5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes

by Valerie S. Malmont

  "What about Emily Rakestraw's body? Have you finished examining it? How did she die?"

  "I can't tell, Tori. No signs of trauma. Maybe she suffocated in the trunk."

  "You're saying, maybe she crawled in, wearing her wedding dress, and the lid fell down and locked?"

  "Stranger things have happened. I've reconstructed the trunk, and there are scratch marks on the inside of the lid, Tori. They could have been made by Emily as she tried to break out of the trunk."

  The horror of how Emily might have died stunned me into silence, and I quietly hung up.

  "What's wrong?" P.J. asked.

  "Henry thinks Emily might have been alive when she got into the trunk. That perhaps she was knocked unconscious by the lid falling, then couldn't get it open."

  "Dear God," P.J. said. "What a nightmarish thing to happen."

  "Do you want me to write this up?" I asked.

  P.J. shook her head. "I think I'd better do it. I'd rather you got busy on the feature article I asked you to do."

  "What article? You didn't mention any article."

  "There's an assignment in your box."

  I walked over to my pigeonhole and pulled out a piece of paper. It hadn't been there when I left yesterday at noon, I was sure of that.

  "You didn't mention this earlier, P.J.," I grumbled.

  She shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe I put it in your box after you left, Tori. I can't remember." Her coughing put a stop to my arguing with her.

  I figured I might as well get it over with. I picked up the telephone again and called the home number of Marvin Bumbaugh, president of the borough council.

  "Tori. How nice of you to call," he boomed. "P.J. said you would. I'm real excited about this project, and I hope you can do a nice article for us. We're looking for donations."

  "A new Tunnels and Trails project is always cause for excitement," I said, stifling a yawn and checking my watch. As my stomach had suggested, it was already noon.

  "So how about today?" he asked.

  "What about today?" I retorted.

  "To take a look at the tunnel. I'm free. We could be there in half an hour."

  "I suppose I could go."

  "Wonderful. Have you eaten?"

  I felt a swell of excitement. Maybe he was going to buy my lunch. "Why no, I haven't."

  "Well, you just go and get a bite to eat. I'll pick you up at the office in about twenty-five minutes."

  I didn't want to go to the drugstore for lunch, not so soon after Mr. Eshelman's death, so I went to the Waffle Shoppe. Fortunately, neither Haley nor the offensive man who'd once ground a cigarette out in my pecan waffle were there. I ate quickly and was back in the office with five minutes to spare.

  Marvin was already there waiting. He finished his coffee, shook hands with P.J., handed a folder to me, and said, "You can look this over on the way. It's background info for the article."

  Even before we reached the door, P.J. had her desk cleared off. I hoped she was going home to get some much-needed rest before Monday.

  Belted into the front seat of Marvin's Toyota, I leafed through the folder, but I have a tendency to get carsick when reading in a moving car, so I wasn't able to get more than an idea of what our field trip was all about. "Why don't you tell me what we're going to see?" I asked. "It would be better to have it in your own words for the paper. Your constituents would really appreciate it more that way."

  Marvin looked pleased and told me the history of the Tunnels and Trails movement. It was similar to Rails to Trails, in that it supported taking something that was no longer used for its original purpose and turning it into a recreation area. It was also unique to Pennsylvania, which, because of its mountainous terrain, has a lot of old tunnels. Marvin explained that he was the chairman of the Caven County Tunnels and Trails Club. He wanted to be sure I knew it wasn't part of his official duties as a member of the borough council, just something he did benevolently because he felt so strongly that it was a good cause.

  "The one we're going to visit today is part of an old Civil Warera railroad," Marvin told me. "The railroad went bankrupt after being in use only a few years, and the tunnel has been deserted ever since. We've been hoping it would become available for a long time. Now all we need is enough money to buy it. That's where the paper comes in. Your article will kick off our fund-raising campaign."

