“You may as well come out!” I called to the unseen bad guy. “Police are coming. You’re trapped.”
Of course, he didn’t come out. I mean, that’s like when the clerk at the post office asks you if you’re mailing anything potentially hazardous, breakable, flammable, etc. Like, if you were mailing anthrax, you’d come out and say, “Oh, yeah, there’s anthrax in there.” Still, I felt stupid standing there and not saying anything.
Where was Sylvia’s baseball bat when I needed it? In fact, I hadn’t seen it in days. Not since … the Strawberry Festival.
Colin must have been right down the street because he literally burst through the door, splitting the frame, with his gun drawn. “Torie, come down from there!” he shouted.
I raised my hands, as if I were the suspect, and passed him on the stairs as he was coming up. “He ran into Wilma’s room.”
“Which one is that?”
“Oh, the second on the left.”
I heard him kick Wilma’s door open, and I froze on the stairs. I listened. Nothing. A few moments went by, and then Colin came out of Wilma’s room and looked down at me. “There’s nobody in here.”
“What?” I said and ran back up to the room. “Did you check in the closet?”
“Of course I checked in the closet. I’m a cop.”
“Well, what about under the bed? Men don’t think of that too often.”
“I checked under the bed, Torie.”
“The windows?”
“Shut. Locked from the inside.”
I stared in disbelief. “That is not possible!” I shrieked.
He shrugged. I went into the room and looked in all the places he’d said he’d looked, just because I didn’t believe he’d actually done it. If he had done it, he would have found something. Somebody ran up those steps and into this room. He had to still be here.
Colin came in the room behind me.
“Did you check in the drawers?” I asked. He gave me an incredulous look. “Maybe he’s small boned.”
“Or a contortionist?”
“Yeah, you never know,” I said, pulling out the drawers. No, no Harry Houdini inside. I sat down on the edge of Wilma’s bed and put my head in my hands.
Colin sat down next to me. “Are you sure you heard a person? Maybe it’s a squirrel on the roof.”
I glared at him.
“Old houses make weird noises,” he reminded me.
“There was somebody here. And people don’t just walk through walls!”
“Maybe there’s access to the attic in this room,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said.
Colin opened the closet and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing. No door to the attic. He shrugged. “I’m out of ideas.”
“Wait,” I said. “People don’t walk through walls.”
“Right. Physics.”
I snapped my fingers. “But what if the walls move?”
“What?”
I ran to the closet. “Sylvia used to tell me all the time about how some of the older homes had secret rooms. You know, like for Indian attacks.”
“Indians? In Missouri?”
“Well, the Gaheimer House would have been built long after the Native American ‘threat’ would have passed in this area. But some people, especially if they were wealthy or lived out in rural areas, would build a safe room.”
“You mean, like a panic room.”
“Yeah, only without Jodie Foster. Exactly. Sometimes wealthier people had these rooms just to keep their treasures in, so that if they were robbed by bandits or what have you, their real wealth would be safe.”
“Did you say bandits?” Colin said. “Do people really use that word?”
“Look,” I said and moved Wilma’s clothes aside. “At one time New Kassel was a remote stop along the railroad between St. Louis and Memphis. I think there was this house, and the Queen house, which is now Eleanore’s, and a few others. The railroad often brought some unsavory people with it.”
“You need a flashlight?” he asked and handed me his.
“Thanks.”
I ran the yellow beam of the flashlight along the wall of the closet. Nothing. Then I turned and moved the hanging clothes all back the other way and faced the north wall of the closet. There, as big as you please, was a panel.
“Colin,” I said, “I think I found our secret room.”
Colin leaned his head into the closet. “You’re joking!”
“No,” I said.
“Don’t touch that panel,” he said. “I’ll have it dusted for prints.”
“Well, remove the panel, then,” I said. “Don’t you have gloves or something?”
Colin took a pen from his pocket and popped one corner of the panel. Then he pulled out a handkerchief and slid it aside. I flashed the light into the dark space. A staircase led downward. “It’s not a room at all,” I said. “It’s a way out.”
Twenty-One
Wooden steps led down into a pit of total blackness. Colin and I said nothing for the longest time. We just stared down into the corridor and then at each other. “I really didn’t expect to find anything,” I said. Only in the desperate recesses of my mind had I been holding out hope that I would find something behind these walls.
“Me neither,” Colin said, “but it makes sense. All the noises that you’ve heard, and Stephanie has heard, and then never being able to find anything. The perp was disappearing down these stairs. By the time you or the police got upstairs, there was nothing here.”
“A ghost,” I said.
“Like a ghost.”
“And Sylvia,” I said. “The person at the foot of her bed.”
“Poor woman.”
“But wait. If Sylvia knew there was a secret stairwell, then she would have known how her assailant got in, and she would have known how the person at the foot of her bed got in. What would have been the point in hiring a private investigator? She would have just called you and told you to come over and watch the panel in the closet.”
Colin shrugged. “You got a point. Makes no sense.”
“Is it possible she didn’t know about this passage?”
