Expose!

by Hannah Dennison

  Thankfully, the room was a little bigger than I expected. At least I could stand up.

  A quick sweep around the walls revealed a narrow camp bed, a pillow, two chenille blankets, an oil lamp, and a box of matches. I also discovered three bottles of water and a granola bar.

  I struck a match and lit the oil lamp. There was a pop and puff of acrid smoke. I turned up the flame, grateful for the yellow light. It made the tiny room a little friendlier.

  Throwing a blanket around my shoulders, I sat on the camp bed and ate the granola bar. I wondered what small comforts Father Gregory had enjoyed all those years ago. How long had it taken him to die?

  The oil lamp flickered, casting eerie shadows across the walls sending a shiver down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I had to admit I sensed some kind of presence.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said aloud. Anyway, hadn’t Topaz mentioned that when the priest hole was finally discovered, the old man had vanished?

  I went very still as my mind grappled with the remote possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, he’d escaped.

  Hadn’t Sadie mentioned secret passages? What if Father Gregory hadn’t vanished? What if he’d dug his way out?

  Casting the blanket aside, I fell to my knees and began the painstaking process of checking over every inch of the floor and walls.

  At an early age Dad had trained me in the art of opening combination safes, so my hearing was finely tuned for any telltale clicks or subtle changes in depth and sound.

  I’d been tapping away on solid walls for what seemed like forever when I struck gold. The tone became hollow.

  Like most old houses in Devon, the walls were made of cob—a mix of earth and clay. Relieved, excited, and utterly exhausted, I pulled out my Swiss Army penknife and stabbed manically at the plaster.

  The blade went straight through. There was a cascade of stones and pebbles as part of the lower wall began to crumble. I lay on my back and with both feet, kicked as hard as I could.

  I’d discovered Father Gregory’s tunnel.

  39

  The secret passage was so low I could only wriggle forward a few inches at a time on my elbows. It was so narrow my shoulders scraped the sides. I couldn’t have turned back even if I’d wanted to.

  I tried to grasp the Mini Maglite between my teeth but it was too heavy. I felt my safari jacket tear. My mouth and eyes were full of grit and dirt. I couldn’t breathe. I felt suffocated. Had Father Gregory really escaped this way or would I come across his bones right here in this hell-hole?

  Crawling through the tunnel was the most horrifying thing I’d ever had to do. I prayed as I had never prayed before and my prayers were answered.

  Finally, I felt cool air on my face and saw a pinprick of light in the distance, growing larger inch by inch.

  Sobbing with relief, I came to the end of the tunnel only to discover that it opened into a vertical, cylindrical shaft. I was halfway down a well but all was not lost.

  Iron rungs covered in green moss and slime were embedded into the curved walls. Below me was dank water—I had no idea how deep—and above, light.

  I’d lost track of time and had been under the impression I’d been stuck here for hours. It had only been twenty minutes.

  Reaching across the void, I grasped the nearest rung and rattled it to see if it was rotten. It held firm. With joy and gratitude in my heart, I began my climb to freedom.

  At the top I took in deep breaths of air but was dismayed to see my exit blocked by a metal grill and padlock. I couldn’t believe it! All this way and still trapped.

  Wedging my body on either side of the well’s walls, I pulled out my Swiss Army penknife once more. The lock was rusted and easy to pick. It snapped open and fell, tumbling into the water, landing with a faraway plop. I tried not to think that could have been me.

  With all my strength, I heaved the metal grill up and over the lip with my head and shoulders. It fell with a deafening crash.

  Clambering onto the stone ledge, I emerged from the old wishing well in front of the converted barn.

  There was no sign of Scarlett’s Range Rover. Eunice’s silver Ford Fiesta stood in its stead. Fleming can’t have wasted any time in summoning her to Headcellars.

  With dread, I raced around to the front, but Fleming’s Audi wasn’t there.

  I hesitated. Perhaps he was actually bringing the police? But, that wouldn’t make sense. If the plan were to frame Eunice, he’d have to catch her red-handed and then call for help.

