Shivering in the cool air, I chose two picks and inserted one after the other to move the mechanisms around. Holding the flashlight in my teeth was too hard, so I laid it on a nearby shelf and directed the light toward the lock.
That was better.
“Albert, I’m trying to pick the lock. Talk to me while I’m doing this. I’m afraid it might take a while.”
Albert’s voice came out of the darkness. “What are you using?”
I told him, and continued to work. “Hey, you didn’t tell me what made you come here in the first place.”
I heard Albert’s feet shuffle on the dirt floor, coming closer to the door. His voice became louder. “Well, first of all, I found the note that little bastard wrote to my granddaughter.”
Beckett groaned from down the hall.
“I wasn’t going to come over here just for that, but then I was cleaning up the library, trying to organize the books and papers. I dropped the family Bible, and the leather cover broke apart at the spine.”
“Whoa. You found something?”
“Yeah. It was a miniature book, Sarah Cook’s diary.”
“Seriously?”
“Uh huh. And after I read it—needed a magnifying glass to see it—I saw the line that said she knew the treasure was hidden in the McNabbs’ cellar. She said one of the McNabb girls, Mary, let it slip. She was helping Mary—apparently, she was running away from home because her father was beating her. The girl had been running alone on the beach, and she had the fever, too. And while she was taking care of the poor girl, in that fevered state, I guess, she mentioned the treasure chest. Said she saw her father lugging it around in the cellar one night. Heard him talking to another cohort about Reverend Cook and what he did to Rachel. Sarah mentions a map that she hid, but of course, didn’t say where she hid it.”
“Wow. That’s big.” I looked back over my shoulder at the sea chests in my cell. Was one of them the Cooks’ treasure chest? “I’ll have to go through the rest of these chests, Albert. Who knows?”
“My wife and Robbie were always certain Tooly McNabb had hidden the treasure at his place. They used to talk about it all the time. I mean, it just makes sense, doesn’t it? McNabb suddenly builds a gigantic mansion with tons of rooms in the cellar. I have no idea how far these corridors go, but it definitely isn’t only under the house footprint.”
“Lots of places to hide things, that’s for sure.” The tools I’d chosen weren’t working. I picked up another set of slimmer utensils and started again. “You mentioned your wife. You never told me about her.”
“It’s a hard subject for me, Gus.”
“Why’s that?” I probably should have just apologized for being curious, backed down, and shut up. But I needed something to keep my mind off of the bizarre and possibly fatal situation we found ourselves in, and listening to a story about his past might help.
“I lost her ten years ago,” he said. “Car accident.” His voice took on a hard edge.
“I’m so sorry. I lost my first wife, too. Her name was Elsbeth. She had cancer and was in the final stages when she died.”
He made a sympathetic noise. “Sorry to hear that, Gus.”
“It was over six years ago, but it still feels like yesterday.”
“I know what you mean. I miss my wife so much.”
“What was her name?”
“Monique. Believe it or not, she was my mail order bride from Morocco.”
“Morocco?”
“Yeah. She was my angel.”
“I didn’t know they still did mail order brides. I thought it was just in the movies.”
“Well, this was quite a ways back, mind you. I sent for her when I was only twenty-five, around fifty years ago.”
I wondered why at the age of twenty-five this fine man couldn’t have found a lady to love in his local town and was fascinated by his account. I continued to work the tools in the hole, starting to feel pretty hopeless. It wasn’t going as planned. I heard no satisfying “clicks,” and was getting frustrated. I took a deep breath and tried again. “What was she like?”
He sighed. “She was lovely. Dark skinned, with big eyes and thick, dark hair. She was sweet, hard-working, and a great mother.”
“She sounds amazing. Did she speak any English?”
“Not at first. I had to teach her.”
“That must’ve been hard on you both, but wonderful that it worked out for you.” I leaned forward to take a closer look at the lock again with the light, and then returned it to the shelf. “What were you doing for work back then?”
