Dark Lightning

by Mary L. Farmer

  “Man, that hurts!” Sharp splinters raked at her flesh as she worked to twist her leg free of the jagged hole. She pulled up her skirt and grimaced. Blood oozed from a network of deep scratches and bits of shredded skin on her calf. Her leg stung badly—she would definitely need that ibuprofen now.

  Haven grimaced as a dark streak of blood ran down her shin and dripped into the jagged hole left by her foot. She leaned over the new opening and frowned. Unlike the rest of the dimly lit barn, the inside of the hole was pitch black. She stood up to fetch the flashlight, then shined it into the hole.

  Her heart stuttered.

  Something large and angular lurked in the confined space, covered by a sheet or canvas of some kind.

  She’d found a hidden room.

  Haven scrambled to the edge of the hayloft and rushed down the rickety ladder. She hurried over to the area she determined to be underneath the hole, her heart thudding.

  Whatever it was, it was right back here, behind this bench.

  Shining the flashlight along the top edges of the wall, Haven searched for hinges or a knob—any indication of a hidden door. But she could find nothing. Then her eye went to a dark, half-moon shape under the rack of hooks. A missing knot had provided a hole in the wooden wall. Ignoring her smarting knee, Haven climbed on top of the bench there and brought her light up to the hole.

  She gasped in surprise and fumbled her flashlight, dropping it.

  What in the world…?

  Groping around in the gloom, she retrieved the light and brought it back to the hole.

  What she saw astounded her.

  A wooden, nearly life-sized head of a female lion stared out of the darkness with eyes made of glittering red stones. Its snarling jaws and menacing expression reminded Haven of a gargoyle she’d once seen protruding from the top of a church. And that was only one corner of the thing…the rest of the object was still covered by the tarp.

  Holy crap, I found something here in the barn after all…

  Haven tore out of the barn to find the men.

  ***

  Brian and Victor exchanged puzzled looks as they hurried back down the path to the barn with Haven. She was consumed with anxiety, as if the thing under the canvas would somehow vanish if they didn’t get to the barn in a hurry—or worse—that she’d only imagined those fearsome red eyes staring at her in the dark.

  “I was up in hayloft when my foot went through some boards,” she explained breathlessly, “then I looked into the hole and I saw something down there, walled off in the corner.”

  “What was it?” Victor asked.

  “I don’t know. Might be a piece of furniture, like a wardrobe or—”

  “Jesus Christ, Haven!” Brian spat, cutting her off sharply. “What were you doing in the hayloft? I told you going up there wasn’t safe!”

  “Well if I hadn’t, I never would’ve found this thing. It was very well hidden,” Haven answered irritably. Brian could be such a worrier.

  Brian trudged through the weeds, scowling. “It’s probably just a big pile of junk. In the old days, laborers commonly disposed of garbage behind walls they were building. When Amy and I renovated the B&B a few years back, we found tons of empty whiskey bottles, newspapers, old shoes…”

  “No,” Haven said. “This thing’s rectangular in shape. And it has eyes.”

  Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Eyes?” said Victor.

  “Yeah, red ones. You’ll see.”

  “Why would anybody stick a wardrobe out in this crappy old barn?” wondered Victor, gesturing at it with his toolbox. “Kind of a weird hiding place, don’t you think?”

  Brian abruptly stopped in his tracks, his expression apprehensive. “Oh, man…I just thought of something,” he said.

  “What?” Haven huffed, impatient to get back to her discovery.

  “Remember the skeletons we found in that Prohibition-era warehouse in South Philly, Victor?”

  Victor grunted. “I’d rather not.”

  “The cops had to call in a forensics team,” Brian recalled. “We waited a whole week for them to process the area and make sure no more surprises were buried underneath the floor.” He shook his head and started walking again. “Damn…I really hope we’re not going to walk into another crime scene.”

  “Well, dude, we’re about to find out,” Victor said.

  Haven’s heart sank a little. That a body might be buried in the walled-off space hadn’t occurred to her. The thought made the hairs on her neck prickle.