  I made my way to the front door. It was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped inside, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the hall mirror. Startled, I had to look again. I was covered from head to foot in mud and my beloved safari jacket was in shreds.

  The house seemed deathly still and unfriendly. Broken vases, smashed picture frames, and upturned chairs lay scattered about the long hallway.

  “Eunice?” I called out. “It’s Vicky. Where are you?” There was no reply. I hoped she wasn’t hiding.

  Hastening to the cellar door, I expected to see it wide open but it remained locked. Olive must be still down there. I rapped on the door, “Olive, are you all right?” Harder still, “Olive! It’s me, Vicky!”

  “Thank heavens,” said a familiar voice. I turned to find Mary Berry hurrying from the library with an opened bottle of Courvoisier in her hand. Her face was ashen. “Something bad has happened,” she cried. “The phone lines are cut. There must have been a break-in.”

  “Is Eunice with you?”

  Mary shook her head, “I can’t find Olive.”

  “She’s in the cellar.”

  “Cellar?”

  “We must get an ambulance. I think she’s hurt.”

  “Cellar steps are lethal,” said Mary, taking a swig of brandy. “She’s probably dead.”

  “Where’s Eunice?”

  “I don’t care what you think, she didn’t do it,” she said. “Why are you covered in mud?”

  “Yes. I know,” I said. “There’s no time to explain. Fleming will be here any minute.”

  “Not until eight he won’t,” Mary said grimly.

  I looked at my watch. We had fifteen minutes. “You must tell me where Eunice is,” I said urgently.

  “That scoundrel phoned and wanted Eunice to meet him here at eight o’clock.” On sensing my confusion, Mary took another nip of brandy adding, “He rang around five. I’d normally be out with the cows but didn’t want to leave Eunice alone.”

  “Fleming thought you were Eunice?”

  “I had a mouthful of chocolate cake. He said it was urgent that I come over to Headcellars at eight o’clock.” A disgusted expression came over Mary’s face. “He told me that he loved me and at last we could be together.”

  “So you came here to confront Fleming?” I was incredulous. I’d always thought Mary detested her sister-in-law.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I can’t stand the woman but family is family. For weeks Eunice claimed he’d been calling her and swearing undying love, but I refused to believe her.”

  “Where is she now?” I asked for the umpteenth time.

  “Acepromazine,” said Mary. “Eunice will be out cold for days. The moment she learned that her precious Dougie had eloped with Olive Larch, she went to pieces.” Mary frowned. “Wait . . . if Olive is in the cellar and Dougie wanted her to come here . . .” She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror. “He was going to frame her,” Mary said appalled. “But why?”

  “Scarlett is still alive,” I said. “They both wanted Olive’s money.”

  “I thought I saw her Range Rover on my way over here. She won’t get far. She’s got two flat tires.”

  “Listen!” My heart turned over. A car door slammed outside. “It’s Fleming!”

  “He must be stopped!” Mary declared. “There are two of us. We’ll confront him.”

  “No! He’s too clever,” I said. “Fleming has a cast-iron alibi. Scarl
ett has vanished. Olive could have fallen. Somehow we have to get him to confess.”

  “Eunice?” called out a familiar voice. “Where are you?”

  The blood drained out of Mary’s face. “It is him! He’s here!”

  “Quickly,” I hissed. “The downstairs loo.”

  We darted inside. I threw open the window. “Can you climb out and get help?”

  Mary was trembling. “I don’t know. It looks a bit small.”

  Through the crack in the door, I watched the hallway.

  “Eunice? Hello?” Fleming came into view. “I know you’re here. Darling?” he cooed. “Where are you?”

  “What’s he doing?” whispered Mary.

  “Sssh!” I felt sick with nerves. Fleming was standing by the cellar. Glancing up and down the corridor—presumably to check the coast was clear—he withdrew a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside.

  I flew down the hallway and slammed it shut. Blast! Fleming had kept the key!

  Fleming began hammering and rattling on the door. “Eunice let me out! I know you’re there!”

  I threw my body weight against the door but with each thump, knew I couldn’t hold him off indefinitely.

