“What about the others?” the man asked.
“That’s their problem. They can take care of themselves,” the woman replied.
It had taken Libby a while, but she recognized the voices. “It’s Erin and George Holloway,” she whispered to Bernie.
Actually, Bernie had made them the moment she’d heard their voices. She could see them now. Erin, model slim, her blond hair caught back in a bun, her perfect makeup—which never ran, no matter what the temperature was— and George, stocky, with his black hair in a samurai-style bun, and his tight, black T-shirt showing off the dragon tattooed down his arm.
“I wonder what Zalinsky owes them?” Bernie whispered.
“Money. He probably hasn’t paid them either,” Libby responded.
“Maybe it’s more than that,” Bernie replied, retelling the story her boyfriend, Brandon, had told her about Zalinsky putting the two brothers out of business, then forcing them to work for him.
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Libby said when her sister was done.
Bernie sat back on her haunches. Based on the direction the sounds were coming from, Bernie could tell that Erin and George were standing in front of Zalinsky’s bedroom. They’d be inside in another second, and then it was a short step to the closet door.
“The tunnel,” she told Libby. “We should get into the tunnel.”
“I like where we are now,” Libby said. She hated small spaces.
“What if they open the closet door?” Bernie demanded.
“We can hide behind the hangers in the back.”
“Get serious,” Bernie said.
“They won’t see us there,” Libby said, defending herself.
“They will if they step inside.”
“Then we’ll say we were . . .” Libby’s voice trailed off while she struggled to come up with a plausible explanation.
“Exactly,” Bernie said.
Libby tried a different tack. “So they find us? So what? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“They could kill us,” Bernie said.
“Okay, that would be bad,” Libby agreed. “But also highly unlikely.”
“Really. After all, they might have killed Zalinsky. Who’s to say they won’t do the same to us.”
“Who’s to say they will?” Libby countered. “Anyway, there’s the gun in the backpack.”
“Do you want to use it?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“Fine. Neither do I. On a lighter note, they could call the police and have us arrested for breaking and entering.”
“We didn’t really break in,” Libby replied.
“I’d like to hear you explain that to Dad after we’re arrested,” Bernie told her.
“True.” That would be worse than getting shot. Libby rubbed her calf muscles. They were beginning to cramp. She had to remember to drink more water, especially in the summer.
Erin and George started talking again. Their voices were clear. If voices were color, Bernie found herself thinking, Erin’s would be coral and George’s would be slate.
“I think we’re looking for a bag,” Erin said.
“Like a paper bag?” George asked.
“No, like a suitcase or a backpack,” Erin replied.
Bernie noted a certain peevishness in her tone. George must have noted it too because he said, “Hey, don’t get your back up with me.”
Erin apologized. “Sorry. I’m just . . . upset. This whole thing is such a mess. I can’t believe he was going to do that to me.”
“He was a moron,” George said.
Bernie heard some shuffling. For some reason, she thought Erin and George were kissing.
“How do you know we’re looking for a bag?” George finally said after a couple of minutes had gone by.
Erin sighed. “I told you.”
“Tell me again,” George commanded.
“Like I said,” Erin recounted, “a couple of weeks ago I heard his majesty talking on the phone when he was at my place. He said to whomever he was talking to that he was good to go and that he had his nine mil and everything else he needed for Belize in his trusty bag.’”
“Belize?” Libby mouthed, turning to Bernie. “Can’t you buy a citizenship there?”
Bernie nodded. “I guess he was planning to get out of the country as well as the town,” she mouthed back.
“So it would seem.” Libby blinked away a drop of sweat that had landed in her eye. God, it was hot in here. She didn’t know how much longer she could stay put. “Maybe they’ll leave soon.”
Bernie shrugged. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t count on it.” She gestured to the tunnel and patted Libby’s arm. “You’ll see, it won’t be as bad as you think it’s going to be in there.”
Yes, it will, Libby wanted to scream. It’ll be worse. Just thinking about being in the tunnel gave her the heebie-jeebies . God only knew what was inside there. Probably spiders. She hated spiders. Or those things with all those legs. Silverfish? Centipedes? Ugh. She could feel her stomach turning already. Or rats. What about rats? Libby took a deep breath and let it out. She could hear Erin and George talking again and tried to concentrate on that.
“You want to take the bedroom or the closet?” Erin was asking.
“The closet,” George said.
Bernie and Libby looked at each other. Bernie raised an eyebrow. Libby put her palms up in a gesture of defeat.
“You can do this,” she murmured to herself. “There’s nothing in there. Nothing.” Much as she hated to admit it, Bernie was right. They’d be better off in the tunnel.
“You first,” Libby said to Bernie.
Bernie gave her a thumbs-up. Then she pushed Zalinsky’s go bag into the tunnel and crawled in after it on her hands and knees. Libby followed her in. Then she wiggled around, grabbed the tunnel door by two indentations near its edge and pulled it shut.