  They walked into the barn and Brian wrinkled his nose. “Oh, shit! Smell that? Something’s rotting in here. Definitely a bad sign.”

  “Relax,” Haven said. “It’s just a dead possum or something. It’s right over there—look.” She shined her flashlight on the bloody lump in the middle of the floor.

  Victor grabbed a pair of long pliers out of the toolbox he had with him and picked up the dead carcass. “Coming through,” he said, walking past them to pitch it into the weeds outside. He returned and wiped off the tool with a rag. “Okay, now we can all breathe.”

  Haven hurried over to the bench. “It’s in here, behind this wall.”

  Victor put his eye to the knothole in the paneling, then squinted into the opening. “Wait, you’re going to need this,” Haven said, handing him the flashlight.

  Victor moved his head all around the small opening while Haven stood behind him, tapping her boot impatiently. “Well…it’s big, but it’s all covered up,” he said finally. “Man, those red eyes are freaky as hell.”

  Haven slapped his arm. “See? What did I tell you?”

  Victor straightened up and took a step back, handing the light to Brian. “There’s no way to tell what that is unless we take down this wall.”

  Brian took the flashlight and bent down. Without moving his eye from the hole, he said matter-of-factly, “Victor, get your crowbar.”

  “Mind if I have another look?” Haven asked. Brian stood and reluctantly handed her the light. Snatching it from his grip, she peered into the dark cavity and grinned. The lion’s red eyes sparkled back at her once again—it hadn’t been her imagination.

  Victor shrugged off his hoodie and tossed it over the top of a horse stall. Involuntarily, Haven’s eyes drifted to the smooth skin of Victor’s biceps as he gripped the metal crowbar. She suddenly found herself imagining those strong arms sliding around her waist. In her mind, Victor was pulling her body against his, his soft lips parting slightly as he leaned down to kiss her mouth…

  The thought made her stomach do a little flip, and Haven realized she’d been imagining that scenario for years. Am I already in love with Victor? Or is my crush on him just infatuation?

  A couple of hours from now, she’d likely find out.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Victor asked, surveying the wall with a boyish eagerness. Normally, estate sales weren’t this exciting.

  “Um…” Burning warmth spread over Haven’s cheeks as she snapped back to reality. “I don’t know. Brian?”

  “How ‘bout right in the middle?” her brother replied.

  “You got it.” Victor commenced prying the end of the hook rack off the wall.

  “Wait a minute!” Haven interrupted. “Shouldn’t we document this? Take photos or something?”

  Victor frowned and lowered the crowbar. “Que?”

  “Haven, this isn’t an archaeological dig. We’re in an old barn,” Brian said.

  “But what if it turns out that you’re right? That there’s…a person…buried back there. Wouldn’t we be destroying evidence?”

  Rich walked into the barn with this clipboard. “So where’s this buried treasure you’re ranting about, Haven? What did you find in here?”

  “We’re about to tear down this wall to find out,” Victor explained.

  Rich shook his head. “Hold on now, we can’t just demo a section of the barn without permission from—”

  “Trust me, Rich...” Brian shov
ed the flashlight at him and pointed to the hole under the hook rack. “Take a look for yourself.”

  A moment later Rich stood up. “Victor, break open the wall.”

  “But—” said Haven.

  Brian pulled out his phone. “Okay, Haven wants a picture—here.” He snapped a photo of Victor standing in front of the bench. “Go ahead, man.”

  Haven leaned against a horse stall while Victor easily pulled the hook racks down and flung them past her into a heap. After a third of the wall was down, he dropped back to let Haven through with the flashlight. “All right, girl—you’re the one that found it—want to do the honors?” he asked.

  Haven made Brian take another photo, then she and her brother each grabbed a corner of the incredibly dusty canvas and pulled.

  Rich fumbled his clipboard.

  “Holy shit.” Victor exclaimed, moving closer. “What is that?”

  The group stood gaping at an enormous, elaborately carved chest about six feet wide and five feet high. The deep-black ebony wood gleamed as Haven played the flashlight beam over its glossy surface. Carved figureheads of exotic animals decorated the tops of the twisting columns, each with glistening jewels for eyes. The craftsmanship was exceptional.