“I had a fishing boat. It was a good living back in the day.”
“Must’ve been nice, being out on the sea every day.”
“In the good weather it was amazing, that’s for sure. But then when the skies turned, it could get pretty nasty out there.”
“I’ll bet.” I sat back and massaged my knee. “What happened in the car accident?”
He went silent.
Winston’s voice came out of the dark. “Go ahead, Albert. Tell him.”
Albert kicked his bucket across the cell floor, and then growled his answer. “It was the Waterfords’ car that hit her.”
I let his words sit in the air for a few minutes, and then asked what had happened.
“It was sleeting. Cold. Ice on the roads. Monique was coming back from the grocery store and had stopped at the intersection near Kate’s. You know the one I mean.”
“Of course. What happened?”
“She was just pulling through the all-way stop when the Waterfords’ car came from the other direction. It slid right through the stop sign into the driver’s side of our car. She died right there, at the Paines Creek Corners.” His voice broke at the end. He was near tears.
“Were there any charges brought?” I asked softly.
“No. They said it was nobody’s fault, just due to the bad weather.”
Winston’s voice came from the other cell again. “We were so sorry, Albert. We never meant for it to happen.”
I sat back and took a deep breath. “It must’ve been so hard for you.”
“If they’d just been more careful. If they’d just gone slower.”
Winston said, “We tried to stop, but the ice—”
“Who was driving?” I asked.
“It was her. The crazy bitch who locked us up.”
Marla.
So, not only had she kidnapped five people, including her own husband and son, but she also killed Albert’s wife, Jane’s mother, and Mason’s grandmother.
Nice lady.
Chapter 24
After five more minutes of scraping in the keyhole with no luck, I gave up. “This isn’t going to work.” I stood up and played the flashlight around the room. “I’m going to search the trunks some more.”
I opened another trunk. The musty aroma rose and made me cough, but I tried to hold my breath and started digging. Overhead, the wailing of the storm grew impossibly louder, and more sounds of crashing came from the room above us. I wondered what would be left of the place when we finally escaped and made our way topside.
Inside were four button collections, sixteen sewing kits, and a zippered bag full of at least twenty pairs of metal scissors. I pocketed the largest pair in case I could pry at the door with them.
In the next box, I uncovered dozens of fox and mink collars designed for lady’s overcoats. I jumped when I first saw them—they looked so real. After pawing through layer after layer of linen tablecloths embroidered with the family initial, W, I found a little wooden box with a slide-off cover. Inside was a collection of keys.
“I found a bunch of keys.” I hurried to the door and set the light on the shelf again. “I’m gonna try them all.”
Ten minutes later I stopped. Not one key fit the lock.
“Okay, it’s time to start smashing the lock,” I muttered.
Albert sounded depressed. “Hey, you’ve gotta try everything, I guess. There are no boxes in my room. Ju
st a smelly old cot, bucket, water, and some crackers.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not giving up yet.” I took the largest of the rocks from the rock collection and began to bang it against the door. Over and over again, I swung the rock at the lock, jiggling the wall and sending dust down over me, but not budging the heavy iron mechanism.
“One more time.” I gritted my teeth and gave it everything I had. “Open, damn you!”
The lock didn’t open, but a black painted tin box fell down from the sill over the door.
“What the hell?” I bent down to pick it up, and was rewarded with a rattling sound inside it. Could it be?
I pried the old lid open and was first met by the signed name of Beckett, scrawled in red crayon in a very young person’s penmanship. Inside, was a large iron key.
“No way,” I said. “It can’t be this simple.”
Albert said, “What’d you find?”
“Hold on a sec.” I twisted the key in the lock. At first it stalled, then finally budged, and the door swung miraculously open.
“Albert,” I said. “There was a key hidden above the door jamb.”
