Undertaking Irene

by Pamela Burford

  “That would be my guess,” I said, “but he’s never bitten anyone in his life.”

  “Maybe he never had a reason until now. Do you hear Jonah coming back?”

  “No.” I heard something else, though, something that made me forget to keep breathing. I stood on wobbly legs, clutching SB to my chest. “Martin? Do you hear that?”

  Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. A series of percussive blows, the sound ringing off the brick walls.

  “Yeah,” he said. “What’s happening?”

  “I think…” My mouth was desert dry. I thought about the ax I’d seen earlier. “I think he’s chopping down the supports at the entrance to the side tunnel.”

  Martin was ominously silent.

  My voice climbed a couple of octaves. “This place is already on the verge of collapse.”

  I saw it clearly now, Jonah’s simple strategy: cave in the mouth of the side passage. It was all too easy to imagine such a cave-in cascading down part or all of the passage’s deteriorated length. Meanwhile Jonah would escape through the main tunnel, and the three of us—or four of us including Sexy Beast—would never be heard from again.

  With Martin and Nina locked up, I alone would be trying to dig us out. In complete darkness. With my bare hands. That is, if we were lucky and the collapse didn’t kill us outright.

  On second thought, that would be the lucky thing, dying quickly under tons of earth and rock rather than facing slow suffocation or starvation. At least Martin and Nina had spray cheese.

  “I have to try and stop him,” I said.

  “Jane, no!” Martin said. “What are you going to do, tackle a man with an ax?”

  “I refuse to just stand here and wait to die.” I squeezed SB so tightly he yelped. I gave him an apologetic nuzzle. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I know how we can make it a fairer fight,” he said. “You’re going to pick this lock.”

  After a startled pause, I said, “I don’t know how to pick locks.”

  “I’ll walk you through it. First you have to find those picks that Jonah tossed.”

  “It’s pitch black out here,” I said.

  “I know that. Hurry up. This tunnel could implode at any moment.”

  It was true. The chopping sounds continued unabated, along with the occasional falling plank or brick.

  I didn’t waste another second. As unrealistic as Martin’s plan was, it was the only one we had. I put SB down and fell on my hands and knees in the area where I thought the lock picks had landed. I pushed all thoughts of rat turds out of my mind as I swept my hands over dirt and rocks, searching for the tiny steel tools. I wished I’d held on to Martin’s flashlight.

  “Ow!” Something stabbed my hand. I groped in the dark and discovered Jonah’s hypodermic attached to me, the needle deeply embedded in the base of my thumb. Careful not to touch the plunger, I pulled it out and hurled the thing toward the nearest wall. It clattered against the bricks, followed by the squeal of a rat and the shuffle of tiny feet scampering directly in front of me.

  Sexy Beast growled, but I managed to grab him before he could take off again. I ordered him to sit and stay, and something in my tone must have told him I meant business. He griped about the one that got away, but he stayed put.

  “What happened?” Martin asked. “Are you all right?”

  “Never better. Can’t remember when I’ve had this much fun. Hey, I found one!” I ran my fingers over the slender piece of metal. It was definitely one of his lock picks.

  “Which one?”

  “How do I know which one?” I said.

  “What does the end of it feel like?” he asked. “You’re looking for the torsion wrench and the hook.”

  “This one has a bunch of bumps. You used it on the storage-room door.”

  “That’s the rake. It’s useless with this lock. Keep looking.”

  “Terrific,” I muttered, and shoved the rake into my pocket. Less than a minute later I found another one. “The wrench—is that the one with the L-shaped end? I’ve got that.”

  “Great. Hurry up.”

  I discarded the occasional extraneous find: a cork, a bottle cap, a crushed cigarette pack. Several hefty insects took an interest in me and I bravely shook them off. It’s amazing the salutary effect one’s imminent demise can have on one’s maturity level.

  The next two picks I found were the diamond and the snake, according to Martin. I’d found every pick in the set except the one I needed.

  “It has a little rounded hook on the end. It’s the only one I could get to work in this lock,” he said. “Come on, Jane, it’s got to be there.”