The first thing that hit Libby when the door closed was the darkness. Except for the beam of light from Bernie’s phone, it was so dark she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. And it was hot. Extremely hot. Suffocatingly hot. Libby felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She’d hated tight spaces ever since she was a little kid and had gotten stuck in the laundry chute and the fire department had had to come and get her out. Concentrate on your breathing, she told herself as she could feel herself begin to panic. Breathe in to the count of seven and out to the count of eleven. Or was it the opposite way? She never could remember.
Libby was just about to inhale when she heard the scrape of the closet door opening. She froze. So did Bernie. Then they heard footsteps walking in and the tinny sound of hangers being moved along their metal rods.
“Why do you think there’s a tunnel in this house anyway?” George said.
Bernie assumed he was speaking to Erin. It was harder to hear what he said, though, and Bernie thought that was because he was turning his head to talk to Erin, who was outside in the bedroom.
“You just don’t listen, do you?” Erin replied. Her voice was slightly muffled. “I already told you. This house was part of the Underground Railroad.”
“So why do you think the bag is in the tunnel?”
“Because I’ve looked everywhere else,” Erin snapped.
Bernie could tell from the tone of her voice that Erin was losing her patience again. It seemed to be in short supply.
“And why do you think the tunnel is in the closet?” the sisters could hear George asking.
“Jeez,” Erin answered. “Give it a rest.”
“Hey, I don’t like wasting my time.”
“Do you think I do?” There was a pause. Then Erin explained. “It’s just the way Zalinsky acted. He always acted weird when I went in the closet to hang something up. Nervous like. He’d yell at me for messing things up.”
“Maybe you were,” George suggested. “Maybe he just liked things neat.”
“It was more than that. He’d never let me stay in this room when he wasn’t here. He alway
s made me leave. I figure there has to be a reason for that.”
“Maybe he didn’t want you snooping around, looking in his things.”
“But he didn’t know I was doing that,” Erin protested.
“I think maybe he did.”
“Do you want to look, or do you want to talk?”
George chuckled. “I’ve got a third possibility in mind.”
Bernie and Libby could hear Erin giggle.
“Is that all you ever think about?” she asked.
“Like you don’t,” George crooned.
Erin giggled again. “I got a new tattoo—just for you.”
“In my special place?” George’s voice was hoarse.
“You’re a bad, bad boy.”
“Let me see.”
“Later, baby,” Erin cooed. “Work first, play second.”
George laughed. “Then let’s make this fast. You want me to move the shoes and stuff?”
“Absolutely,” Erin told him.
That, Bernie decided, was their cue to go. She began crawling forward on her knees, traveling farther into the tunnel. She’d gone about a foot when she realized that Libby wasn’t following her. She crawled back and tugged on the hem of Libby’s T-shirt. When her sister turned around, Bernie motioned for her to go forward.
Even though she wanted to stay where she was, Libby started moving. She went slowly, pausing every minute or so to check out the path in front of her in the small amount of light that Bernie’s cell phone provided. The tunnel wound to the left, sloping slightly downward, and Libby tried to picture where in the house they were, but she couldn’t. She’d lost her sense of direction.
As the sisters advanced, Erin and George’s voices fell away till all Bernie and Libby could hear was the sound of their own breathing and the swoosh of the backpack on the tunnel floor as Bernie pushed it in front of her. She continued on, shining the light generated by her cell ahead of her. Thank God, she’d gotten the app, she thought, as she slowly advanced forward. She didn’t think she’d be able to do this in total darkness. As she moved, she noticed that the floor was starting to slope downward at a more pronounced angle. She’d gone two more yards when she got a shock. Her light revealed nothing except blackness up ahead.
Chapter 12
Bernie stopped. Oh my God. Her heart started hammering in her chest.
“What’s the matter?” Libby asked.
“Just a minute,” Bernie replied.
“Is there a problem? Why are we stopped?”
Bernie could hear the rising note of hysteria in her sister’s voice. “No problem. It’s fine,” she lied. “There’s nothing wrong. I’ve just got a cramp in my leg,” Bernie said as she slowly inched forward.
This was not good. Please, God, don’t let the tunnel end here, she prayed, because now that she thought about it, that was a definite possibility. She’d just assumed everything would be fine. Why? If it weren’t, she and Libby would be stuck. Nothing to do but wait out George and Erin. Think positive, she told herself. At least they had the light. Without it, she might have fallen down the hole.
But that brought up another issue. How long was the battery in her phone going to last? Would using the flashlight drain the battery? How charged was her battery anyway? She should have paid more attention because she didn’t know. Bernie shivered in spite of herself as she inched forward, going as far as she could go.
She came to the edge of the abyss and aimed the light from her cellphone down into the blackness. When she saw what was down there, she started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Libby asked.
“It’s stairs. Really steep stairs.” Bernie started to laugh harder. From relief. She couldn’t help herself.
“What’s so funny about that?” Libby demanded.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Bernie said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She’d explain after they got out of here.
“Then why are you laughing?” Libby demanded. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Excellent, in fact. I’m just glad we’re getting to the end of this thing,” Bernie told her, pushing aside another alarming thought. What if the door they were heading to was stuck? Put that thought right out of your head, she told herself as she explained about the stairs to her sister. “Just turn around and go down on your ass and you’ll be fine.”