  It took longer to cross the valley than it should have, for PennDOT was repairing the roads. Marvin's car crept through narrow lanes designated by orange and white striped barrels. Eastbound traffic was stopped dead. A police car in the median strip watched over the turmoil, but the officer inside was making no effort to help. There was really nothing he could do, I realized. We were fortunate to be going west, for the traffic kept moving, although slowly.

  Thank goodness, Marvin turned off the highway onto a dirt road headed up the side of a mountain. The views from every hairpin turn were spectacular when I could bring myself to open my eyes and look. Once, I grew so frightened I had to wipe perspiration from my forehead.

  Marvin glanced at me and assumed, incorrectly, that I was too warm. He slid open the moon roof an inch or two. "I'll let in some air. You aren't nervous, are you?" Marvin asked, rounding a curve too fast.

  "A little. Could you slow down? Please? If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to kill us."

  "Sorry." He slowed down to about ninety or so miles an hour and jovially pointed out landmarks. "You can see the whole borough. There's the landfill. Looks damn nice from here, doesn't it? In another fifty or hundred years that's going to be one swell recreation area. And look at where the Lickin Creek meets up with two other rivers. In the old days, they used to float barges all the way down to the Potomac."

  I managed to uncover my eyes long enough to take a peek at the lovely vista below. From way up here, the valley looked like an aerial photo.

  "Ought to bring you up here at night," Marvin said. "It's spectacular then. Hey, here we are." He slammed on the brakes, skidded too close to the edge of the road, and backed up. I saw an even narrower dirt road heading even farther up the side of the mountain, and hoped that wasn't where we were going. Of course, it was.

  Marvin pointed out a few remnants of the old tracks. "Mostly, though, they've been carried off by souvenir hunters." He rounded a bend, and the entrance to the tunnel loomed before us, a dark, stone-rimmed hole, cut into the mountainside.

  "Hardly anybody knows about it," Marvin said proudly. "We're looking to buy the whole mountain. That's why I asked you up here to write an article about it and help us get the donations coming in. We're going to put lean-to cabins over there. For hikers." He pointed to a fairly flat area off to our right. "Over there, a ballfield for day picnickers. Some trails up the side of the mountain as well as one through the tunnel. It'll be a nature lover's dream."

  I put my hand on the door handle. "Shall we walk in and take a look at it?" I asked.

  "Heavens, no." Marvin drove forward into the tunnel. "It's no place to be walking. Not till we've had a chance to clean it out."

  Driving slowly for a change, he turned on his lights. I saw that the rough, curved walls of the tunnel were carved out of solid stone, which glistened from water seeping through tiny cracks in the stone.

  I think I'd expected the tunnel to be short, but ahead I saw nothing but blackness. "How long is this tunnel?" I asked.

  "Couple of miles. Damn." He rolled his window halfway down and appeared to be listening to something.

  "What's wrong?"

  "The engine. It's making a weird noise. Can you hear it?"

  "No."

  Suddenly the car stopped, and in the silence all I heard was the sound of water dripping onto the tunnel floor. Marvin pounded on the steering wheel in anger. "I took it into Hoop's last week and told the mechanic there was a funny noise under the hood. Whatever it was, he sure didn't fix it." He fiddled with the key, turning it back and forth, only eliciting an occasional weak gasp from the engine. Then, finally,
nothing.

  "That does it. Tori, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to leave you here and go for help." While he was speaking, Marvin got out of the car. As soon as he opened the door, the headlights went out. I'd never imagined darkness this black.

  "I'll go with you."

  He spoke through the half-open window on his side. "No way, Tori. Not with you wearing those sandals."

  "I can walk just fine in sandals," I protested. I really didn't want to be left alone in the blackness.

  "It's not the walking I'm worried about, Tori. It's the snakes."

  All I heard was the word I hated most, snakes. A snake had killed my little brother. Snakes were evil incarnate. I loathed snakes. I feared snakes. More than anything in the world.

  But I still wasn't convinced I should wait for him. "What kind of snakes?" I whispered. I wouldn't like it, but I could handle garden snakes.

  "Rattlesnakes. The tunnel's full of them. I'll be back in half an hour. No, better make that an hour. It's a long hike back to the highway. I'm wearing boots and jeans, so I should be safe." And on that cheery note, Marvin faded away.

