by Lynn Patrick
He let her see the screen as he quickly hit Delete. “Again, I’m truly sorry.”
Finally, the warmth in her neck and face started to fade. From all that had been said, she believed Rick. Still, she asked, “Where else have you put security cameras? Just in case. I’d like to know.”
“Well, not where people usually need privacy. I placed them around the buildings. Anywhere a stranger might be where he shouldn’t.”
“You think someone might be messing around in the boathouse?”
“Boats can dock there. You never know these days. Lake Michigan is a highway of sorts. People forget that. In Red Flanagan’s day, whiskey was unloaded right out there.” He pointed in the direction of the dock.
Heather was beginning to understand. “Yeah, I’ve heard stories about boat runs back in the old days of prohibition.”
“You want to hear a funny tale about Red Flanagan?”
“Sure.” She could use a laugh.
“One time the cops were alerted to a bootlegger’s arrival by boat and they roared out here to the mansion, sirens blaring. Red and his men got busy in the meantime and threw heavy rocks into the whiskey barrels and dumped them in the lake. The cops found nothing, and Red and his group pretended they were having a nice hoity-toity tea party with cookies and such.”
Heather smiled at the vision. “I’m sure they enjoyed the finger sandwiches.”
“Everything was okay until Red threw a stick into the lake for his poodle to fetch. It took the dog a while to find it and when he came back out of the water, he was staggering from the alcohol he’d ingested.”
“Aw, poor dog.” Heather couldn’t help but think about the dog Taylor wanted to keep.
“Don’t worry—he was okay. And the cops didn’t suspect anything because one of Red’s men scooped up the poodle and took him inside to dry out.”
Heather smiled. “That’s some story. Where did you hear it?”
“There’s an archive of newspaper articles in the library and other materials on Red in the roaring twenties and dirty thirties, as they call them. Mr. Phillips collects them.”
They talked and laughed some more before Heather realized quite a bit of time had passed and she needed to go pick up the twins. She felt a little guilty about yelling at Rick. “I’m sorry I got upset. I’m sure a place like this needs security cameras.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I, uh, guess I deserved it.” It was his turn to look a little embarrassed.
Heather glanced over to the work area and saw that Amber and Tyrone were almost finished cleaning up. “Tomorrow we’re going to cut a curving pathway through the lawn down to the beach.”
“So the sod cutter is still working okay?”
“It’s working perfectly, thanks to you.”
Rick was a nice guy. And Heather was getting the idea that he was attracted to her, which was probably why he’d watched the footage of her before deleting it. With his looks, he could get any woman he wanted. Not that she included herself in that package. Despite the fact that she was attracted to him, she couldn’t forget about the possibility of Rick re-enlisting, which put him off-limits.
She remembered when Scott had been set on taking a second tour, and she’d asked him to think of her and the girls. He’d told her they were all he thought about—he wanted the world to be a safer place for them. How could she have argued with that? So Scott had returned to Iraq. And had never come back.
Unwilling to go through such grief a second time, she knew Rick wasn’t right for her, no matter how much she respected his dedication.
But what about someone else?
Like Priscilla.
The thought had occurred to her the night before at the shower, but she’d tucked it away. Now it came back at her full blast.
“Are you doing anything Friday night?”
His eyebrows arched. “Friday night? No. No plans.”
“Priscilla Ryan, an old high school friend of my sister, has a new artisan cheese shop in Sparrow Lake. That’s the town where I live, about a fifteen-minute drive from here. On Friday she’s having a grand opening with a cheese tasting. Everyone’s invited.”
“I’d love to come.”
“Great.” Wanting to focus on Priscilla, Heather said, “I’m certain she would love to meet you.”
“What time do you want me to pick you up?” Rick asked.
“Oh, you can just meet me at Priscilla’s Main Street Cheese Shoppe. The tasting starts at seven.”
He appeared surprised. Then he shrugged. “All right. Seven it is, then. How do I get there?”
No sooner had she given him directions than Heather realized her workers were gone for the day. She checked her watch and got to her feet.
“Sorry, but I have to pick up the twins.”
Without waiting for a reply, Heather rushed off toward the parking lot. She felt a little weird at playing matchmaker, but it was all for the best.
* * *
RICK WATCHED HEATHER run from him like she had wings on her heels. Was she that late? Or was she simply freaked out after asking him for a date?
He grinned, thinking about it. A little down time with Heather would give him a lot to smile about. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. Odd, though, that she hadn’t wanted him to pick her up. So was meeting your date at the event typical these days? He’d been out of the loop far too long. Or did Heather have a specific reason for wanting to meet him at the opening?
Hmm, maybe she didn’t want Taylor to see him after the dog incident. Rick and her mom going out together might set off the little girl again. That was the only reason that came to mind, and it bothered him.
Did he really want to date a young widow with a built-in family? Considering how he’d failed his men, he wasn’t certain he was up for that kind of responsibility. Then again, it was only a date, he told himself. No big deal.
