Cheryl kept staring at the drawn map. Thinking. Replaying their actions of last night, move by move.
“Everything is fine.” François locked the office door behind him. “Both the front door and kitchen door were locked.” He walked to the sofa to retrieve the map.
“Wait.” Her shriek stopped him.
He spun to stare at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Last night, when I found the books, we were there.” She mimicked her previous movements, crouched in front of the bookcase cabinet, then stood and kneeled in front of the side table. “And then, here.”
“Right.”
“But then we both stood and you put the book with the map on the desk to measure the distances from the entrance of the tunnel to the X on the map.”
“Yes, I remember.” He gave her a stern look as her implication sunk. “And I left it on the desk while I kissed you and carried you upstairs.”
“Exactly.” Anticipation and fear warred inside her. “Someone was here, François. Someone looked through the books and saw the map. Maybe he didn’t understand the riddles but the map is an important clue. Maybe he sat on the sofa to study it. I guess in his excitement he forgot to put it back on the desk.”
“But the doors were locked.” François turned his head toward his office, his eyes somber and inquisitive. “Which means someone entered with a key.” He stiffened and muttered, “Edith. She took a key from Bernard long ago to come and go at her leisure. She probably kept it.”
“So now she knows that we can find the statue. And maybe whoever works with her also knows.” A shiver crawled up Cheryl’s spine. Was there a murderer hiding in the chateau, listening to them? She lowered her voice to a murmur. “What do we do, now?”
François padded next to her and answered with the same tone of voice. “It’s only five thirty a.m. and still night. I’ll go out and unearth the statue right away. I’ll hide it in my room. Then I’ll ask the police to move it to a safe at my bank.”
“You? You plan to do it alone? No way.”
“Chérie, I love you. I can’t expose you to danger.”
The map would lead them to the statue. Would it also lead the murderers to them? Her lips quivered when François grabbed the gun he had deposited on the desk.
“I’m going with you.”
“Sweetheart, it’s my chateau. It’s not fair you risk your life for my statue.”
“It’s also Professor Howard’s project. It’s his memory I want to honor. And I’m not leaving you alone.”
“What if they follow us?”
“It’s a possibility we have to take.”
He kissed her hard on the mouth. “I know why I love you so much.” He walked to the big desk in the office. She followed him, the book with the map clenched between her shaking fingers. He opened a drawer and then a secret hiding place and extracted another gun he handed her. “Keep this in your pocket,” he mouthed. He bent and whispered against her hair, “It’s dark. We should move now, before the servants wake up.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll read the map again and memorize it.”
“Good idea.” They went back to the library, closed the door behind them and focused on the map.
“I’m ready,” Cheryl said. The words hardly passed through the lump in her throat. “I’ll leave the book with the map on the sofa so whoever was here would think we haven’t come down yet.”
“Good idea. Do you have your gun and your cell phone?” His voice sounded as hoarse as hers.
“Yes.” She patted the pockets of her jeans.
François stopped her at the door of his office. “Cheryl, I love you. Please be careful. I hope I won’t regret taking you.”
“I love you too. We’ll cover each other’s backs.” He switched off the light in the library and they crossed through the office. Francois grabbed a cocktail shaker and a letter opener from his office. “These may come useful to scrape away the dirt, or even rocks or sticks from around the statue.” He took a flashlight from his desk, shoved it in his pocket and opened the door to the hallway.
What if someone was watching them right now? The Grand Hall could hide several people behind the chairs and drapery.
But then François grasped her fingers and tugged on her before she had time to get out of the door. He pulled her back inside the office and locked the door very slowly, without noise.
“Quiet, come,” he murmured. They tiptoed back to the library. She didn’t comment and held her breath. He splayed his palm on the wall next to the right side of the bookcase, lowered his hand and suddenly pressed a finger forward. The whole right side panel of the bookcase rotated. A musty smell hit them. François eased forward. She immediately followed, her heartbeat escalating to a crazy tempo. He pulled a knob. The bookcase panel rotated back into place, enclosing them in a narrow ink-dark passage.