  Something was written in ivory lettering across the front of the lid. Below the lid was a metal lock-plate. The keyhole was surrounded by two concentric circles of cryptic markings etched into the metal.

  Mystifyingly, the whole thing was wrapped in rusty iron chains.

  Rich and Brian exchanged incredulous looks.

  “Wow!” said Haven, letting out a hoot of joy. “Cool!”

  Rich recovered his clipboard and walked up for a closer look. “I think you may have hit the antique jackpot, Haven.” He ran his fingers over the lock, the inlaid lettering. “At first glance I’d say this was Elizabethan. Look at the inscription—1585.”

  Brian whistled. “Sixteenth century. If it’s not a reproduction, it could be worth a fortune!”

  Rich nodded in agreement. “Anything that old isn’t considered an antique—it’s more of a museum piece.”

  Brian took a few more photos, then he and Victor pulled down the remaining boards while Rich raced outside and pulled his pickup around to the barn. After unloading a sturdy, wheeled moving dolly, the three men carefully hoisted the chest onto it and pushed it slowly out of the corner and to the front of the barn where they had more room to maneuver.

  Haven felt jumpy as Victor cut off the old iron locks with some heavy-duty bolt cutters. What if they found something horrible inside? One by one, the chains fell into the dirt with a jangle. Now she could read the complete inscription on the lid:

  The Barbarie Companye ~ Anno Domini 1585

  “Looks like a storage chest of some kind. Here, help me lift the lid,” Rich said. The three men pulled, then pushed up on the massive lid, even putting their shoulders into the effort, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s locked,” Rich said, disappointed.

  “Anybody happen to come across a large key while packing bins?” Brian asked.

  Haven looked at Victor, but he shook his head. Her heart sank. They wouldn’t be able to open it. Not now, anyway. Whatever secrets lay inside the chest would have to stay hidden for the moment. Just in case, Haven went back over to the corner stall and rooted around on the ground looking for a key, but didn’t find anything.

  “We’d better send those photos over to John Morgan at Christie’s. Maybe he can dig up some information for us,” Rich said. He pulled a measuring tape off his leather tool belt and stretched the flexible ruler across the front of the chest. “This thing’s way too big to fit in the back of the pickup. It’ll have to stay here until Danny comes with the delivery truck tomorrow. We can have him drive it to New York with the other furniture.”

  Brian snapped several more photos of the chest and texted them to their contact in New York. Not thirty seconds later, Rich’s phone rang.

  “Rich Horn…yeah, hello, John,” Rich said, grinning at Haven. “Well, we’re out in Bucks County setting up for a sale right now, and we’ve come across something interesting in the barn. Yes…it was in the barn. It is strange, I know...”

  “Haven, let me get one with you and Victor in front of it,” said Brian. Victor came over and stood next to Haven. He rested a hand on the small of her back and leaned close while Brian snapped the photo.

  “Good job, girl!” Victor turned to Haven, smiling. “Only, I hope that poor old lady doesn’t have a heart attack when she finds out there’s a crazy-looking chest with chains around it buried in her barn.”

  “Actually, Victor, that’s a great idea!” Brian said. “Haven, you’ve got to come with us to the nursing home and tell Miss Crosby what you’ve found.”

  Haven felt as though she were floating; her mind was in a daze. A potential historical treasure had lain hidden on this old Bucks County farm for decades, maybe even centuries, and she was responsible for finding it. Without thinking, she murmured, “Sure. I’d love to.”

  “Victor, think you can finish up here by yourself?” Brian asked. “We’ll be back to get you later.”

  Victor eyed the gaping hole in the roof. “What about tonight? It’s supposed to rain later.”

  “Just throw that old piece of oilcloth over it,” Brian said. “The chest is far enough away from that hole—it won’t get wet.”

