“Want me to check the stairs first and make sure they’re sturdy enough?”
Leslie fairly sang out with relief. “Yes, but don’t look at anything,” she told him, scooting back. “I want to see it for myself.”
“Kinda hard to test out the steps all the way down without looking around,” he muttered, but she saw his mouth continuing to twitch in a barely restrained smile. “I’ll do my best to feel my way down, and hope I don’t miss a step.”
“Well, of course you can look—but don’t tell me anything.” Leslie peered around his shoulder as he carefully stepped down into the opening, using the edge of the hole they’d revealed to help lever himself in. “And get rid of any spiders in the way.”
“So mice and rats and snakes are okay?” he asked with a teasing challenge. “How about bats?”
“It’s only spiders and Orbra that scare me,” she reminded him with a grin. “I can handle anything else.” Even ghosts.
Leslie waited, watching impatiently as he took his time testing his weight on the steps and then slowly, very slowly, made his way down. Just before his head disappeared through the hole, he looked up and their eyes met.
“I have to admit, this is pretty cool,” he said, then ducked below before she could react to the heat dancing in his eyes.
So he was having fun too. Leslie smiled. If I’d stayed in Philly, this would never have happened to me.
At that moment, she decided to add “Discover hidden treasures and secret rooms” to her life-improvement list.
“Well?” she called down, shining her light after him. The top of his dark head was just out of her reach, moving slowly down in a tight spiral. His broad shoulders fit—but just barely—within the width of the tight stairwell, which, from her angle, appeared to be closed on two sides.
“I’m on the ground. Oh my God! You won’t believe this!”
“What?” Leslie nearly threw herself down the stairs, then she realized he was looking up at her from the bottom, laughing. “You’re teasing me.” She was grinning now too, and began to ease her feet through the opening.
“I’m trying not to look around too much, so hurry down. I got rid of all the spider webs, so it should be clear sailing.” He came back up a few steps. “Here, let me help you.” His hand closed around her ankle, then stopped. “Put some shoes on, Leslie. Who knows what’s down here.”
“Ugh.” She pulled back. “You’re right. Hold on.”
She moved away quickly and slipped on her Dansko clogs, then was back at the hole and easing her feet through it, holding on to the edge just as he had. Once again, Declan’s hand gripped her ankle, this time helping her to blindly find the step below. His fingers were warm and strong on her skin, and Leslie felt that same physical awareness as yesterday when they shook hands for the first time.
He had his cell phone out and its flashlight on, and she was holding the real flash as she made her way down the stairs.
“I’m pretty sure it was a speakeasy,” he said as she reached the bottom.
As she descended, her eyes had grown progressively wider, and her excitement spread from a small flutter to a full-blown stomach of butterflies.
“Wow. It’s like they were interrupted or something.” Leslie stepped onto the ground, Declan steadying her as she gawked at the space spread out before them. “And never came back.”
“Maybe it was the announcement that the votes had passed, and Prohibition was ending.”
“Or maybe it was a raid, and they all got carted off to jail.”
“Nice and optimistic, aren’t we?” he muttered, but loudly enough for her to hear.
Their lights didn’t illuminate the area all that well, but Leslie could see the makings of what looked like a lounge and bar. Sofas and club chairs, torn up and frayed by the rodents—which had been disturbed and were now scurrying around in the shadows—were arranged in a large U-shape. Two low tables sat in the center, covered with drinking glasses, bottles, and a large crystal decanter. Some of the vessels were broken or lying vertically, others still upright but filled only with dust and dirt. On one wall was a counter with cupboards below it and glasses on shelves above. Corks, bottles, a corkscrew, even small pieces of cloth that looked like napkins were strewn all over the counter.