“Another secret door?” Cheryl whispered. Her pulse racing, she stilled in place. Heck, if they came unharmed out of that hole, she should write a novel, not an article. Or maybe a thriller.
François switched on his flashlight, revealing narrow steps going downwards. He took her hand again. She followed him, counting the steps. Six steps down, then a walk of about fifteen feet. “Careful now, we go down again.”
“Okay.” She’d keep quiet and concentrate on assessing the ground and walls of the tunnel. They walked down four other steps. The passage curved sharply to the right, its ceiling suddenly low. François bent and she did the same. His firm hand clutched her shaking fingers and helped tame her racing pulse.
This was not a stroll she’d like to repeat. She hoped the people looking for the statue were still sound asleep. Her free hand tangled in filaments. She grimaced with disgust and tried to free herself of a spider web that clung to her sleeve and hair.
“Up now,” François ordered. Five steps up, another walk, two steps up. A challenge considering her hunched back, wobbling knees and the musty smell in the confined space. Her lungs hurt every time she breathed. How was François coping, his spinal cord almost folded in half? But he pared his words to a bare minimum and she followed his example.
The air got cooler and cleaner as they progressed. Cheryl took a deep breath and felt better. François squeezed her hand, then cupped her cheek to press it against his. “It used to be one long tunnel. The middle part collapsed a century ago. We are at the exit of the first tunnel, fifty meters away from the second. We have to go in the open before we reach the other tunnel, not far from the ruins of the chapel.”
She remembered the place vividly. If they walked out of their hiding place, they could easily be spotted by someone standing on the chapel ground. “So? What do we do?”
“We crouch as close as possible to the ground and hurry away from the chapel toward the woods. It will be a longer walk but only ten yards in the open and the rest through the forest. How is your back?”
“Fine.” Hurting like hell but now was not the time to complain. They reached the exit and she glanced around, mouthing a prayer under her breath.
“Down. Fast. To the forest,” François ordered after he switched off his flashlight and quickly surveyed his surroundings. He pulled her out of their hole and crawled through the weeds that covered the exit of the tunnel. She tugged her hand out of his, knelt on the ground and rushed on all fours beside him, ignoring the weeds, thorns and twigs pricking her wrists. I can do it. Fast. To the forest. Faster.
A faint glow of pink rays glinted on her left. Under different circumstances she would linger and admire the sunrise in the Loire Valley.
“Faster,” François urged. “We need to be back before sunrise.”
“Yeah,” she breathed with difficulty. He talked as if he expected them to go straight to the precise spot hiding the statue, grab it and celebrate. How on earth were they going to come back to the chateau encumbered with a big statue? François hadn’t mentioned the return plan.
“François,” she whispered.
“Shshh.” He didn’t eve
n look at her.
She swallowed and kept crawling. Barky roots scratched her hands. She struggled to suppress a gasp.
“Good. You can stand now. We’ve made it to the forest.”
She exhaled her relief. “How will we go back with the statue?”
“I called Bernard when I left you to check if the doors of the chateau were locked. I’ll call him again as soon as we find the statue. He’ll meet us behind the chapel with the Jeep. Give me your hand and run. We don’t have time to chat.”
A few minutes later, they reached the entrance of the tunnel and bent to enter. “Now how many yards from the entrance?”
“Two hundred and twenty.” Measuring yards was far more difficult for her then counting feet but François concentrated on the ground as he advanced in the dark.
“Fifty now. Keep going.” A few minutes later, he announced, “One hundred yards.”
Shaking off her creepy thoughts, she trudged behind him, the spongy loam squishing beneath her sneakers. She grimaced at the icky sensation.
Something grabbed the hem of her jeans from the back. She squealed and bit her lip. François’ hand covered her mouth. “Hush. Are you crazy?”
“Someone…holding…my pants.”
François turned and kicked. Another squeal pierced the silence and a furry ball dashed away. “It’s a rat. No big deal.”