  I expanded my search area, clawing my fingers through dirt and rubble. My hands were raw and scraped, but I ignored the pain.

  The regular thunk of Jonah’s ax-blows abruptly ceased. I heard distant thuds and pictured him kicking the timber he’d just hewn, urging it to split in two. More likely, he was using the sledgehammer I’d spied earlier. This was followed by the creak of splintering wood, then the crash of a huge support timber toppling, along with portions of the wall and ceiling at the entryway. Before the racket had settled, he started chopping the second timber.

  “Jane?” Martin’s voice sounded different. Subdued. “I just want you to know something. You know, in case we don’t—”

  “Save it, Padre.” I refused to entertain an in case we don’t scenario. I couldn’t think that way if I was going to get us out of there alive.

  That scalding surge of anger once again threatened to engulf me, and this time I let it. That sick bastard was not going to get away with this—not if the Death Diva had anything to say about it. I was going to find that damn lock pick. Then I was going to pick that damn lock. Then the three of us were going to get that damn ax away from that damn psycho and run like hell out of that damn tunnel. Damn it.

  I redoubled my efforts to find the last pick, crawling in an ever-widening circle, tossing aside rocks, sifting dirt and gravel through my sore fingers. “I’ve got it!” I raised the pick in triumph, though I couldn’t see it in the inky dark. Then I dropped it. I cursed, groped, found it again.

  Martin was already barking orders, instructing me to insert the bent tip of the wrench into the lower part of the keyhole and turn it clockwise, holding it with slight pressure while I slid the hook pick into the top part.

  “There are five spring-loaded pins in the cylinder.” He spoke quickly. “You’ll need to push each pin up, working from back to front. Keep pressure on the wrench, but not too much pressure.”

  How much was too much? I tried not to think about how even Martin, with all his experience, had found this lock a beast to open.

  “Can you feel the pins?” he asked.

  “Umm…” I wiggled the pick in the lock. How was I supposed to tell what was in there? “There’s something bumpy along the top.”

  “That’s them. You’ll feel a bit of give when each pin sets. You might even hear a little click.” His voice seemed to come right through the lock. It comforted me to know he was sitting mere inches away. If not for the thick wooden door, I could touch him.

  With his ear so close to the action, he heard every scrape of the pick. “You’re being too aggressive,” he said. “You need to use a real soft touch. Feel for the slightest movement.”

  Panic threatened to overtake me. “I told you, I don’t know how to do this!”

  “Try to relax,” he said. “Take a moment and breathe.”

  “I don’t have time to breathe!” I didn’t have time to throw up, either, so I forced myself to put that one on hold. My hands were now shaking so badly, I couldn’t have picked my nose, let alone a cranky antique lock.

  “Trust me, Jane.” His voice was warm and smooth and steady as a rock. “I will help you do this, I promise. But you have to trust me. Now, breathe.”

  My chest had never felt tighter. I forced myself to drag in a lungful of stale, grave-scented air. Then another. Moisture pooled in my eyes and made silent tracks d
own my cheeks. I would not let him hear me cry.

  The only sound was the unrelenting thunk thunk thunk of Jonah’s ax.

  “Okay,” I whispered. Then louder. “Okay, Padre. Let’s do this.”

  Through stubborn force of will I gained control over my trembling fingers. I exerted the slightest pressure on the wrench and gently probed with the pick.

  I’d seen a photo once of a kind of lemur called the aye-aye. This strange creature possesses a long, thin middle finger which it uses to dig grubs out of trees. I imagined the lock pick was just such a finger, a living extension of my hand and just as sensitive to touch.

  “That’s good,” Martin murmured from the other side, listening. “Just keep— You got one! Did you feel that?”

  I nodded stupidly, afraid to speak, afraid to break whatever spell had allowed me that little victory.

  He said, “You’re a natural, baby. Pin number two—let’s go.”

  My armpits were drenched. He had to remind me again to breathe, but eventually I pushed the second pin up. Only, it didn’t stay up.