Leslie turned in a slow circle, shining the beam of light around to illuminate the walls. Two sides were paneled with heavy, solid wood—maple, she thought with delight—and the other two walls appeared to be drywall or plaster, and wallpapered. A huge painting with a gilt frame at least six inches thick hung on the largest expanse of wall, as if to be the focal point. It depicted a young woman of twenty or so, with boyishly short blond hair and large brown eyes. She wore feathers in her hair, jutting from a jewel-encrusted headband that cut across her forehead, a fur scarf the length of a boa, and a shift-like dress that appeared to be sewn with more gems: diamonds, sapphires, and pale blue gems that were probably topazes or aquamarines.
Aside from the jewels on her clothing, the blond woman also wore a heavy necklace that covered her throat and the upper part of her chest with an array of sapphires, including an apricot-sized one that settled just above the beginning of her cleavage. It had been cut in the shape of a six-pointed star. The woman’s dangling earrings were also star-shaped gems—sapphires as well.
“That’s amazing.” Declan was also staring at the painting. “It must weigh two hundred pounds.”
“I wonder if that’s Red Eye Sal’s wife or his mistress,” Leslie said, picking her way across the room carefully to avoid scuttling rodents, their droppings, or any other unsavory items. “Or someone else’s. She’s wearing clothes from the right era. I wonder if those are the jewels from the so-called hidden cache.”
“A hidden jewel cache? Oh, here’s another one.” Declan aimed his phone light at a second portrait.
This one was much smaller and of a different beautiful woman holding a small, fluffy brown dog on her similarly glittering lap. She was older than the other subject, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties. She too dripped with gemstones—these were rubies and garnets of all shades of crimson and rose. And like those in the other painting, star-shaped stones were featured on her necklace, bracelet, and a brooch pinned to her gown.
“This is unbelievable,” Leslie murmured, staring at the paintings, then once again turning in a slow circle around the space. She couldn’t contain her grin. “I’ll need to get some more lights down here, clean it up a bit… What a great conversation piece this’ll be for the inn. I’ll have to create a more accessible way to get down here, of course…maybe there’s an escape route or exit that’ll be easier to use.”
Declan had begun to ascend the stairs, and he paused halfway up. “There’s no connection to the section under the stair railing.” His voice was muffled, and she heard him rapping on the wall and ceiling. “It’s completely separate, as far as I can tell.”
Leslie had almost forgotten about the reason they’d actually found this secret entrance. She peered up past him, unable to see much. “The implication being that whoever hid the wrap and glove in the base of the railing didn’t know about this place?”
“Or weren’t trying to hide it down here, anyway, whether they knew of it or not. You coming up, or are you going to stay down and bask for a while?” His voice was teasing again.
“I’m coming up for now.”
Leslie followed him up the stairs, and once at the top watched as he set the piece of wall back in place. “So the mice don’t come up exploring.”
The sound of Van Morrison’s tune “Brown Eyed Girl” suddenly filled the air, and Declan clapped a hand to his pocket.
“My daughter’s ringtone,” he said with a layer of exasperation as he fished out the singing phone. “I thought it was fine with a normal ring, but— Hey, Steph, what’s up? Everything okay? I thought you had a ride home tonight—” He listened, then nodded and said, “Right. Sure, give me about fifteen minutes… Well, no, I’m not at home. I have
to go back and pick up the car… I’m at Le— Ms. van Dorn’s… Yes, we did talk about the job…no, I— Look, Steph, we can discuss this later.” His voice became firmer, and Leslie was almost certain his cheeks had gone a little red. “Do you want me to come pick you up or not? All right, great. Yes, tell Mrs. Danube I appreciate her driving you tomorrow. Yes—Stephanie,” he said from between clenched teeth. His cheeks flushed darker and he turned slightly away from Leslie. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll have the chance to thank her myself too. See you in a bit.”
He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Teenaged girls. I’ll never understand them.” His voice was easy, but that flush remained and Leslie fought to hide her smile.
“Thanks again for your help, Declan.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be interested in seeing the speakeasy once you have better lighting down there.” He paused for a moment, then offered her his hand in a sort of awkward farewell. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks.”
