by Lynn Bulock
In the shared beam of their flashlights Miranda saw a syringe and needle, and a discarded pill bottle. Now she could see why Greg looked worried. Stoneley was small enough that most people felt safe here. If there was some kind of heavy drug trade going on around them, they would feel far less safe.
“Wait a minute.” Miranda picked up the orange plastic bottle. Reading the label stunned her. “This is one of Grandfather’s prescriptions. How on earth did it get down here? And why? Was there anything else strange where you found the bottle and the needle?”
“Not right there. But go over with me. I want to use both lights to search that niche in the wall.”
Greg led her carefully across the uneven cave floor and directed her where to shine her light. “There. Do you see it?” On a ledge about five feet up something shone in the beams of light. He slid into the small chamber and reached up on the ledge. Taking the object down, he examined it. “It’s a necklace. Looks like a locket.”
He handed it to Miranda, who felt cold spread through her as she examined the small piece of jewelry in her hand. The heavy twisted gold chain held a filigreed locket with a clasp. Stunned, she handed her flashlight to Gregory. “Hold this and aim it on the locket. My hands are shaking and I want to see what’s inside.”
Taking the flashlight, Greg did as she asked. Trembling, she made three attempts at opening the locket before she succeeded. “There’s something written there.”
“‘To thine own self be true,’” Miranda said, almost in a whisper.
“How can you tell in this poor light?”
“I’ve seen it before.” Miranda wasn’t sure how much longer her knees would let her stand. “I learned how to read script by tracing this. It’s my mother’s locket, Gregory. The one she never took off.”
Greg was afraid he was going to have to drop the flashlights and catch Miranda. Her wide eyes and wavering voice made him fear she was going to pass out on him. She steadied herself against the damp cave wall with one hand. “She’s alive,” she said slowly. “She has to be. The only reason Mama would have taken this off was to leave somebody a message. To leave us a message. It has to mean that she’s been here recently.”
“Are you sure?” Even as Greg asked it, he knew what Miranda would say.
“I’m as sure of this as I’ve been about anything in a long time.” Her eyes were full of tears when she looked up at him. “We have got to get back to the house. If Mama has been this close, and she’s no longer in these caves, then she has to be on the estate somewhere.”
“Let’s go.” Greg put his arm around Miranda and guided her toward the back of the cave, where they hadn’t been yet. He prayed it would be an easy journey. Most of the cave floor felt smoother toward the back of the space, and after a short stretch the narrower passage opened up into a fair-size room. “We’ll come back and explore all of this another time.” Greg gestured toward the stacks of crates and the barrels near a doorway cut into the stone and framed with ancient-looking wood.
They went through the doorway and crossed into the chamber that Greg figured was the one that led into the Blanchard cellar. This looked more like a room or a storehouse, with the stairs Miranda had described yesterday leading up three steps to a landing built of heavy planks. “Come on, Miranda. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“I hope so.” Miranda stopped in her tracks. “Gregory! I just realized something. That night I told you about, in my studio. Maybe I wasn’t just imagining I heard music. Maybe it was Mama, trying to get a message to me. If so she’s been in the house for weeks!”
“Then we had better hurry.” Greg turned to lead Miranda across the floor and up the stairs.
“That’s as far as you’re going,” a cold voice said from the landing. The light from the doorway behind the figure made Greg strain to see who it was. He knew he’d heard that voice before, but somehow it sounded different. Today it sounded more detached and more in control than before.
“Peg? Is something wrong with Grandfather?” Miranda hurried toward the blond woman Greg now recognized. In her hurry Miranda pulled away from him, and in the dark she must have hit a damp patch of floor and slipped. Pitching forward with a cry, she fell before Greg could catch her.
“Nothing’s wrong with the old man yet. But give it an hour and he’ll be gone.”
“What are you talking about?” Miranda asked before Greg could. He couldn’t understand what Howard’s nurse meant, or why she suddenly sounded so stern.
