Prologue to Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  At the door, a man dressed in full Blackbeard regalia greeted her, and she immediately recognized him as being the manager who had assisted her and Paige after their run-in with the falling rocks.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her. “Hello! So you’ve finally decided to take me up on that offer of a free meal.” He clasped her hand in his, shaking it.

  “Well, yes and no. I’m actually here for the ghost walk tour finale, but I see”—her eyes scanned the dining room and bar—“that I’m not the only one who skipped the tour and came here directly.”

  The manager’s black beard shivered with his laughter.

  “Actually, judging by the looks of the number of people attending the tour, you’re going to run out of room in here fairly quickly. Have you thought about serving refreshments outside, too?”

  His eyes widened. “No, I didn’t realize there would be so much interest. I’ll get my staff on that right away. Thanks for the heads-up.” He pulled back his lacy cuff sleeve and checked his watch. “There’s just enough time left, I think.” He waved a server over, whispered in his ear, and smiled when the young man scooted off toward a group of staff members setting up behind the bar.

  He clapped his hands together. “That’s taken care of. And now for introductions, so I may tell my staff the name of our most favored patron, not only for tonight, but for every visit hereafter.” He bowed and kissed the back of her hand as though she were royalty. She blushed and pulled her hand away.

  She dropped in a curtsy. “Addison Greyborne, at your service.”

  He stood straight up. “Addison Greyborne? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Well, I guess you have, like everyone else, given the newspapers lately.”

  His eyes dropped, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his moustached lip. “Not completely true—I also know you are the owner of the Beyond the Page bookstore, and the wonderful young woman who most generously donated the books for us to sell on behalf of the library fundraiser.” He held out his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” He clicked his heels together. “Phillip Madison, proprietor, at your service.” He bowed his head. “So, what is your pleasure as you wait for this event to get started? A drink at the bar? Dinner in the dining room? You name it; everything for you will always be on the house.”

  “That’s very nice, but completely unnecessary.”

  “Nonsense; it’s my place. I can do what I want for whomever I want. Just name your poison.”

  “You know what I’d like right now?”

  “Just name it.”

  “I’d like a tour of the cavern you’re revealing tonight—you know, before all the ghost walk tour participants arrive.”

  “That’s all?”

  She nodded.

  “No problem. Your wish is my command. Follow me.” He gestured her forward with a low, sweeping bow.

  A young serving girl came over to them and whispered in Phillip’s ear. He frowned. “I’m sorry, Miss Greyborne, as we are still scrambling to set up, there appears to be a minor issue that demands my attention.”

  “That’s fine, I understand. I’ll wait and have my tour with everyone else.”

  He shook his head. “I promised you anything you want. If I show you the access, you could go down by yourself and wander around. We’ve strung lights all through the main parts of the tunnel system, except for a couple of small offshoots, which are marked as hazardous still. I don’t recommend anyone entering those. Our guides will stand beside those areas on the main tour. However, as long as you’re aware beforehand and promise me not to go down them.”

  “Deal.”

  “Okay. I do apologize again.” He led her to the back wall and pulled open two wide wooden plank doors. “These were designed to look like part of the facade in the dining room, but what lies behind them is another world that we discovered during refurbishing. I’ve kept them closed while renovations were underway.”

  “I’ve eaten here twice,” she said, eyeing the doors, “and just thought they were part of the wall decor.”

  He smiled. “That’s exactly what we wanted people to think.”

  She followed him into a well-lit, small grotto—in the center of which was a gaping hole. The top rungs of a ladder protruded from the rim.

  “It’s an easy climb down to the bottom, and there you will enter the world of Blackbeard, Captain Kidd, and William Fly, just to mention a few of our most notorious earlier inhabitants. Enjoy.”

  “Is there anyone else down there now?” She walked to the edge. “Staff or renovation workers?”

  “No workers at this time of night, and I’m keeping the staff busy up here putting the final touches on the event.”

  “Thanks. Just wanted to know what to expect.”

  “See you later, but I do have to run now.” He turned and disappeared back into the main part of the restaurant.

  She peered into the hole. It wasn’t that far down. She took a deep breath and began the short descent to the bottom.

  A huge grotto opened up before her. She scanned the oak barrels, arranged from the floor to the ceiling, interspersed with ceramic wine casks. In the center of the cavern sat chairs around a long, rough timber table, laid out with pewter mugs, plates, and serving jugs. It appeared tonight just as it may have during the golden years of piracy, although this setting was most likely tidier than it might have been a few hundred years ago. She walked through the cavern to the lighted passageway she spotted on the back wall.

  The passage gradually narrowed and descended into a tunnel, its walls lined with rough-hewn bunk beds covered with straw sleeping pallets. She passed by three smaller side passage openings that were all blocked off by wooden barriers and “No Entry” signs. When she reached the end of the main tunnel, she scanned the boulder-clad wall and figured the other side would be the beach cave that the British had blocked with their cannon blasts.

  If burying treasure was really a pirate thing, it would have been buried, not stored in a well-established hideaway. This cave appeared to be a hideout, a haven, and not the kind of place where someone stashed their treasures. She headed back to the main grotto, but stopped in mid-step.