“Water under the bridge now. We have to deal with why the perp is doing what he’s doing.”
“I know. What’s the point?”
“To make you look like you’re losing your mind?” he said. “Although he really didn’t have to go to these lengths to prove his point.”
I jabbed him. “Funny.”
“The perp could also be stealing things. A few items at a time.”
I thought about Sylvia’s ring. “That’s pretty silly, though. I mean, unless you know antiques, I don’t see how that would be very lucrative. Plus, it’s not like he could carry a sideboard or a chest down these stairs.”
We were both quiet again.
“How long are we going to stand in the closet?” Colin said.
“Well, aren’t you going to go after him?”
“He’s long gone,” he said, stepping out of the closet. “Besides, I’m not going down there without backup.”
“I’ll back you up.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I also don’t want to disturb the evidence. Something you don’t think of when you go off on one of your tears.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said. Then, under my breath, “I still get my man, or woman. Usually.”
Colin called for backup while I stood there with the flashlight, staring down the steep, dark, dank flight of stairs. Who could know about this? I hadn’t even known about it, and I’d worked in this house for years and lived in this town my whole life.
“Got any idea who would know about this secret staircase?” Colin asked.
“I was just wondering that myself,” I said.
“Guess there’s no way to just ask people,” he said. “Then they’d know we were on to them.”
“Elmer probably knows about it. I mean, any of the older residents who are interested in history might know, but then you would think
they would have mentioned it at some point,” I said. “Plus, if Sylvia or Wilma didn’t know about it, I don’t see how anybody else could.”
“Maybe nobody knows about it,” he said. “Except the perp.”
“Possible.”
“I think we should put a guard here and catch him the next time he tries to come through,” he said.
“What if he doesn’t try it again? I mean, I almost caught him this time.”
“I can still place a guard,” he said. “Won’t hurt.”
A few minutes passed before a very tired-looking Deputy Duran finally showed up. He walked into the room and nodded at me. I waved.
“Duran, what you see here, you cannot talk about to anybody,” Colin said.
“All right,” Deputy Duran said and swallowed.
“If it leaks, it could blow our only chance of catching the guy.”
“I understand, sir.”
“You call Crime Scene Unit?”
“Yeah.”
“I want the panel dusted, and I want the stairs dusted for foot and shoe prints.”
“I’ll be outside,” I said.
“Outside?” Colin asked.
“There has to be an exit,” I said. “You think these stairs dump in the basement or to another access outside altogether?”
“Good question,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
We made it to the bottom of the stairs to my office in record time. Adrenaline was pumping, and I felt fairly invincible. We were going to catch this jerk or I’d know the reason why. I grabbed my cell phone from my desk and dialed Rudy to tell him I might be a little late coming home. Then, while I was at it, I phoned my private investigator once more.
“Who are you calling now?” Colin asked.
“Mr. Walker. My private investigator,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s weird he hasn’t called me or your office to see what is going on in the house? He should be out there somewhere watching the house and seeing the flurry of official activity.”
We stepped out onto the back porch.
“Maybe he fell asleep,” he said.
“Great,” I said. “If he’s sleeping, his butt is fired.”
“I don’t see an access out here,” Colin said as we walked around the house. “It has to come out through the basement.”
“Well, let’s not act like we’re looking for an outside exit to a secret stairwell or people will know we’re up to something,” I said. Mr. Walker’s phone was still ringing. “I’m going to leave him one more message. I knew I shouldn’t have paid him in advance.”
“You paid him in advance?” Colin asked, as if I were the most gullible person on the planet.
“I was desperate.”
“Wait,” Colin said. “Do you hear that?”
I heard something vaguely, in the distance, like a song on a music box. Then it stopped. Mr. Walker’s voice mail kicked in. “Mike, it’s Torie. Where the hell are you? Call me.”
Colin turned to me then with an expression that gave me serious goosebumps. “Dial Mr. Walker’s number again.”
“Okay,” I said. I hit the speed dial. The music started playing.
“It’s coming from the garden,” he said and pointed.
“What is it?”
“Take me out to the ball game,” he sang as he walked toward the garden. “Take me out with the crowd.”
Just as I was about to berate him for singing—off-key, no less—at a time like this, I realized what I was hearing. Mr. Walker’s cell phone. Colin pulled his gun and motioned for me to stay put. He rounded the strawberry plants and the little patch where corn would grow tall in August. Then he knelt down on one knee and spoke quickly into his radio. He walked briskly back toward me and took my phone and pushed the hang-up button.
In the distance, the music stopped playing.
“What?” I said.
“It’s your private detective,” he said and kept walking.
“Is he … is he dead?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But if he lives, I’ll stop fishing.”
I clasped my hand over my mouth and took a step backward. Somebody had attacked me at the Strawberry Festival, and somebody was utilizing a secret stairwell inside the Gaheimer House that I hadn’t even known about. Now somebody had attacked and nearly killed a private investigator that nobody was supposed to know was on the job.
Now I was afraid.