“My darling wants him gone. He says the old man has become a nuisance and it’s time for him to go. I think he finally realizes we’re meant to be together. And you certainly aren’t going to get in our way.”
In the time Greg had taken to stoop and help Miranda to her feet, a gun had materialized in Peg’s hand, and it was pointed at Miranda. “You can’t mean that,” he said as calmly as possible. If this woman was as disturbed as she sounded and holding a loaded gun, he couldn’t take a chance on aggravating her.
“Oh, I mean it. I’ve been waiting for the sign that I needed to take action, and yesterday you gave it to me.” Peg pointed the gun in Greg’s direction and he took the opportunity to step slightly in front of Miranda so that he could protect her.
Greg tried to understand what Peg was telling them. What “sign” had he given her that pushed her over the edge? “Ah. You mean that Miranda and I planned to explore the caves,” he said, and was rewarded by a gleam in her eyes.
“Of course. Once you were down here it was only a matter of time before everyone knew that stupid woman was alive. I was pretty sure that Genie hadn’t covered her tracks well enough, but I couldn’t find time to get down here and clean things up. The one time I tried to leave Howard alone that long, it led to even more disaster.” She scowled in disgust. “Leave him in someone else’s care for thirty minutes and that vain Alannah gets to him. After that I couldn’t very well leave him until I got rid of her.”
“Got rid of her? You mean she didn’t commit suicide?” Miranda sounded stunned, and Greg could feel her shivering under his touch. If only Peg would drop her guard for a moment so he could move in.
“No, she didn’t commit suicide,” Peg said, mocking Miranda’s tone perfectly. “But I fooled everyone into thinking she did. No one ever questioned whether that journal was hers, or the validity of the confession I left for the police to find. And Alannah was so easy to kill. She let me in without question once I called her and told her I knew how she could get back into Ronald’s good graces. As if I’d ever do that.”
So many little things were falling into place. Greg wasn’t sure what bothered him more—the way this evil woman’s mind worked, or the fact that he understood her. “You really were watching her when she came here to see Howard, weren’t you? That’s why she complained about feeling she was under surveillance.”
“It wasn’t what I’d planned to do. She just chose the wrong place at the wrong time. She was always so nosy. Some people just ruin everything.” The statement seemed to bring Peg back into the present, and Greg’s heart sank when she took aim on him with the gun again. He had no doubt that it was loaded and that she could use it.
“And I’ve come too far for anybody to ruin things now. Once I’m free, and Ronald is free, everything will just fall into place. I’m too close to that happening to let you come between us now.” She motioned with the gun toward Miranda. “Now step back from this door. Farther. If either of you comes any closer I’ll shoot Miranda.”
The woman might be deranged, but she still knew how to manipulate him, Greg thought. Somehow they had to get out of this without Miranda being harmed. For now he pretended to obey Peg to buy a little time. “Is it worth it, Peg? You’ve already admitted to murdering two people and you seem willing to kill even more, just for Ronald Blanchard.”
“Of course. He loves me.” Peg’s eyes blazed with a fervor that chilled Greg to the bone. “I’ve only done what he told me to.”
“My father told you to
kill Alannah? And Genie? I don’t believe that,” Miranda blurted out.
“Naturally. That’s why he dislikes all of you girls so much. You don’t listen to him and you don’t obey him. And now you’re causing more trouble.” Peg raised the gun and Greg turned slightly to push Miranda down where she’d make less of a target. He snapped off the large flashlight as he moved, hoping that the change in light would distract Peg.
All of that angered her and whether it was reflex or intention, she fired the handgun. The sound was overpowering, reverberating off the walls of the cave. Who knew such a small gun would make that much noise and light? He spread himself over Miranda as much as possible to shield her from harm. This time he was determined to do everything he could to protect the one he loved. Old memories crowded in on him, so painful that at first he thought the burning in his shoulder was just a part of the rest of his anguish.
“Stay down,” he told Miranda softly. “In a place like this any shot she fires will ricochet off the walls.”