  Mary raced out of the bathroom, dragged an upturned chair toward me, and we wedged it under the handle.

  “That’ll hold,” she whispered. “I’ll go for help.”

  “Eunice, please!” Fleming was growing more desperate. “This isn’t funny. Let me out. I know what you’ve done. Olive is alive. She needs a doctor!”

  Was he lying? Was it a trick to make me open the door? I didn’t know what to do. Mary could be ages.

  Fleming had gone quiet. Fear began to bubble up once more. Was he administering the killer blow while I stood helpless only feet away? I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer to God, begging him for help.

  When I opened my eyes, I thought I was dreaming. Mary was walking toward me grinning from ear to ear. Behind her was D.S. Probes making bizarre hand gestures that I guessed meant for me to stay quiet and do nothing.

  In silence, he handed me a note. Pretend Eunice is here. Let him out. I nodded my understanding. Mary took Probes by the hand and led him away to the downstairs loo.

  In a flash, I guessed their plan.

  Taking a deep breath, I kicked the chair away from the door and opened it. Fleming charged out, utterly furious. “Eunice! What the hell—?”

  “Mr. Fleming!” I feigned astonishment. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  His expression switched to anguish. “Vicky! Thank God. It’s Olive . . . she’s alive, but unconscious. Eunice threw her down the stairs.”

  “You saw her do it?”

  “Yes but I couldn’t stop her,” he cried. “I hurried to Olive’s side and that’s when Eunice locked me in. Where is she?”

  “Her car is still outside,” I said. “I think she’s hiding.”

  “We must get an ambulance. The police.” He sounded close to tears. “I can’t believe it. My poor Olive!” Nice performance.

  “Why aren’t you at the Evanses?” I said.

  “I was worried about Olive and quite rightly so. Wait—” Douglas looked at me with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

  Careful, Vicky. “Same reason as you. When I saw Olive wasn’t at the meeting, I began to worry. I knew she’d be alone. Dairy Cottage is only a few minutes away.”

  “Yes, yes.” Fleming looked relieved. “You know Eunice is insane. She’s been stalking me for months. She’s a dangerous woman. She failed to kill Olive today but I know she’ll try again.”

  “I don’t think so, dear,” said Mary, stepping out of the shadows. “Eunice has been tucked up in bed for the past two days.”

  “Mary! The Fiesta . . . I . . .” Fleming turned pale.

  “I drove it here. You say you actually saw my sister-in-law push Olive?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said quickly. “I just saw something push her. The house is haunted. Did you know we have a ghost here?”

  “That’s strange,” said Mary, turning to me. “Because Vicky says she was positive it was Scarlett who threw Olive down the stairs.”

  “That’s not possible. Scarlett is dead,” Fleming said wildly. “You must have seen the ghost! It was a monk, wasn’t it?”

  “You mean the ghost in a Friar Tuck costume?” I said dryly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fleming was becoming angry. “We’re wasting time.”

  “I know Scarlett Fleming is alive,” I said.

  “You can’t prove it.”

  “I’m afraid we can, sir.” Probes emerged from the bathroom. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of bigamy, fraud—”

  “You can’t!” Fleming said horrified. “I’m innocent.” I had to admit, Fleming’s stubbornness was impressive.

  “I’ve had enough of this! Tell the truth, you cad!” I hadn’t noticed Mary slip away but now she stood before us holding a snail in the palm of her hand.

  “What are you doing?” said Fleming, turning white. “That’s Seabiscuit!”

  Without a word, Mary gently placed the snail on the floor. A little gray head peeped out of its shell.

  My heart went into my mouth. “Mary,” I whispered, “don’t do it.”

  “Just watch me.” Mary slowly lowered her heavy work shoe over Devon’s reigning champion for three seasons running. As her foot hovered mere inches above Seabiscuit’s shell she said, “I’m told it’s quick death, but who knows?”

  “No! All right!” Fleming gave an anguished sob. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  The next half hour was chaotic. Steve’s ambulance turned up at the same time as police backup—Probes had alerted both the moment he arrived and Mary had given him the scoop.