  The radio. I'd turn on the radio for company, I decided. Of course it didn't work. And Marvin had taken the keys, so I couldn't even tell if the problem lay with the battery or something else.

  I pulled my legs up to my chin and wrapped my arms around my knees. It wasn't cold. On the contrary it was stifling hot, but I'd heard the word snake, and I was shaking as if I were freezing.

  Sing. Sing a happy song, Tori. Pretend you're not scared. The only song I could think of was "Follow the Yellow Brick Road," from The Wizard of Oz, and once I was past the first five "follows" I couldn't recall any more of it. I sang, "Follow, follow, follow" a few dozen times until I'd bored myself, and then sat quietly waiting for Marvin to return.

  After an interminable length of time I glanced at my watch, but couldn't read the dial in the dark. How long had it been? An hour? Fifteen minutes? I had no idea.

  And then I heard a thud on the roof. It had to be a snake. What else could it be? I remembered that the moon roof was ajar. And without the car key there was no way to close it. I scrambled to my knees and felt around the back seat, hoping to find something, anything that I could use to plug the opening. There was nothing in there. Marvin kept his car spotless.

  I pulled off my T-shirt and jammed it into the opening. I was safe now. Nothing could get through.

  Even as these comforting thoughts raced through my mind, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Of course something could get through. The window on the driver's side was halfway down. I frantically pushed the button that would close it, but it wouldn't work either, without the ignition on. I huddled next to the door on my side of the car and removed one of my sandals. If anything came slithering through the window, I planned to beat it to death with a flimsy piece of Italian leather.

  Ten more minutes passed. Then five more. Maybe I should get out of the car and make a run for it, I thought. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not with the tunnel full of rattlesnakes. Even one would have been enough to keep me in the car.

  I realized that at last there was some light in the tunnel, and it was getting brighter all the time. Trying to keep one eye on the open window, I looked out the rear window and saw two headlights approaching. Marvin must have reached the highway and gotten help, I realized with relief.

  I waited, sandal in hand, until the vehicle pulled up close behind the Toyota. "Get in," a masculine voice called.

  Fear kept me glued to my seat. I could not bring myself to leave the safety of the car. After a minute or two, the other vehicle, which I saw now was a van, pulled forward and stopped right next to me. Its side door slid open, and the voice called out again, "Get in."

  "I can't get my door open with you parked there," I screamed.

  "The window. Climb through it."

  I eyeballed the half-open window for size. I really wasn't sure I could fit through, and there was no way to open it any wider.

  I stuck my head through. Are people like cats? I wondered. If the head fits through an opening will the body fit? I squirmed and twisted until I got my arms and shoulders and even my chest through the opening. But the hips hung in midair, refusing to go anywhere.

  "I'm stuck," I cried. "I can't get through." I was practically standing on my head by that time, nearly bisected by the window glass, so I couldn't see whoever it was who was tugging on my shoulders. "Stop pulling. You're hurting me."

  The pressure eased. "Don't panic. Your pants are caught," the voice said. "I think if you unzip them, you'll slide right out."

  "I can't reach them," I said weakly. By now the blood rushing to my head made it hard to hear him. And my arms had grown weak from bearing all my weight.

  "I'll do it." I felt a hand fumbling around with the waist of my shorts. "Now!" he commanded.

  With a sharp jerk on my arms, I was pulled through the window and landed in a heap on the back seat of my rescuer's vehicle.

  He climbed over me to reach the front seat, and the car accelerated, pinning me to the velour upholstery.

  Slowly, I managed to roll over and saw sunlight streaming through the windows.

  "We're out," said the driver, gradually coming to a stop.

  I sat up and was face to face with my rescuer, Haley Haley.

  "What on earth are you doing here?"

  "I just happened to be driving by and saw your car go into the tunnel. When I saw the driver walk out without you, I got worried."