Twenty-Two
The crowd had gathered, the one that always gathers anytime there’s an ambulance and the possibility of seeing a dead body is imminent. I’ve seen dead bodies. Really, I don’t see what all the hoopla is about.
The Wisteria General Hospital ambulance whisked away Michael Walker. The crowd would have to be disappointed today. Shucks, he was still alive. Colin stepped toward me as I watched the ambulance round the corner and head toward Wisteria. “We’re not telling the papers what happened. We’re telling them a drunk wandered into the garden and fell and hit his head.”
I nodded and hugged myself close. “What did happen?”
“He was bludgeoned,” he said. “At least that’s my call.”
“If he dies, it’s my fault,” I said. “I hired him.”
“Torie, don’t think like that.”
“Was he … bludgeoned right there in the damn backyard, Colin?”
“No,” he said. “Looks like he was attacked elsewhere and collapsed there trying to get to the house.”
“Why didn’t he use his cell phone?”
“He might have,” Colin said. “Maybe he couldn’t talk. I don’t know.”
“What’s the point in having a cell phone if it doesn’t save your life?”
“Take it easy, Torie. Don’t get yourself all worked up.”
“Well, I am worked up, Colin! I can’t help it, I am.”
I glanced around the crowd and saw the mayor standing there talking with my mother-in-law. Their heads were together as if they didn’t want anybody else to hear what they were saying. Hands gestured in my direction. I looked up at the sky and wished for the millionth time that Sylvia had, indeed, been immortal. I wished she had never died. I wished she had never left me her fortune. I wished she had never left me the Gaheimer House. I wished she had never left me shards of her life to decipher.
I had the mother-in-law from hell staying in my home. I didn’t need anything else on my plate.
“I gotta go,” I said.
“Where are you going?” Colin asked.
“Home,” I said. “Before I hurt something. Or somebody.”
“Hey,” Colin said as I turned to go. “Talk to your husband. You’re leaving him out of the loop.”
“Oh, did he say that?”
“No, I can tell. You guys are never like this.”
I shrugged. “Can’t help it. He brought this on himself.”
“Don’t alienate the one person who knows you better than anybody and still loves you,” Colin said.
I ignored him and walked all the way back to my house with my head hanging. This was too much. I always juggled a thousand things at once. I thrived on chaos and deadlines. Not this time. My mind was cloudy, my heart heavy, my shoulders aching.
When I entered my house, Mrs. O’Shea was there. So Rudy had already heard the news about a stranger from out of town stumbling through the backyard of the Gaheimer House and nearly killing himself on a rock.
In fact, they were still discussing it when I opened the door. I could hear the voices coming from the kitchen. My mother-in-law’s voice was unmistakable, especially when she was riled. “I don’t care what that sheriff says,” Mrs. O’Shea said. “That man was beaten.”
“How would you know?” Rudy asked.
“Because Mayor Castlereagh saw the man as they were lifting him onto the stretcher. Even his arms were black and blue,” she said. “Now, I am going to ask you one more time, Rudolph. What kind of town are you raising my grandchildren in?”
“New Kassel is a wonderful town,” he said. �
�Every town has its problems. Every town has violence. And they are my children first, your grandchildren second. Don’t forget that.”
Mrs. O’Shea made some dismissive noise. I couldn’t see them, and I didn’t want them to know I was there just yet, so I stood in the doorway of my living room with my hand on the door. That way I could pretend I had just entered and shut the door if they discovered I was standing there.
“The mayor says otherwise.”
“Mom,” he said, “there was a college professor killed here last year while working on that shipwreck that happened back a long time ago.”
“What about that man in the abandoned building?”
“That was ruled an accident.”
“And the man floating in the river? Torie’s uncle, I believe?”
“He slipped. Another accident,” he said. “Mom, what do you think you’re going to accomplish by this discussion?”
“I think you should move,” she said. “That’s all.”
Silence.
“Back to St. Louis County,” she added.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Yeah, why don’t you go on back to St. Louis County, Rudy?”
“Torie,” he said, coming around the corner to stand in the living room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“How could you with Motor Mouth in there?”
“Torie, stop,” he said with his hands up.
“No, you stop,” I said. “She’s been after us to move out of this town since we got married. You want to know why? Because this is my territory. She can’t control us here. And she can’t stand it.”
“Torie, stop!”
“Oh, fine, who cares, anyway?” I turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me.
Great, I’d just alienated myself from my own house. I couldn’t go to my mother’s because she’d already made it clear that I couldn’t stay there as long as Mrs. O’Shea was in town. At one time I would have gone to Helen’s, but now I felt weird about that. After yesterday’s events.
And so I walked.
I walked until I found myself staring up at the entrance to the Santa Lucia Catholic church. The church I was married in is white sandstone, with stained glass windows framing the large wooden doors. One large round stained glass window peers down from above the doors like a giant eyeball watching the townsfolk of New Kassel. I pulled on the heavy wooden door, knowing it would be open. All the churches in New Kassel are left unlocked at all times—something you won’t find up in stupid old St. Louis County.
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