  A scuffling sound echoed out from the barricaded passage on her right. She cocked her head and listened harder, slowly making her way over to the entrance. The scuffling continued, then a pinging noise like metal striking rock echoed down the blackened passage. A light flicked in the distance, and she squinted. “Is someone there?” She leaned into the tunnel mouth. “Hello, is anyone there?”

  She dropped her handbag and climbed over the wooden barrier, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. She turned on the flashlight app and crept toward the source of the light and sound. “Hello,” she called again. “I think all work is supposed to stop. A tour will be coming through soon.”

  All went silent, and the far light snapped out. She cocked her head, listening for any sounds of movement. A chill rippled across her shoulders. She flipped off her light and turned toward the main tunnel. “Stupid, stupid, stupid me,” she muttered and picked up her pace.

  “Yes, you are,” a husky voice hissed from behind her.

  A hot, sharp pain slammed into the right side of Addie’s head. She started to drop to her knees, but fingers gripped the back of her hair and yanked up hard. In the faint light from the main tunnel, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a whizzing blur aimed directly for her head. She grabbed her hair at the roots to help fight off the searing pain in her scalp and dropped down as far as her hair would allow her to. The swing swooshed inches above her head. She reached behind her and grabbed hold of the sides of her attacker’s head and yanked hard, smashing it into the back of hers. The grip on her was lost, and she stumbled forward. Arms grabbed her around the knees, and she plummeted, face-first, onto the bedrock ground. Blinding pain seared across her face. An unseen arm flipped her onto her back. Hot breath wafted across her cheek, and the chill of cold steel pressed against her skin.

>   She fought the pulsating pain that seized her and struggled to open her eyes. “You?” she wheezed, the knife blade pressing hard against her throat.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  A cold, calloused hand gripped the back of Addie’s neck and yanked her to her feet, the blade edge biting into her skin. Dorothy’s pungent breath wafted across her face when she thrust Addie against the tunnel wall.

  “I’m not going to let you,” Dorothy growled, pressing on the blade, “or anyone else, stand in the way of me getting what I worked hard for.” She jolted Addie’s head against the wall. “No one. Do you hear me?” she shouted, spraying droplets on Addie’s face.

  The razor-sharp blade had already sent a warm, oozing sensation trickling down her neck. Even if she wanted to respond, she didn’t dare move.

  “Addie, are you down here?” a voice called from the main tunnel.

  Her eyes darted to the entrance, and Dorothy’s hand clamped hard over her mouth. “Shhh,” she whispered, “don’t say a word, or . . .” The blade nipped at her throat.

  “Addie?” The voice grew louder. “Addie, it’s me, Simon. Are you down here?”

  Dorothy pinned her with wild eyes. Addie kicked out hard against Dorothy’s shin, sending her reeling backward. “Simon!” Addie screamed. “Hurry, she has a knife.” His silhouette raced toward her. She gasped a sigh of relief.

  Out of the dark, a shape leapt up and tackled Simon to the ground. Addie pulled her phone from her pocket, brandished it over her head and smashed it hard across the side of Dorothy’s head. She slumped forward onto Simon. With her foot, Addie rolled her to the side and pressed her boot down across Dorothy’s neck to hold her still. She reached down to help Simon to his feet, and a bloodied hand grasped at hers. He cried out in pain and slowly made his way to his feet, cradling his hand.

  “Oh my God, Simon, you’re hurt.” She scanned the ground for her cell phone, which she’d dropped in the force of striking her target.

  He wavered on his feet and slumped against the tunnel wall. “I’ll be okay,” he gasped. “Don’t take your foot off her. I’ll call 911.” He retrieved his phone from his pocket and slid down the wall to the bedrock floor.

  * * *

  Addie rocked back and forth in her chair. The tight gauze and tape applied to her throat was a reminder of having just lived through her worst anxiety dream come to life. She shivered and focused on the swirling gray patterns of the waiting room floor. The sight of a pair of black boots broke her concentration, and she looked up.

  “Marc?” She leapt to her feet. “Thank you for coming so quickly after Simon phoned. I don’t know what I would have done if you had come any later.”

  “It’s a good thing I was just outside the Den doing crowd control.” He held out her purse. “Here, I thought you might want this back.”

  “How did you get that?” She looked at it and then at him, taking it from his hand.

  “From Simon, I guess he went looking for you when you didn’t show up at the ghost walk. So he went to Smuggler’s Den on the off chance that you were already there. The manager told him the last time he saw you, was at the tunnel entrance. You must have dropped it outside the barricade. That’s how Simon knew where you were in the shaft.” He held her out at arm’s length, his eyes wide, and studied her face warily. “Are you okay?”

  She sniffed and looked down at her feet. “Yeah, I will be. The cuts aren’t too deep, and the doctor said they should heal up nicely. I might get lucky and not even have much of a scar.”

  Marc tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s good.” He smiled. “Come here.” He held his arms open.

  “No, I’m fine. I don’t need a . . . sympathy hug.”

  “Come here.” His arms remained open and waiting.