  "I'm not stupid, Haley Haley. I know you didn't just `happen' to be driving by. Not up here on a deserted mountain road. You were following me, weren't you? In fact," I said as light dawned, "you've been following me for weeks. This van is dark green, isn't it?"

  "Here," he said, handing me his JAILBIRDS FOR JESUS leather jacket. "Put this on."

  For the first time, I realized I was close to naked. I'd left my Tshirt and shorts and one sandal back in Marvin's car. I grabbed the jacket and put it on. "Thanks," I said, ungraciously.

  "Why don't you come up front?" Haley asked, patting the seat beside him.

  I moved up to the front and buckled the seatbelt over the jacket, then turned to him and demanded, "I want an explanation."

  "You're welcome," he said.

  "For what."

  "That's what a person says when another person thanks him for saving his life."

  "You needn't try to make me feel bad, Haley. Why have you been following me?"

  The van began to move. "We'll have to go back through the tunnel," Haley said. "The road dead-ends here. If you want I can let you get back into the car to wait for other help to come."

  I shuddered at the thought of being left in the snake-filled darkness again. "Don't even consider it."

  Haley made a U-turn and headed back into the tunnel. I held my breath until we were through.

  "Place is full of snakes," Haley said, as if telling me something I didn't already know. "Everybody in Caven County knows not to go in there. What was Marvin Bumbaugh trying to pull?"

  "Nothing. He was simply showing me the area marked for recreation, so I can write an article about it."

  "Only a damn fool would want to buy a tunnel full of rattlers."

  Since I agreed with him wholeheartedly, I couldn't think of a retort, so I asked again, "Just why have you been following me?"

  "Because I've been worried about you. You're a sweet gal but way too vulnerable."

  "The very idea. I am not. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Didn't I survive for ten years in New York City without being mugged once?"

  "The country's a lot different, Tori. How many tunnels full of snakes have you seen in Central Park?"

  "You left the notes, too, didn't you?"

  "Notes?" He was too innocent.

  "You know what I'm talking about. You sneaked into my house, my office, and left frightening messages."

  "I didn't mean them to be frightening, Tori. I wanted to
show you how easily someone could get to you. And I was trying to make you feel protected. Show you someone was keeping you safe."

  "Knowing someone has been pawing around in my underwear drawer does not make me feel safe or protected, Haley. You are a creep. And where did you get this van, anyway? I thought you only had a motorcycle."

  "I borrowed it from a friend." His jaw tightened, but he didn't take his eyes from the road. Haley might be a creep, but I realized I was an idiot for talking to him like this when we were alone. I tried to change the subject by saying, "I'm surprised we haven't seen Marvin hiking along here somewhere."

  We had already come down the mountain and Haley had slowed down to turn right onto the highway.

  "Maybe he hitched a ride," he mumbled, turning into a very slow single lane of traffic.

  "Construction." The word sounded like a curse.

  I felt better now that we were off the mountain and back in civilization, even if it was represented by a line of eighteen-wheelers and cars.

  After a few minutes of stop-and-go driving, I saw a police car ahead in the median strip, and I placed one hand on the door handle. If traffic stopped again, I was prepared to jump out and run for help.

  Luck was with me. The line of vehicles once again ground to a halt. I flung open the door before we'd come to a complete stop and ran between the van and a semitractor. The driver tooted his horn, and I realized I had little on other than Haley's leather jacket. But I didn't care at that moment. I ran as fast as I could with only one shoe on, fully expecting Haley to reach out and grab me from behind. At last, I reached the black-and-white car and pounded on the back of it, screaming, "Help me. A stalker's after me. Help."

  Why wasn't the state trooper paying any attention to me? He faced forward, not moving a muscle. I looked at the line of traffic, didn't see Haley coming after me, and ran around to the driver'sside window. The trooper sitting so still in the front seat of the car was nothing more than a dummy.

  "He's called Cardboard Charlie," Haley said, close behind me. "Don't scream, Tori, or make a scene. I've got a knife. Charlie's not going to help you. And the truckers out there think you're my girlfriend, and we've had a fight. Now come with me, quietly. The line's starting to move."