She could hear the muffled sound of the animal scurrying away and François’ controlled hilarity. Of course, it was no big deal but she hated rats, even more than spiders.
“Two hundred yards. Pay attention now.” They tramped along the narrowed path, François measuring yards while she counted feet. “It should be about here.” He switched on his flash light and directed it to the ground.
“Look for the cross on the right side,” she recited, squinting at the right wall of the tunnel. “Point the light here.” She knelt and trailed her fingers over the surface. “Nothing.”
“We should scratch the dirt away.”
They scrapped the wall with the cocktail shaker, with the letter opener and with their nails. Fifteen minutes later they looked at each other, refusing to admit defeat. Cheryl felt her broken nails with the tip of her thumb. She stretched her legs in front of her and wriggled her feet.
As she flexed them under herself to get back to the task of scrapping, her leg hit a sharp stone. She reached to remove the piece of rock but it was buried deep, stuck into the ground. Jarring the edge, she tapped on it. A metallic sound echoed.
“What’s that?” François jerked forward.
“I’m trying to loosen a stone that scratched my ankle.” She wiggled the stone with all her strength.
“I heard metal clanging. Let me do it and hold the flashlight.”
Could it possible? She moved aside and stared at him, holding her breath. He used the letter opener to clean the area. The beam of light flitted on the ground. Lo and behold, a metallic cross appeared.
“Oh my God. The cross marking the place.”
“It’s not coming out.” He brushed away the loose soil and worked the sharp end of the letter opener around the cross, digging away the dirt and clearing the area. The same metallic noise reverberated from around the cross. “There is more metal around.”
She settled the flashlight on the floor and frantically scraped. Soon they uncovered a metallic box about three foot long and one foot wide.
“Oh my God,” Cheryl repeated. François pulled the box out of the ground and deposited it next to them. “Open it, please,” she begged unable to hide her excitement.
“It’s locked and rusty. Let me try to break it.” He introduced the tip of the letter opener and twisted it inside. “I think I got it.” The cover screeched and François raised it.
Cheryl grabbed the flashlight and trailed the beam inside the box revealing layers of cotton material that looked like an old blanket. She peeled the mildewed fabric away.
The statue lay there, as perfect and beautiful as its painting. A Madonna dressed in white with a blue veil over her head. Reverently, Cheryl extended the tip of her finger and touched the white colored stone. “It’s gorgeous. I wish Professor Howard could see it.”
“My grandmother will be so happy.” He straightened and checked his watch. “It’s seven o’clock and the sun is coming up. We must hurry to avoid being seen.”
Cheryl wrapped the statue back in its cover while François punched a number on his cell phone. “Bernard, meet us with the Jeep at the entrance of the tunnel in fifteen minutes. Be careful.”
François scooped the box in his arms. Adrenaline pumping, Cheryl walked ahead, flashing the light back and forth to light the passage, scarcely feeling the pain in her toes or the ache in her back.
“Turn the light off. We are getting close to the exit. I hope Bernard is here.” They progressed quietly, the silence becoming oppressive as they neared the exit.
Cheryl stepped out surveying the surroundings in the pink glow of the early morning. “He’s not here.” She turned back toward François with a questioning look.
He emerged out of the tunnel and scowled. “I wonder—”
“You?” Cheryl gasped. Her eyes widened on the man poking his gun in François’ side.
Chapter 16
François stiffened as the gun nudged his back. He couldn’t drop the box and risk breaking the statue.
“Don’t move, Count François. I’m not a patient man and I hold a gun.”
“Adriaan, have you lost your mind?” Cheryl shouted, taking a step forward.
“I wouldn’t do anything foolish, Cheryl. Don’t move from your place.” Adriaan extended his free hand forward like a stop sign. “You are a sweet and naïve girl but I hope you’re not stupid enough to risk your life for a statue.”
“You are a despicable thief.” An angry grimace replaced Cheryl’s previous surprise.