  “It’s all about the wrench,” he said. “You need to turn the cylinder just enough to hold any pins you’ve already set, but not enough to keep the next pin from setting. You have to finesse it.”

  I groaned. Finesse it? My fingers were so slippery with sweat, just keeping a grip on the slim little picks was a challenge. Sexy Beast decided that would be an excellent time to jump on me and beg for scritches. I told him to lie down and he did, with a huff of disappointment, smooshing his warm little body against my leg.

  I pushed the second pin again. I was beginning to visualize what was going on inside that corroded lock, and why setting the pins and keeping them set was so tricky. Martin was right. It really was about what my left hand was doing with the tiny wrench.

  This time when I set the pin, it stayed set.

  “I’ll turn you into a first-class burglar yet,” he said. He didn’t need to tell me to keep going. I was already working on pin number three.

  The sound of ax-blows stopped and I almost wet myself. The remaining support timber was about to fall.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I murmured, forcing myself to concentrate on the lock and push everything else out of my head. It wasn’t just my life on the line. Two other people were relying on me, not to mention Sexy Beast.

  “Jane, run!” Martin said. “Save yourself. Go!”

  I said nothing, just teased the third pin into place and went to work on the fourth.

  “Jane, I mean it. If Jonah’s still there, hit him on the head with a brick or something, but get out of here while you still can.”

  “Shut up and get Nina ready to run.” My hands were shaking again and beginning to cramp. I couldn’t tell how much pressure I was putting on the wrench. One slip and the three pins I’d already set would fall.

  Again I heard distant thuds: Jonah sledgehammering the support timber he’d just chopped.

  I expected Martin to keep insisting I run. Instead he started yelling at Nina, trying to jolt her out of her stupor. In my mind’s eye I saw him pulling her up off the bed and shaking her.

  He didn’t consider it hopeless. He believed in me.

  I felt the fourth pin lift and stay there. One more to go. My senses were on overdrive. In the impenetrable darkness I saw the fifth and final pin as if blessed with X-ray vision. I knew that lock by now. I felt like I’d gone twelve rounds in a boxing ring with it. I positioned the curved tip of the lock pick directly under the pin and pushed upward.

  Nothing.

  At the mouth of the side tunnel, I heard one final hammer blow and then the sound of wood splintering.

  The hell with finesse. I wiggled the pick. I jabbed it. I put elbow grease into it. “Move!” I commanded that rusty old pin. “Move, damn you!”

  Click.

  I turned the wrench like a key and felt the cylinder fully rotate. I did it!

  Martin shoved the door open, knocking me on my butt and flooding the area with light. SB barked excitedly at all the commotion. I grabbed him as Martin yanked me up by the arm and started running.

  Adrenaline gave me wings. Even Nina managed a decent speed, with Martin pulling her along. We covered the fifty yards in seconds, sprinting toward the resounding crash of the entryway’s last remaining support timber.

  Ahead of us, the light of the main tunnel dimmed under clouds of roiling earth as the entryway began to cave in. I didn’t think it was possible for us to run faster, but we did, reaching the end and clambering blindly up the accumulated rubble, choking on the billowing dirt. Rocks and ceiling planks pelted us from above. The side tunnel was beginning to collapse around us, shuddering in its death throes.

  I felt more than saw a small opening, rapidly filling with rubble. I propelled SB through it, and Martin did the same for me. I wriggled into the main tunnel—which remained untouched, thank goodness, the lights still blazing—then turned back to pull Nina through as he gave her a shove from behind. Blessedly, Jonah was nowhere to be seen.

  Martin started to shimmy through just as the entryway collapsed completely, burying him under an avalanche of earth and rock. Frantically I began trying to dig him out, even as falling debris pummeled me and undid all my efforts.

  “Help me!” I screamed at Nina, who responded by fleeing down the tunnel and disappearing from sight. Sexy Beast was more loyal. He stood at a safe distance from the cave-in, barking nonstop.

  If I relied on my hands alone, Martin would soon suffocate. Think!