  As Fleming was handcuffed and bundled into the back of a police car, a call for “All cars” was launched on the police radio to apprehend a Range Rover, registration number SCLTT.

  “She didn’t get far,” said Probes, as we waited outside anxiously for Steve and his partner Tom, to emerge with Olive from the cellar. They’d been down there for ages. “Traffic stopped her on the M5 at Junction 8. It’s a criminal offense to drive on the motorway with a flat tire.”

  “I’m still worried we won’t be able to prove she pushed Olive,” I said anxiously. “If Olive doesn’t pull through, it will be Scarlett’s word against mine.”

  Probes nodded gravely. “Did she fall or was she pushed.”

  “Exactly. Just like Sammy Larch’s so-called accident.”

  “You look exhausted,” Probes said. “We’ll go out another time.” On seeing my surprise he added, “Our date? Tonight? How else did you think I knew where to find you? I went to Factory Terrace to pick you up.”

  It turned out that Mrs. Evans had opened the confidential letter addressed to Pete and was in a “terrible dilemma.”

  “I’m happy to say she made the right choice in handing it over to the police,” said Probes. “I suspected you’d try to handle this mess yourself and came here straightaway.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I turned away.

  “What’s wrong?” Probes touched my arm. “I know it’s all been a terrible ordeal.”

  The truth was I felt overwhelmed and confused. Seeing Probes arrive with the police and all the flashing lights and sirens brought back the reality of the other “mess” I was still in.

  In all the excitement, I’d forgotten about Chuffy, my parents, and Annabel’s exposé. Annabel had mentioned she had connections with the boys in blue. She and Probes were on first-name terms. Did Probes already know my true identity? Would I be the next to be taken down to the station for questioning and he was simply biding his time?

  “I’m just tired,” I said.

  “I didn’t see your moped. Do you want me to take you home?”

  “It’s in the undergrowth.” I tried to smile and offered him my hand. “Thanks for everything. See you around sometime.”


  Probes shook it, but a hurt look crossed his face. “Congratulations on your exclusive,” he said stiffly. “Good-bye, Vicky.”

  I walked back into the house alone just as Steve and Tom emerged from the cellar carrying Olive on a stretcher. To my relief, her face wasn’t covered with a sheet—though she looked as white as one.

  I trailed after them to the waiting ambulance and watched as they slid the stretcher inside and closed the doors.

  “She’s unconscious but she’ll live,” said Steve gravely. “Broken hip, broken leg, but her heart is as strong as an ox.”

  “Really?” I said recalling Mrs. Evans’s extremely detailed diagnosis on the state of Olive’s health. “I thought she had some sort of heart problem.”

  “Not Miss Larch.” Steve lowered his voice. “I know all about her little episodes. If you ask me, they’re a form of attention seeking, often the result of an overbearing parent. I did a course in behavioral therapy in Plymouth.”

  “I’m just glad she’ll be all right.” Mrs. Evans must have read the wrong patient file and mistakenly told Scarlett all about Olive’s “potentially lethal ventricular arrhythmia.”

  “You feeling all right, doll?” said Steve, his expression filled with concern. “Looks like you’ve been through the mill.”

  “Through a tunnel and down a well, actually.”

  “Why don’t you come around to my place?” he said. “You need a hot bath and a massage. I’ve had a Jacuzzi installed, too. You can relax. Listen to music. I’ll cook—”

  “You just don’t give up, do you?” I said dryly.

  “For you? Never.” Steve thumped his chest dramatically. “As long as there’s breath in Steve’s body, doll. Oh! There was one more thing.”

  He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. Inside were two tiny oval-shaped red pieces of plastic. “These were stuck in Olive’s woolen cardigan.”

  I was ecstatic. “It’s one of Scarlett’s acrylic nails!”

  “Yeah, that’s what I found on Sammy Larch’s body, too,” said Steve. “I’ve got them at home somewhere.”

  “You’re amazing!” I threw my arms around him and kissed Steve on the cheek.