It was then that Beckett chimed in from down the hall. I don’t know if he’d been disoriented like he was upstairs, where he could barely focus or walk, but his voice sounded a little clearer now. “I forgot about that. I used it when she locked me up here when I was little. When Dad went to work.”
Winston’s voice ricocheted off the stone walls. “What? She locked you up down here? What the hell? Why would she do that? I don’t believe you.”
“She did, Dad! She wasn’t exactly the devoted mother you thought she was.” Loud arguing followed, back and forth between father and son. Beckett had the last word. “Why do you think I hid the key down here, huh? When you were away for business trips, she’d keep me locked up for days. I snuck upstairs at night when she was sleeping.”
“By God,” Winston said in a low voice. “When I get my hands on her…”
I didn’t stop to listen, but tried the key in Albert’s cell.
It didn’t work.
I ran back to get the box of keys and tried each of them on Albert’s doors.
No dice.
“What about over your door jamb, Albert? Any little boxes there?” I asked, knowing it was unlikely.
“Nothing here,” Albert said. “I think you’re gonna have to overpower her and get the keys from upstairs.”
“Gladly. I can do that.” I tried the keys on the Waterford’s cell door. No luck here, either. I looked in the barred window. “Will you guys be okay for a while?”
Mr. Waterford’s scowl hadn’t diminished, but he answered with a civil tone. “Of course. But please, be careful. She still has the gun.”
Beckett added, “Unless the storm knocked her out. Maybe a tree fell on her.” He giggled after he said it, and I realized he wasn’t exactly stable at the moment.
I tried not to chuckle, because I’d had the same thought.
“I’m going up. Wish me luck.”
At the top of the landing, my hopes were dashed. The door was locked. I tried all of the keys at my disposal, but of course, none of them worked.
Maybe there’s another way out.
I headed down the stairs again, taking stock of the area.
The main aisle that our three cells ran along seemed to go on forever into the distance. The overhead lights ran at about twelve-foot intervals, with bare bulbs hanging loose from the rafters.
Still, the storm raged above us, and occasionally the light bulbs swayed when it sounded like the house was hit by a tree.
A strange cry came from further down the tunnel.
I stopped at the Waterfords’ cell again. “Do you guys know what’s down there? Is it human?”
Winston shrugged. “No idea.”
I picked up the flashlight and headed down the tunnel and soon saw a flickering light coming through a barred window. This room really looked like a dungeon cell, unlike our rooms, that were more like storage areas converted to jail cells. With heavy planks and wrought iron fittings, it reminded me of the main entrance door to the saltbox house.
“Hello?” I said again.
A muffled sob came from inside. “Help me,” he said. “Please, help me.”
Chapter 25
Peering through the bars, I spotted a figure sitting on a cot on the far side of the room. His hair and beard were long and greasy. He wore tattered clothes. And his face was smeared with grime. The poor man reminded me of a ragged hobo.
On a low table, a leftover meal tray was pushed to the side of the cell. And a forty-eight pack of water sat under the table against the wall.
At least she fed and watered him.
I tried the keys in the lock. None of them worked.
“Hey, there. What’s your name?” For some reason, I pictured Scout talking to Boo in “To Kill a Mockingbird.”
The man got up and approached the door. His wrists were shackled to a long chain. He simply stared at me, his mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t believe I was standing outside his cell.
“Hi, fella. I’m Gus. Marla locked me down here today. Got out of my cell, but there are others.”
“Oh my God.” He lowered his head into his hands and his hoarse voice hitched. “I heard people talking. I thought I was imagining it.” He raised his eyes and gripped the bars of his window, his long beard dangling against his filthy clothing. “She’s crazy,” he said. “Certifiable.”
“Absolutely. She really lost it up there today. Even imprisoned her husband and son. My friend Albert’s locked up, too.”
“What?” A wail rose from him. “Gramps is in here? Oh no.”
I stood and stared. “Wait a minute…Are you Robbie Cook? Dr. Robert Cook?”