  She nestled into his chest and took a deep breath. The heady scent of his cologne overran her erratic thoughts. His closeness felt so good and right—how had they ever come to the place where they were now? “I was going crazy. I couldn’t check Simon’s stab wound, so I didn’t know how bad it was, because I had to keep my foot on Dorothy’s throat, in case she attacked again or ran.”

  “You did just fine,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Any word on Simon yet?”

  His arms stiffened. “Not that I’ve heard lately.” He pulled away.

  She jerked, the spell broken. “It’s just that his hands are so important to his work. What if he can’t perform surgery anymore?”

  “Don’t worry about the what-ifs.”

  “I can’t help but worry. You should have seen the blood, it was everywhere, and they won’t tell me anything because I’m not family. The only information I have is through Carolyn, and she’s barely left his side.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “They won’t even let me in to see him. Oh, Marc.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “His work is his whole life.”

  “Let me see if I have any better luck getting information.” He patted her shoulder and headed to the nursing station.

  “Look who I have here?” Carolyn’s voice rang out behind her. Addie spun around on her heel.

  “Simon,” she squealed. “Oh my God.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for finding me when you did.” She grinned at him and wiped a rogue tear off her cheek.

  He smiled up at her from the wheelchair. “I always did like your thank-yous.” His smile widened.

  “So, what did the doctor say? When will you be released?”

  He looked up at her, her throat catching at his searching gaze. “I guess no one told you, but . . . as soon as my chauffeur here”—he motioned his head behind him to Carolyn—“wheels me out that door”—he nodded toward the emergency entrance—“I’m a free man.”

  Addie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head.

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Carolyn beamed.

  “So, no damage done by the knife wound?”

  He shook his head. “I got real lucky. No tendons or ligaments touched; just a clean through-and-through stab.” He held up his gauze-wrapped hand. “I’ll be back in the operating room in no time.” He smiled, and then a shadow swept across his face. “Sorry to disappoint you, Chief, if you dropped by to offer Carolyn your condolences on my demise.”

  Marc snorted above Addie’s shoulder. “I came to check up on my”—he cleared his throat—“team, wondering if I was going to have to replace the both of you.”

  Addie glared at him. He stood rigid, adjusting his holster belt, and then grinned at Simon.

  Addie laughed and slapped his arm. Carolyn and Simon chuckled.

  “Glad to see you in such high spirits, Doc, but so you know, I do expect a full report on your medical treatment of Steven and what happened this evening on my desk by morning.”

  Addie’s eyes widened. “But it is morning. Look out the window.”

  “Well then, he’d better get to work right away.” His teeth flashed in a smile.

  “The only work he’ll be doing right now is getting comfortable in my spare bedroom, I’m afraid, Chief. So I’d better get him to bed now before the kids wake up and find out he’s there and don’t give him a minute of peace and quiet.” Carolyn whisked him past Marc and Addie. “Say good night, Simon,” she ordered.

  “Good night.” He waved over his shoulder.

  Addie yawned. Her hand immediately shot to her throat. “Ouch, that pulled.” She rubbed at the gauze.

  “Hands off.” Marc pulled her hand away. “Those butterfly strips are there to keep the wound from opening, so you don’t need stitches.”

  “But they itch.”

  “Better than the alternative.”

  “I guess.” She pouted.

  “Good. Now it’s time to get you home, little lady. You’re turning into a two-year-old.”

  “No.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m too wound up for that. Think I need a cup of coffee though. How about you?” />
  “Yeah, I could go for one. It’s been a long night.”

  She followed him over to the vending machine, where he produced a steaming cup and held it out to her, then dropped some more coins in the machine and waited for his. They made their way over to a quiet corner of the waiting room and slumped down into two chairs. He leaned his elbow on the chair arm, scrubbing his hand over his face.

  “Were you interrogating Dorothy all night?”

  “And Dean.”

  “You caught him?”

  “Yup.” Marc stretched and leaned back, his fingers interlocked behind his head. “Jerry picked him up out on the highway headed toward Boston.”

  “And?”

  “And,” he said, pressing his lips tight, “he wasn’t Steven’s assailant.”

  “What?”

  Marc nodded. “He’s guilty of conspiring to commit a crime, among a few other smaller things, like sending the last threatening gift box to you, but—”

  “Wait, he sent the flag and knife?”

  “Apparently, he saw you having lunch with Simon,” he said, dropping his eyes, “and he followed you to the museum.”

  “He could have. I didn’t know who Dean was then and wouldn’t have recognized him. What about the first one, the one with the rat?”

  “That was Steven. He knew you had some of June’s notes and was afraid you’d start searching for the treasure yourself and wanted to scare you off.”

  “Okay then, who was it that attacked Steven? Don’t tell me his attacker was Jeanie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Who, then? Come on,” she said, grasping his arm, “I’m too tired to play right now.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he glanced sideways at her. “Dorothy.”

  She gasped. “She beat up Steven?”

  “Well, you know her strength.”

  Addie’s hand went to her throat. She shifted on the hard chair. “I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t doubt it. The whole thing gets a little complicated. It took us a while to sort through it all, but we did, eventually, because I kept remembering the . . . theories, you shared.”