Miranda reached up toward him silently, and then gasped. “Gregory. She hit you! I feel blood.”
“Good,” Peg crowed. “Keep talking so I can get you, too, Miranda.” She fired again and the shot zinged off a wall all too close for comfort. Even without the light from their flashlights Peg had the advantage, standing in the lit doorway. Greg couldn’t understand why the light behind her seemed to flicker.
Once he did, it was too late. “You two aren’t worth any more effort.” Peg reached behind her and retrieved a torch. She threw it down the stairs and it splintered into several pieces. In seconds the wooden stair landing, the barrels that must have contained alcohol and the stack of tinder-dry crates blazed and crackled. Before Greg could move, Peg disappeared and slammed the door. The lock sliding home had an air of finality that mixed with her echoing laugh of triumph.
FOURTEEN
“We have to get you out of here,” Miranda said, trying not to panic when she looked at Gregory. They had gone as far toward the front of the cave as possible, only to be stopped by the water obscuring the entrance. Carrying the backpack slung over his good shoulder, he was unsteady on his feet and pale. Her cotton sweater was wrapped around his upper arm and shoulder, soaked through in one spot with blood.
“How? Even if we could get past the fire Peg set, that door is locked. Nothing in my emergency pack is going to get through that. And even without this wound I’m not a strong enough swimmer to risk the undercurrent that must be pulling through the cave entrance.” Greg coughed. “Maybe we can wait it out until the water recedes.”
“Do you really think we can?” Miranda tried to stifle a cough herself. The acrid smoke from the burning wood made it harder to breathe with every minute.
“Honestly? I don’t see how. I’m so sorry I got you into this, Miranda.”
“You got me into this? The cave is under my house, and I’m the one who sat there right in front of Peg and told her where we were going. I don’t see how anything in this is your fault, Gregory.” She reached up and stroked his cheek, marveling at the odd sense of calm she felt. Normally situations far less harrowing than this would have her in a panic attack. Instead of panic the promise that nothing was impossible for God kept playing through her mind.
“I can’t believe that God wants your life or mine to end this way.” Greg sounded desperate. “It feels too familiar to me. I’ve been this defeated and powerless before, and everyone I loved died because of it. Now it’s happening again.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda kept searching for a way out, but she couldn’t think of anything. She managed to lead Greg into one of the alcoves they’d seen earlier. At least here they were protected a bit from the smoke.
Greg leaned against the wall, looking exhausted. “No one in Stoneley knows my real story. A few people know that I lost my parents in an accident as a teen. What I haven’t told anybody is that my whole family died in one night, and I could have stopped it from happening.”
That didn’t sound at all like the person she had come to know and love. “Why are you so sure it was your fault?” Greg didn’t seem to notice when Miranda eased them both down to sit on the floor of the alcove. He seemed spent, past hope.
“I should have been there. If I’d have been home instead of out with my friends, Chad wouldn’t have done it. He was looking for me. He always blamed everything on me.”
“Who’s Chad?” It seemed so necessary to keep him talking.
“My older brother. He didn’t live at home. He was sick, schizophrenic and dulling his feelings with street drugs. Part of his delusion was that I was controlling his mind. He was coming to the house to kill me, so he could be free.”
“That’s terrible.” Hearing this, Miranda understood why Greg had been so accepting of her emotional problems: he’d seen far worse in someone he loved.
“To his disordered mind it made sense. Somehow he bought a gun and he came back to my parents’ house. The police said later that he broke the lock on the back door and came in. He went to my room first and shot through the pillow on the bed, right where my head would have been. When my dad heard the shot, he came in to see what was going on. Chad just kept on shooting.” His voice sounded like a stranger.
“I had blown curfew at the bowling alley with my buddies. I thought I’d sneak into the house and maybe not get caught, but when we got close to home there were police cars and lights everywhere. They wouldn’t let me in the house. He shot everybody, even our little sister. She was only eleven. When he heard sirens, Chad turned the gun on himself.”
