Spenser’s house, his heart raced and he was sweating. He pulled into the garage shutting it behind him, shoved his vehicle into park, pushed the door open, and jumped out of the truck at a dead run. Common sense kicked in when he reached the basement door. It could be a set up. Whoever took Samantha could be inside right now, waiting to ambush him.