Adriaan scoffed and then whistled. The strident sound pierced François’ ears.
“Danny, take care of her,” Adriaan ordered when the former Edith materialized from behind a bush.
Dressed in black pants and turtleneck, her hair pulled back in a tight chignon, Danielle had shed her glamorous appearance for a more practical outfit. She pulled a gun from her jeans pocket and pointed it at Cheryl’s chest. “You stole my wealthy boyfriend and ruined my plans. Don’t think I would hesitate to pull the trigger.”
Cheryl assessed the newcomer with a long look and didn’t answer. François relaxed. In spite of the tricky situation, Cheryl hadn’t lost her head. She was thinking as hard as he was. Where was Bernard? François sincerely wished the old man wouldn’t come now and risk his life.
“Walk, Count François. Walk straight. My car is on the other side of the chapel.”
François threw a glance over his shoulder and remained rooted in place.
Adriaan poked the gun deeper in François’ back. “I’ll count to three. If you don’t move, Danny will shoot Cheryl’s hand, then her arm, then her leg. She’ll shoot her all over. Very slowly.”
Danielle giggled. “My pleasure.” Her lips stretched into a sardonic smile and she kept steady fingers curled around the gun she pointed at Cheryl.
François narrowed his eyes on Danielle and started walking. Very slowly. He caught the questioning look Cheryl shot him and blinked twice, hoping she’d understand his message to be careful.
“Faster,” Adriaan ordered, digging his side with the gun. “You too, Cheryl. Move.”
Were they intending to take him and Cheryl with them in the car? And kill them later? She kept staring at François, waiting for his order to attack.
When they reached the car, Adriaan opened the trunk. “Put the box here.”
François bent to deposit the box in the trunk and lowered the lid but didn’t close it. As he slowly straightened he gave Cheryl a lopsided glance and blinked twice. She blinked back. He suddenly spun and lunged at Adriaan, knocking him off his feet. They both rolled on the ground. François grabbed Adriaan’s arm tryi
ng to yank the gun from his hand. But Adriaan punched him in the eye.
François flinched. His eye hurt like hell but he clutched the other man’s fingers, and tried to wrestle the gun away. When Adriaan pressed the trigger, the shot went wide and slammed into the dirt near Francois’ head.
Distracted by the fight, Danielle turned her head toward the men. Cheryl jerked her arm against the other woman with all her strength. Danielle’s gun flew out of her hand.
“Get her, Danny,” Adriaan called while he squirmed to free himself of François’ iron clasp. François pounced on him, clipped him in the jaw and buried his fist in his solar plexis. Adriaan doubled up and stopped moving. François studied the still body of his enemy, yanked the gun out of his hand and straightened.
Not far away the women tangled in a tight fight. François was afraid to shoot and hurt Cheryl. She seemed in control. Using her karate moves on her enemy, she grasped Danielle’s waist and wrapped a leg around the French woman, throwing her on the ground floor.
But Danielle crawled away and reached for her gun. Cheryl lurched at her and kicked the gun out of reach. They fought on the ground, coming close to the gun. Danielle caught it and tried to stand up. At the second she pressed on the trigger, Cheryl gripped her arm and twisted her hand. The bullet hit Danielle in the chest. She staggered and fell.
“I hope I didn’t kill her.” Shaking, Cheryl stared at her fallen enemy.
“I’m glad we got rid of them. Come quickly.” François grabbed her arm and rushed to the car. He lifted the trunk lid and removed the box while Cheryl observed him with a blank look.
“Aghh.” She gasped, her voice hardly audible.
François spun. His jaw gaped. Adriaan’s arm hooked around Cheryl’s neck cutting off her breath. How had he managed to recover so fast?
“Leave the box in the car and close the trunk, Count François, or I won’t hesitate to slit her throat.” Using her as a shield, Adriaan wrapped his arm around her waist. With his other hand he touched the blade of a knife to her throat. A sharp pain caused her to shriek. Droplets of blood dripped to her shoulder.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 95