“I knew there was a reason I haven’t lost my last ten pounds yet,” Libby wisecracked. “At least I’ll have some padding.”
Bernie was smart enough not to say anything about the size of Libby’s behind. Instead she turned around, clasped Zalinsky’s backpack to her chest, and inched forward until her butt was on the top step and her feet were on the one below. Then she carefully lowered herself down to the next step. “Give me a couple of seconds before you come down,” she instructed Libby as she cleared the next step. The last thing she wanted was Libby bumping into her and both of them tumbling down the stairs.
Libby silently counted to fifteen. “Are you ready?” she called.
“Ready whenever you are,” Bernie answered as she slid down a third step.
Libby inched forward. She had her butt on the top stair, her feet firmly planted on the one below, and she was busy telling herself this was no big deal when she heard the sound of something opening above her and felt a rush of air. Then she heard George say, “Erin, you were right about the curtain rod.” Thirty seconds later Libby heard another set of footsteps going into the closet. Erin’s, she presumed.
“Wonderful,” Bernie said through clenched teeth. “Just what we don’t need.” Then things got worse.
She heard George say, “You stay here while I go in.” There was a pause. Then he said, “Somebody has to stay up here in case something goes wrong. You think I’m going to steal the bag or something?”
Bernie and Libby’s hearts began to beat faster.
“Maybe he won’t come down all the way,” Libby whispered.
“Maybe,” Bernie whispered back. But she knew he would. He would because he’d be looking for the backpack, the backpack that she was clutching to her chest.
A few seconds later, she could hear cursing, then the sound of George sliding into the tunnel. Well, one thing was for sure. It would be a tighter fit for him than it had been for her and Libby. So that would slow him down slightly.
Bernie turned her head to Libby. “Come on,” she said. “We gotta hustle.” And with that she began to slide down the stairs as fast as possible.
Every time she hit the edge of one of the steps, she could feel it digging into her butt. I’m never going to sit down again, she thought as she slithered down. Libby was right behind her. When Bernie got to the last step, Libby plowed into her, knocking her onto the floor.
“Sorry,” Libby hissed as Bernie rubbed the side where Libby’s shoe had hit her.
Bernie didn’t bother to answer. Instead she got on her hands and knees and started crawling again.
“How much longer till we get out of here?” Libby whispered. She could hear George above her. She’d thought he’d be slow, but he wasn’t. He was making good time—better time than they had made.
“I’m not sure, but we’d better get to that door soon,” Bernie replied. She was going as fast as she could go, but judging from the sounds coming from above, it wasn’t fast enough.
Focus, Bernie told herself. Focus on what you’re doing. So Bernie stopped thinking about George. She stopped thinking about Libby. She stopped thinking about anything except the tunnel, her breathing, and putting one hand and knee in front of the other. Finally, after she wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed because she’d lost track in the blackness, she came to the end.
Her light showed a door. A small one. Made of wood. With a latch on it. Bernie uttered a silent prayer and let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She lifted her hand and pulled on the latch. It was stuck. Maybe rusted out. She tried again. It wasn’t budging.
“What?” Libby asked.
> “I can’t get the latch to move,” Bernie hissed, fighting to keep her voice calm.
“Your lip gloss.”
“My what?”
“Use your lip gloss,” Libby repeated. “The expensive one with shea butter. Maybe it’ll act as a lubricant.”
“I hope so,” Bernie said. She handed Zalinsky’s backpack off to Libby, opened her bag, and began rummaging around inside it.
“Hurry,” Libby whispered. “He’s getting closer.”
“You think I don’t know that,” Bernie snapped. A second later, her hand closed on her lip gloss. “Got it.” She took the top off and began applying the gloss to the lock. Then she pulled. The latch moved a little. She pulled harder. The latch moved some more. Then nothing. She applied more gloss. The latch was well and truly stuck.
“Give me the backpack,” she told Libby.
Libby handed it over. She watched while her sister opened it up and took out the Glock.
“Are you shooting the door open?” Libby asked.
“Not yet. But I will if this doesn’t work.” And with that Bernie used the butt of the gun to hammer the latch open.
“Piece of cake,” Bernie said as she handed the backpack and the Glock back to Libby. “Say a prayer,” she told her as she grasped the door handle and yanked. The door jumped back. Light flooded the tunnel. Bernie crawled outside. Libby followed.
“Good call about the lip gloss,” Bernie told Libby as she turned and closed the door, never mind that she was out the thirty bucks the gloss had cost her.
Libby just nodded. She didn’t say anything because she was too busy giving thanks for being out of the tunnel. No matter what happened now, it had to be better than being in there. For a moment, she and her sister stood blinking in the daylight. Little specks of color exploded across their eyes. It took them a couple of minutes to be able to see again after spending all that time in the dark. The trees had never seemed so green or the sky so blue.
Libby was admiring the leaves of a maple in front of her when Bernie said, “George.”
“What about him?” Libby asked.
“He’s going to come barreling through that door any second. It would be nice if we could block it and slow him down.”
A Catered Tea Party Page 7