  Rich tucked his phone into his shirt pocket. “Guess what? John said we may have the real deal here. Apparently, the Barbary Company was a business entity created by Queen Elizabeth in the late sixteenth century to establish trade with the sultans along the northern coast of Africa. At the time, that whole area was known as the Barbary Coast. He thinks our chest here could have been made as some sort of commemorative piece.”

  “Whoa,” said Brian. “This is insane. I don’t think we’ve ever handled anything this old before. We should reach out to the people at the Penn Museum. Maybe the Philadelphia Museum of Art, too. They may have better luck tracing its origins.”

  Rich considered the idea for a moment. “I can think of several museums that might be interested in adding this to their collections, but we probably should let our client decide what she wants to do with it.” He checked his watch. “In fact, if we’re going to catch Miss Crosby before she goes to dinner, we’d better get going.”

  “Did you call Venimer yet?” Brian asked Rich.

  “Can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rich shrugged. “The dude is old school—doesn’t carry a mobile phone. We’ll have to fill him in at the nursing home.”

  Brian looked incredulous. “Seriously? A practicing attorney who doesn’t have a cell phone? Huh…that’s a little strange.”

  As the men left the barn, Haven lingered in front of the Barbary chest for a moment, sighing unhappily. That’s right—Claude Venimer’s going to be at the nursing home. Well, at least this time I won’t be alone with him.

  She ran her hand over the carving of the lion head. Its faceted eyes now appeared black in the low light of the barn. Haven tentatively placed her fingers inside the lion’s jaws and felt around. Maybe the key to the chest is hidden inside one of these animals. Startled by a rustling overhead, she quickly pulled her hand back, scraping her skin against the lion’s pointy wooden teeth.

  “Ouch,” Haven said, rubbing her palm.

  Looking up, she saw the eagle back at his perch at the edge of the hole. Her heartbeat quickened as she felt the strange tugging start to creep through her insides again.

  Oh, no. Please, no more visions today—I’ve had enough weirdness for one weekend.

  Darting away from the chest, Haven ran out of the barn to catch up with the men before anything else bizarre could happen.

  TWELVE

  Newtown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania

  Saturday, October 6th, 4:36 p.m.

  HAVEN PUSHED OPEN the glass door of Newtown Rehabilitation Manor and cautiously glanced around the lobby. The tension in he
r shoulders eased. Venimer doesn’t seem to be here yet—cool. Rich and Brian came in behind her and stopped at an oak reception desk to sign in.

  “Hello. We’re here to see Gail Crosby,” Rich said to the woman with carefully coiffed hair seated behind it.

  She nodded and pointed across the lobby. “Room 147. Go through those doors over there. She’s in the last room on your left.”

  As the group started walking, Rich’s cell rang. He checked the display and stopped. “It’s New York,” he said, nodding toward the doors. “You two go ahead. I’ll meet you down there in a minute… Hello, John. Have anything else for us on that chest yet? Actually, we’re just about to meet with the client now…”

  Haven followed Brian down a yellow hall to a tiny, unadorned-looking room with a single window framed by white curtains. Her brother knocked on the metal doorframe. “Hello…we’re looking for Miss Gail Crosby?”

  “You’ve found her, honey. Come on in,” said the duty nurse. “I’m just finishing up her vitals.” She patted the frail-looking wrist of an old woman lying on a metal hospital bed. “You have some visitors, dear.”

  “Visitors?” the woman managed with a cough.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” said the nurse, wheeling a blood pressure machine out of the room.

  Gail Crosby sat propped up against some pillows, her long, white hair neatly pulled back into a chignon, her papery hands folded on top of a cotton blanket. A clear oxygen tube snaked out from her nose to a fixture on the wall. She gazed at her guests quizzically as they filed into her room and came to stand next to her bed.

  “I’m sorry…do I know you, young man?” she asked in a soft voice.

  Brian introduced himself and nodded toward Haven. “This is my sister, Haven Meadows. If you don’t mind, Miss Crosby, I’d like to go over a couple of things with you regarding the estate sale on Monday.”

  Mrs. Crosby waved a hand. “Please…sit.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Brian. “We won’t keep you long.”

  Haven found a worn, upholstered chair and pulled it up to the bed.