Miranda’s throat tightened with tears as she listened intently to his account of what had happened. Her heart ached for this compassionate man in front of her. The pain involved for him must have been nearly unbearable. “How did you go on?” She leaned forward to hear his answer. His situation sounded bleaker than the one she’d lived with, and yet here he was, strong and healthy.
“I kept asking why God let me survive. Nobody could answer that question, not in high school or college or even seminary. And now here I am at the end of my life, still asking why things happened the way they did.”
Miranda felt like shaking him. If it would have done any good, she would have. “Gregory, you are not at the end of your life. And neither am I. You’re the one who keeps telling me that nothing is impossible with God. There has to be a way out.”
“And if there isn’t?”
She took a deep breath and released it, praying for help with her answer. “Then I will be able to say I spent the end of my life with someone I loved. And after all this time, at least today I know my mother is alive.”
“You’re incredibly brave,” Greg said, softly taking her hands in his.
“No, I’m scared silly. But thanks to you I feel God’s presence in my life and with God here, I can’t be overwhelmed by the spirit of fear.” Miranda started coughing again.
Greg slid his pack off of his good shoulder and rummaged in it. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of these before.” He pulled two bandannas out of the backpack. “If we wet them and tie them around the lower half of our faces, at least we’ll be able to breathe better.”
Miranda did what he said, and was surprised at how well it actually worked. “Now what do we do?”
“What we should have done first. We pray.”
Taking Gregory’s hands in hers, she set the flashlight on a ledge. He let go of her, reached over and turned it out. “We may need the batteries more later.” After a moment of silence, he started. “Lord, I’ve never been this desperate in my life. I don’t see a way out, and I’ve dragged this lovely young woman into the mess with me. This can’t be the way You want her life to end, Father. Please, show us what to do next.”
Miranda put their remaining flashlight near the first, but kept the smaller one turned on. “I want some light. It makes me feel better.” Greg shrugged his shoulder and winced at the pain. She didn’t like the lack of color in his face. Even in the poor light he lo
oked ashen. “Lord, let us feel Your presence with us, no matter how things turn out. You promise never to leave us no matter what happens. Keep reminding us of that promise.
“Thank You, Lord, for bringing this incredible man into my life. And thank You for the knowledge that my mother is alive and nearby. No matter what happens to us, Father, be with her and let her make it out of this alive.” Miranda’s eyes filled with tears at the frustration of being so close to her mother and yet so far away. She lifted her face toward the ceiling of the cave, willing the tears not to come.
Keeping her eyes open, she felt a shock go through her. In the feeble light she could see smoke swirling around them. The gray wisps danced upward as if drawn there by some unseen force. “Gregory, let me turn on the other light.”
“Sure,” he said in a dull voice. Trying not to be too hopeful, Miranda added the stronger beam and aimed it toward the ceiling. In the gloom she saw something she could hardly believe.
“Gregory, you went to the Historical Society and you said they had maps. If this was a smuggler’s cave, then the people who used it were probably used to being in trouble.” Miranda was thinking out loud now, but he nodded. “And if they were good smugglers, they had to have another way out. A secret way.”
She continued to follow the path of the smoke. Stop,” Greg said. “Aim the light right there, and keep them both pointed up as far as possible.”
“You see it, too, don’t you?” The hope Miranda felt started blossoming. “There’s a trapdoor up there.”
“Yes, but how we are going to get that high is beyond me.” Greg leaned against the wall.
Miranda looked around the cave. Back in one far corner stood two crates, rickety looking but the only thing she could see that might be of any use. Handing the lights to Greg, she went over and took hold of the crates. They actually felt sturdier than they looked. It took her precious moments to drag them into the alcove and stack them on top of one another. Praying as she went, she climbed the stack and praised God that she’d inherited her height from the Blanchards. On top of the crates she stood just feet from the ceiling of the cave. Pushing upward, she could feel something give a little. “Hand me the big flashlight, and keep praying,” she told Gregory.