Leslie closed the door behind him just as her cell phone pinged. It was a text from Aunt Cherry, wondering where she was. Leslie gasped when she saw the time—she was twenty minutes late and she’d never texted to change plans—and quickly replied that she was on her way.
Five minutes later (Leslie prided herself on being someone who could put herself together at a moment’s notice), she was driving down the dark, curving drive. Her headlights cut into the heavy growth on either side, and it occurred to her that it was going to be hell getting out of here in the winter when there were heavy snowfalls…which there always were, due to lake effect snow.
“Going to have to hire a good snow-removal service,” she said aloud. Yet another thing to add to her—
An odd movement among the trees brought her up short, and Leslie slammed on the brakes. Her tires ground sharply on the stony drive and she jerked a little behind the seatbelt. What was that?
Her heart thudded and she peered into the darkness, but the trees and brush were too thick, growing halfway over the opening so that they almost made a canopy and cutting out the moon and stars above. She could hardly make out anything but dark shapes among more dark shapes.
Leslie frowned, watching for a long while, then finally began to make her way down the hill. Whatever she’d seen could just as easily have been a deer as anything else. A shifting of a sapling, even. A dog. A person.
Then she let out a sigh of relief. It was probably Declan. He said he’d walked. It was a lot more of a direct route, cutting through the woods rather than going down the curving driveway. Maybe he’d gotten another phone call and didn’t leave right away.
Or maybe it had just been an animal. There were lots of deer around here. Most likely of all, it had been a trick of the eye—for she’d seen the movement in her peripheral vision.
Leslie put the thought out of her mind. She had news—big news—to share with Aunt Cherry, and she couldn’t wait.
~ SEVEN ~
* * *
The best eatery in town was called Trib’s, and it was packed with locals on this Thursday night. Delicious smells along with the sound of live acoustic guitar, underscored by conversation, burst through the door as soon as Leslie opened it.
Though Trib’s was considered a pub, its ambience was about as far from the quintessential English public house as Sematauk was from Philadelphia. Inside, the walls were exposed brick behind artfully “torn” wallpapered plasterboard, the ceiling was high, and it was lined with industrial pipes and tiny hanging crystal lights. The art was loud, colorful, and exclusively Andy Warhol.
Leslie found Aunt Cherry—along with Orbra, Iva Nath, and her distinguished husband Hollis—sitting at a round table beneath a four-foot-square print of Warhol’s tomato soup can piece. There were several empty chairs at the table, and for a moment, Leslie feared they were to be joined by Helen Galliday, her peremptory cane, and her beleaguered companion Pauline Whitten.
Her apprehension must have been written on her face, for Cherry laughed and pointed to an empty seat. “Don’t worry—the old bat Helen eats at five and goes to bed early. She won’t be here, and neither will Pauline. Sit! We’ve been waiting to order till you got here.”
“I’m so sorry! We lost track of time, and—” Leslie clamped her lips together and picked up the menu to scrutinize its extensive beer list. “Are there any good IPAs on here?”
“We?” Cherry jumped on the pronoun as Leslie had known she would. Meddling auntie. “Who’s we?”
Damn. “Declan Zyler stopped by. So, what do you think of this beer Soft Parade? Is it any good?”
“Declan was over? And you lost track of time?” Orbra pounced before her partner in crime even had the chance. Her eyes were narrow with delight. “Well, well, well—”
“It was nothing like that,” Leslie said with exasperation. “He just came over to check on something with the railing, and—”
“If Declan Zyler came over to my house, not only would we lose track of time, he wouldn’t be leaving until the sun came up,” Cherry said with a wicked grin. “At least if you’re not interested in him, will you put in a good word for your cougarly aunt?”
“Is cougarly even a word?”
“Oh, so now we’re the grammar police, are we?”
“Oh, Leslie’s interested in Declan, all right,” Orbra interjected. “Look at her cheeks! They’re turning pink.”