  Wildly I glanced around, recalling the tools I’d seen earlier leaning against a wall. The ax and sledgehammer were missing, having been pressed into service by Jonah, but the shovel was still there. I grabbed it and started digging like a maniac. I couldn’t say how long I kept at it. The muscles in my back and shoulders screamed as I shoveled without pause, sending soil and rocks and bricks flying. My mind was empty, my entire being focused on getting to Martin.

  My heart nearly seized up when a hand shot out of the dirt. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and continued to dig, taking care not to clobber him with the shovel. He worked with me, gradually freeing his head and shoulders. Finally I dropped the shovel and grabbed hold of him, pulling hard as he laboriously hauled himself out of the pile of debris.

  We fell to the ground in a filthy heap, our lungs pumping like bellows. SB hovered over me, warm dog breath fanning my face, as if searching in vain for a clean spot to lick. Martin and I turned our heads and just looked at each other. He was covered head to toe in dirt, bleeding from myriad deep scratches, and I wasn’t much better.

  “Nina booked on you?” he asked.

  I shrugged. What was there to say?

  Martin managed to get to his feet. He pulled me up and I wobbled, grateful when he steadied me against his side. As we began to shuffle down the tunnel toward civilization and an interesting conversation with Detective Hernandez, I noticed Sexy Beast wasn’t with us. I turned back to see him avidly sniffing at the mountain of fallen debris.

  “SB.” I barely had the energy to form the words. “Come.”

  He whined.

  “Come on, be a good boy for Jane.” I stumbled over and picked him up. I kissed his grotty head. “You need a bath almost as badly as I do.”

  I looked down to see what he’d found so fascinating. It was the sledgehammer, poking out of the rubble. The more I stared at it, the more my eyes played tricks on me. I looked at Martin. He saw it too.

  He knelt by the sledgehammer and brushed dirt and gravel off the wooden handle and the human fingers clutching it. I heard a low moan and belatedly realized it had come from me.

  He pushed aside detritus and exposed part of a massive timber, one of the pair that had supported the mouth of the side tunnel. When I saw what lay under it—Jonah’s head, crushed—I took a reflexive step back. The top section of the timber must have toppled on him when he split it.

  Martin placed his fingers on Jonah’s neck and shook his head, confirmin
g what I already knew. He stood. “Let’s get out of here.”

  18

  Inseparable

  “DOM, I DON’T have time. I’m on my way out.” I shouldn’t have answered the door. I was already running late.

  “You going to let me in?” He produced that impish smile I’d once found so irresistible and held out a crystal vase overflowing with tulips.

  “You sure you want to do this? Remember what happened last time.” I took the vase and moved into the living room, setting it on the glass-topped coffee table. It was a balmy Saturday afternoon in mid-May. Sunlight streamed through the tall Palladian window. I heard Dom close the front door and follow me.

  Over my shoulder I said, “Thanks for these. I’m sorry I’m in such a rush.” I turned to find his arms circling my waist. He went in for a lip-lock, which I deflected by turning my head. I shoved him away and put a little distance between us. “Where’s this coming from, Dom? This isn’t like you.”

  He looked sweet and serious and heartbreakingly earnest as he said, “Marry me, Janey.”

  “What?”

  “We never should have split up. It’s taken me all these years to realize that.” He shrugged, a wry smile on his handsome face. “What can I tell you? I’m a slow learner.”

  I struggled for form words. “What about Bonnie?”

  “That’s over. I broke up with her.” He nibbled his lower lip—his signature tell—and I knew it hadn’t gone down that way. She’d broken up with him.

  It had been nearly five weeks since Martin and SB and I had tracked tunnel dirt across the immaculate black-and-white tile floor of Patisserie Susanne, collapsed on a pair of delicate bistro chairs, and phoned Dom’s then-fiancée at the Crystal Harbor PD.

  Since that day, I’d neither seen nor heard from Martin… until an hour ago when I’d received a text telling me to be at a certain North Fork winery at three o’clock. Oh yeah, and to “dress nice.”

  He waits five weeks? After what we’d been through together in that tunnel? Five weeks? He hadn’t even shown up for Irene’s memorial mass. And okay, I shouldn’t have been surprised by that, but still.