“Yes.” He nodded, trying to hold back tears of desperation. His hoarse voice cracked. “She locked me down here on Memorial Day evening.”
“Marla?”
“Who else?”
“That’s unbelievable. Why in the world would she…”
He rolled his eyes. “Who knows the reason behind a mad woman’s actions? She seemed to think I was threatening her heritage in some way.”
“Listen. I met your grandfather on the beach, and we became friends. I know Jane and Mason. They all thought you were down in Africa. Matter of fact, your folks are there now, trying to figure out what happened to you.”
He moaned. “They must think I’m dead.”
“It won’t be long before you’re reunited. I promise. But listen, the door at the top of the stairs is locked, so I’m going further down the tunnel to investigate. Do you have any idea where it leads to?”
“I might, yeah. I made a major discovery the night before I was supposed to leave for Africa. It was too late to wake my grandfather or Jane, but I took a chance and stopped over here on my way to Boston, in case the Waterfords were still up. Marla was awake and I told her what I’d found.” He took a ragged breath. “That’s when she went nuts.”
“And you’ve been here ever since?”
“Yeah.” He hung his head. “I’ve lost count of the days.”
“It’s August 5th.”
“Oh my God. Most of the summer.”
“I’m afraid so.”
He groaned and leaned against the door as if our exchange had weakened him. The chains clanked against each other, reminding me of the insanity of the whole situation.
“How can I get out of here, Robbie? Is there another exit? I’ve got to get hold of the key ring from Marla so I can release you guys. And I’m not counting on the cops right now. They’re unreachable.”
“I think you can get out if you keep walking in the direction away from the mansion. There are supposed to be multiple lines off the main channel. They might go all the way to the beach, and maybe the exit is buried under dunes somewhere, where they used to pick up the stolen goods and transport them to the holding cells down here. I didn’t get a chance to figure that part out yet. I foun
d the map last spring, that night before I was to fly to Africa. It showed those multiple passages off the primary tunnel, and in the fifth on the right was marked the location for our family’s treasure.”
Heart thumping now, I drew in a quick breath. “What? The Cook treasure?”
“Um, yes. I guess since you’re a friend of my grandfather, it’ll be okay to tell you. I’m talking about Zebediah Cook’s chest of riches that he brought over from England to help set up his new church. As far as I know, it was stolen by Tooly McNabb, who reportedly killed Cook’s wife right here,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the beach overhead, “out on the Brewster Flats. Did Gramps tell you about that?”
I nodded. “He did. I met him while he was on the beach with his metal detector. One thing led to another, and we eventually started talking about his quest.”
Robbie actually smiled. “Yeah. That’s my grandfather. He never gives up, the stubborn old coot.”
“He asked me and my wife to help with the research.”
“He did? Well, then I guess you’re probably good people. He doesn’t trust easily.”
I waited.
“Anyway, the map I found was supposedly drawn by one of Tooly’s daughters, Mary. It seems he treated her very badly, and she ran away. Sarah Cook, Zeb’s second wife, found her and tended to her for weeks. I guess she was very ill. In exchange for her kindness, the girl drew this map for Sarah and Zebediah, showing them where the family chest was hidden.”
“Albert told us a little bit about that, Robbie. And just recently, he found Sarah’s diary, which referred to a hidden map. But he didn’t know where it was.”
His eyes suddenly widened. “Wait a minute. You haven’t told anyone else, have you?” He looked nervous, as if his grandfather had gone mad and blabbed to the world something they’d tried to keep quiet for decades.
“Don’t worry. It’s just me and my wife. We’re not after the treasure; we’re just helping your grandfather. We haven’t told a soul.”
“Good.” His shoulders dropped as the tension in his body eased away. “It’s just that we’re so close now. If we find the treasure, and I can prove it belongs to our family, then we can save the house. My sister and grandfather will be able to stay there. I can’t risk word getting out and another pirate coming in to swoop it away from us.”
Murder on the Brewster Flats Page 10