Shrugging away his uncertainty, he headed for the coach house. Plenty of time to think things through later. Right now he had other concerns.
Dinner wouldn’t be until seven, so no one would be looking for him for a couple of hours. While there was still daylight and everyone left on the property was occupied, he could start searching for that tunnel entry. He’d already made one attempt to find it after seeing the damage on the sod cutter, but he hadn’t had much time. Once it got dark, finding anything on that ground floor was nearly impossible.
Not to mention he might warn the intruder if the man was on the grounds.
The element of surprise was essential.
Rick made sure he closed the garage doors once he was inside. No need to alert anyone, even if it was too early for the intruder to be around.
He flipped on the lights and entered the shop area, where he took one of the battery-operated utility lanterns from its shelf. The powerful beam would let him inspect the dark paneling in detail.
His initial target was where he’d found the damaged sod cutter. He inspected the paneling closely and ran his fingers over the entire area, including the chair rail circling the room. Nothing to find there.
He continued his search, inspecting every inch of wall as he went.
Nothing...nothing...nothing...
Until...
He got to the paneling alongside the staircase that went up to his apartment. Adjusting the light, he took a closer look at the chair rail. The molding didn’t quite match up. And when he moved his open hand over the area, he swore he felt a shift in the air. This had to be it. Of course. It made perfect sense. A secret entrance under the stairs. Hidden stairs below the visible staircase.
Now the question was how to access it.
He pushed. He pulled. He slid his hands along the paneling.
There had to be some kind of catch release. But where? It wasn�
�t on the side wall below the staircase.
What about the staircase itself?
Rick reached up and ran a hand over the balusters as he made his way down to the newel post. Nothing moved. Not until he touched the ornate brass top of the post. He pushed harder. Felt it give a little. Heard a click.
Glancing back at the wall, he saw that the panel had opened. The doorway was low, but he ducked and went inside, flashing his light over the stairs and beyond. A tunnel. So the Feds hadn’t blocked off every access point. Maybe they hadn’t thought this one was important. Then again, probably one of the half-dozen former owners in the past eight decades had found and re-opened it.
He felt for a switch on the wall and turned on a couple of lights—bare bulbs that faintly revealed the tunnel’s length. He calculated the path would take him directly under the mansion. Hearsay had it that, via the tunnels, Red Flanagan had built secret rooms both to hold his shipments and to hide some unspecified treasure.
Rick assumed the intruder was looking for the supposed treasure. If Rick found the treasure first and Phillips released that information to the media, the would-be thief would have no reason to come back. It would end the intrusions right there. So Rick’s focus was to try to find the purported secret rooms.
Even though he spotted the release on the tunnel side of the door, he jammed a piece of wood near the bottom to make doubly certain the panel couldn’t close and lock behind him. He hated going underground and couldn’t help being paranoid that he could be trapped.
Again.
This is my job, he told himself. He had to get over his feeling of dread. This isn’t Afghanistan.
Taking a deep breath to bolster himself, he went down the stairs and set off along the tunnel. A gust of air from his right—lakeside—made him think there was another branch. Perhaps from the boathouse?
Wanting to see where this part of the tunnel led, he went straight forward in the direction of the mansion. He’d only gotten a few yards before the lights went out. His pulse surged, and not wanting to be surprised by a possible intruder, he froze in place and listened hard. He could stand here like this for hours. Had, in fact, been forced to do so more than once when on dangerous missions.
But that was before...
The invisible walls closed in on him, and his stomach clutched as he waited in the dark in what was feeling more and more like a tomb.
He focused his mind and listened intently. Nothing. No one moving around down here. Only when he was certain that he was alone, that the lights had, for some reason, given up on their own, did he manage to take an easy breath. He turned the utility lantern on and swung the beam around for another check. Lots of loose rock on the floor. And sand had sifted in from somewhere, reminding him of those caves in Afghanistan.
Nothing more ominous, so he put his paranoia in check and went on.
Two minutes later, he’d reached a split. He must be directly under the mansion, the tunnels leading to separate exits into the building. He took the left fork and went on another ten yards before coming to a second split and a staircase.
The walls closed in on him even tighter. The climb was narrow and steep, then turned to the right midway, the passageway filled with cobwebs and things that skittered in the dark. And at the top of the stairs, the exit was sealed with cement. Someone would need tools to break it open.
Rick took the steps back down and tried the other branch, only to face the same situation. Another flight of steps. Another blocked exit.
Back down he went to the original split. The right fork toward the mansion was wider, and the tunnel looked as if it had been constructed at a different time. Wood beams and cross braces were exposed. He was halfway down this branch when he felt moving air.
Stopping dead in his tracks, Rick concentrated to identify the source—an unobtrusive door in the middle of the wall. He ran his light all around it and found the catch on a wooden beam. Part of the wall clicked open to reveal another set of stairs half as high as the other one he’d tried. This must lead to an entrance on the ground floor. Either the Feds had missed this door, or one of the previous owners had already unsealed it.