Leslie rolled her eyes. “That pink you see is nothing more than shame over my aunt’s desperate ways.” Geesh. She hadn’t felt this awkward about her relationship with a man—or lack thereof—since high school.
Determined to put space between herself and her aunt’s highly charged interest, she turned to greet the older man sitting two seats away from her. Though he was at least seventy, he had a full head of pure white hair and was dressed in a suit and tie despite the informal place and occasion. “Mr. Nath, it’s so nice to see you again, and don’t mind my aunt. She’s…different. Too many failed yoga headstands, I suspect. Her arms just gave out, and clunk—onto her head. How’s Gideon doing?”
“Working too much, as usual,” replied the senior H. Gideon Nath, shaking his own head. “But less than he used to, at least.”
“That’s good for you, Hollis, because otherwise you wouldn’t have the opportunity to travel with me as much as you do,” Iva, who was sitting between her husband and Leslie, reminded him. She patted his hand with hers, a large yellow diamond catching the light.
He smiled at her, and, not for the first time, Leslie was struck by the adoration in his eyes. The two had each found their soul mate—if one believed in such a thing—at a late age, and it was beautiful. She hoped they’d have many years together.
“Well, as long as you don’t drag me to one of those fun shay conventions again—”
“It’s feng shui, as you very well know, Hollis.” Iva shook her head, but there was affection in her expression as well. She turned to Leslie. “I do hope you’re going to let me come and check out your house. I’m certain I’ll be able to sense whether it’s haunted. The trick will be to keep Helen from wanting to tag along—any ghost that’s worth its salt will remain tucked away in its grave while she’s there.”
Leslie was saved from having to reply by the arrival of the waiter—who turned out to be none other than Trib himself. The proprietor was tall and slender, pushing fifty, and had a bleached buzzcut that was just long enough on top to be rakish. He wore a yellow flowered bow tie, sleek eyeglasses that probably cost four figures, and a turquoise polka dot shirt. He looked as if he’d just stepped off a page of Vogue or The Advocate.
“So at last I get to actually meet the new owner of Shenstone House,” he said with a subtle pout. “I saw the article in the paper today, and am desperate to stop by and see what you’ve done to the inside. Is this your first time here at Trib’s?”
“Not at all. But usually you’re busy when I’ve come in,” Leslie told him. “A pleasure to finally meet you. I have to say, you’ve got the best pizza I
’ve ever had. The Wise Guy—the one with sausage…oh my God, it’s amazing. And there’s something about the sauce…I think you must have laced it with crack or something.”
“That’s right, sweetie,” Trib said with a pleased nod, as if the compliment was nothing more than his due. “I’m glad you’re back. And with these two ruffians.” He winked broadly at Cherry and Orbra, who were only half listening, as they had their heads together. “What can I get you all?”
They’d just finished placing their order when the door swept open and two men came in.
“Oh no. Helen’s going to have a fit,” Orbra muttered to Iva and Cherry. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Why? What’s— Oh, is that the writer?” Leslie was only able to get a glance at the newcomers without rudely craning her head to look.
“Hell, for all we know he made his escape from her at the inn and that’s why he’s here,” Cherry said with a husky laugh.
“Is that the mayor with him?” asked Iva, peering through her reading glasses, which she seemed to have forgotten she was wearing. She had turned in her chair, but this left her facing her husband so it wasn’t as obvious she was gawking.
But no one needed to reply, for the two men had been seen by Trib and he beckoned them over. “There’s no room at the inn but here at this table.” He looked around the crowded restaurant with satisfaction. “And it’s not even high season. Mayor Underwhite, you don’t mind sitting here with these lovely ladies—and a very special gentleman, I might add,” he said with a warm look that was—probably for the best—lost on Hollis Nath.
“I’d never say no to sitting at a table with such lovely companions,” said Aaron Underwhite. “I hope you don’t mind, Jer—John. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to sit.”
The Gems of Vice and Greed (Contemporary Gothic Romance Book 3) Page 7