He went up the several steps and found another latch. This time when the door opened, the tunnel flooded with light so bright it was almost blinding.
The conservatory!
He stepped inside the giant, glass-paned room filled with tropical plants and wondered if the intruder had found his way inside through this entrance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HEATHER ENTERED THE Main Street Cheese Shoppe a little before seven on Friday evening, the first person to arrive. Low strains of classical music welcomed her into the shop, which was large enough to have several small round tables with chairs amid the displays of cutting boards and knives and packaged munchies, including the spiced nuts Priscilla had brought to the shower. The tables were covered with colorful fabric and decorated with small sprays of flowers and lit candles.
“Hey, Heather,” Priscilla called. She was stationed behind the counter with several large wheels of cheese.
“Very inviting.”
“Thanks!”
Heather was on tenterhooks thinking about seeing Rick at any minute. To calm her nerves, she volunteered to help Priscilla, who looked amazingly calm for a woman opening a new business.
“Okay, you can help by arranging a nice display of cheeses and crackers on these boards. I’m going to put them out over there.”
Priscilla nodded to a long table set with a colorful cloth, matching small paper plates and cups. Several bottles of red wine were already opened to “breathe,” Heather guessed.
“No problem,” she assured her friend.
Priscilla was currently cutting Wisconsin cheddar into bite-size pieces. She’d already sliced several other kinds, and a couple of spreadable cheeses were out, too.
“What fun,” Heather said of the mice-shaped cheese boards and spreading knives.
She thought her friend looked pretty tonight, with her hair pulled up in a fancy clip. If only she would dress herself as colorfully as she did her displays. Tonight Priscilla was wearing gray trousers and a pale gray shirt. Hmm. Was Rick a man who noticed women’s clothing? She wouldn’t want him to pass up a nice woman like Priscilla because she faded into the woodwork. Well, other than her bright red hair.
Thinking again about Rick watching the footage of her, she flushed and got to work setting up the cheese trays. By the time she was done, two couples had arrived. Heather set the trays on the long table as Priscilla approached the guests to introduce herself.
“Welcome. I’m Priscilla Ryan, and this is my store. If you have any questions, I’m here to help you. In the meantime, please try some samples.” She indicated the table, which looked festive now.
Heather thought Priscilla handled herself professionally and was a welcoming presence. Surely Rick would appreciate that about her. Suddenly realizing that thinking about the man had knotted her stomach, Heather took a big breath.
“We’re thrilled you opened this shop,” one of the customers was saying. “My husband and I appreciate all kinds of cheeses and we’ve had to go into Kenosha to find imports until now.”
Priscilla spoke to them for a moment, then came back to the counter to pull a pitcher of iced tea and a couple of bottles of white wine from the refrigerator.
“I’ll have a glass of the pinot grigio,” Heather said.
“Sure.” Priscilla poured a glass for each of them.
Heather raised her wine in a toast. “To your success.”
“Thanks.”
They clinked, and then Heather said, “So I invited a man to the opening.”
“A date? Good for you. Why didn’t he come with you?”
“He isn’t my date. He works at Flanagan Manor.”
“Oh, t
hat’s nice.”
“I remembered you saying that if any of us knew an eligible man we should invite him.”
“Wait a minute!” Priscilla lowered her voice. “You’re fixing me up with him? Tonight?”
“No, I didn’t say anything like that. I just told him to meet me here. I figured it would give you a chance to meet each other, see if there’s a fit. Assuming he shows.”
Heather checked her watch. Seven minutes after seven. Rick was late. But other people were entering the store, taking Priscilla’s attention. Heather sipped her wine and talked to a woman who was a customer at Sew Fine, and then the door opened to reveal Rick Slater.
And what a revelation!
Dressed in black trousers and a black shirt, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, he practically filled the doorway.
Heather swore she heard a few gasps, one of which whispered through her own lips.
Next to her, Priscilla murmured, “Is that the guy?”
Heather nodded.
“Wow!”
Removing the sunglasses and slipping them into his shirt pocket, Rick looked around until he spotted Heather. She took a deep breath as he came straight at her.
“Heather, sorry I’m late.”
“The party’s just getting started.” Heather stepped back slightly and pushed at the small of Priscilla’s back so she would take a step toward Rick. “This is the owner of the shop, Priscilla Ryan. Priscilla, meet Rick Slater.”
Priscilla held out her hand. “Welcome to my store. I’m so pleased you could stop by and see what I have to offer.”
He shook her hand and gave her a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.” Then he turned back to Heather, his gaze roaming from her eyes to her lips. He put his hand on her shoulder, making her aware of its warmth. “Is there anything you want?”
Suddenly self-conscious, she said, “Uh, I suppose I could use some of that cheese.”
“And if you have any questions about any of my offerings, just ask,” Priscilla told Rick in what Heather thought sounded like a flirtatious tone.
“Sure. Thanks.” Rick turned to Heather again. “Actually, why don’t you come with me so you can choose whatever you like?”