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Authors: Emilie Richards
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Josh. Now that the fun part was over, the kids were beginning to look uneasy. “We’ll be right back,” she promised. “One of you run upstairs and see if anybody’s had any luck calling the fire department.”
Nobody moved. “Or not,” she said. She watched Niccolo step through the ersatz doorway into the tunnel. Rooney, who had stayed to watch the demolition, stepped in after him.
“Rooney,” she called. “Please don’t do that.” Her plea was ignored. She followed, stepping into the space and shining her light all around. Niccolo and Rooney were just ahead.
She hadn’t had time to think about what they might find in the little time that had passed since they found Rooney beating on the cellar wall. She’d formed a fuzzy mental image of a narrow dirt passageway filled with debris, bats and cobwebs. She had not expected a tunnel wide enough for three people to walk abreast. She hadn’t expected massive, roughly-hewn ceiling beams or dirty plastered walls. She caught up to her husband and father.
“Look at this.” Niccolo aimed his light to the right.
She followed the beam and saw a storage cellar similar to the one they’d just left. It was piled with boxes, and the shelves lining it held old glass canning jars, some of which were still filled with garden produce.
She whistled softly. “I had no idea. Look at this place.”
“Let’s keep moving.”
“Where do you think it comes out?”
“It goes down from here. There are steps ahead.” Niccolo shined his flashlight.
“When they built the Shoreway, they must have buried the entrance,” Megan said. “We’re going to find a dead end.”
“No,” Rooney said.
She had new respect for Rooney’s grasp of their situation. She followed, trailing her flashlight along the walls.
The steps were steep, ten of them, each so narrow they had to walk single file, and the ceiling grew lower until she was stooping. They halted abruptly at a small flagstone-surfaced platform. Stones layered the wall, too. Her heart sank. Then Rooney stooped and began to jiggle a stone near the top.
She saw light.
“Nick?”
But Niccolo was already helping his father-in-law move the stone. With every inch, more light streamed into the tunnel. “Get the kids,” he told her. “Then go upstairs. If the fire department isn’t on its way, bring everyone down here. Tell them to be careful. But this is our way out, Megan, and we’d be fools not to take it.”
chapter 5
T he tunnel opened onto the hillside overlooking the Shoreway. Niccolo supposed at one time it had extended farther, but the Shoreway construction had destroyed the rest of it. Most of the entrance was walled in by dirt and even a grove of small willow trees. But there was a hole hidden by the trees that was just large enough to escape through.
“Lived here,” Rooney told him after Megan disappeared back through the tunnel. “In the bad years.”
At first Niccolo didn’t understand; then everything fell into place, and he realized what the old man was saying. Rooney had disappeared from his daughters’ lives for more than a decade. At some point in time he had probably lived in this tunnel close to the people he loved but hidden from their view. It was probably due to Rooney that the entrance had been uncovered, then sealed with stone. They could thank Rooney for this escape route.
“I saw you the night of the carjacking. Do you remember that? And you disappeared down the hill. I thought you crossed the Shoreway. Were you living in the tunnel then, too?” Niccolo asked.
He didn’t really expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Rooney’s grasp of time was uneven. There were still days when he believed his wife was alive, days when he seemed surprised to find that his daughters were fully grown. Two years ago Niccolo had tracked the old man to a makeshift “den” on Whiskey Island, but now he knew where Rooney had stayed on the coldest days of that winter. He supposed that at the height
Nobody moved. “Or not,” she said. She watched Niccolo step through the ersatz doorway into the tunnel. Rooney, who had stayed to watch the demolition, stepped in after him.
“Rooney,” she called. “Please don’t do that.” Her plea was ignored. She followed, stepping into the space and shining her light all around. Niccolo and Rooney were just ahead.
She hadn’t had time to think about what they might find in the little time that had passed since they found Rooney beating on the cellar wall. She’d formed a fuzzy mental image of a narrow dirt passageway filled with debris, bats and cobwebs. She had not expected a tunnel wide enough for three people to walk abreast. She hadn’t expected massive, roughly-hewn ceiling beams or dirty plastered walls. She caught up to her husband and father.
“Look at this.” Niccolo aimed his light to the right.
She followed the beam and saw a storage cellar similar to the one they’d just left. It was piled with boxes, and the shelves lining it held old glass canning jars, some of which were still filled with garden produce.
She whistled softly. “I had no idea. Look at this place.”
“Let’s keep moving.”
“Where do you think it comes out?”
“It goes down from here. There are steps ahead.” Niccolo shined his flashlight.
“When they built the Shoreway, they must have buried the entrance,” Megan said. “We’re going to find a dead end.”
“No,” Rooney said.
She had new respect for Rooney’s grasp of their situation. She followed, trailing her flashlight along the walls.
The steps were steep, ten of them, each so narrow they had to walk single file, and the ceiling grew lower until she was stooping. They halted abruptly at a small flagstone-surfaced platform. Stones layered the wall, too. Her heart sank. Then Rooney stooped and began to jiggle a stone near the top.
She saw light.
“Nick?”
But Niccolo was already helping his father-in-law move the stone. With every inch, more light streamed into the tunnel. “Get the kids,” he told her. “Then go upstairs. If the fire department isn’t on its way, bring everyone down here. Tell them to be careful. But this is our way out, Megan, and we’d be fools not to take it.”
chapter 5
T he tunnel opened onto the hillside overlooking the Shoreway. Niccolo supposed at one time it had extended farther, but the Shoreway construction had destroyed the rest of it. Most of the entrance was walled in by dirt and even a grove of small willow trees. But there was a hole hidden by the trees that was just large enough to escape through.
“Lived here,” Rooney told him after Megan disappeared back through the tunnel. “In the bad years.”
At first Niccolo didn’t understand; then everything fell into place, and he realized what the old man was saying. Rooney had disappeared from his daughters’ lives for more than a decade. At some point in time he had probably lived in this tunnel close to the people he loved but hidden from their view. It was probably due to Rooney that the entrance had been uncovered, then sealed with stone. They could thank Rooney for this escape route.
“I saw you the night of the carjacking. Do you remember that? And you disappeared down the hill. I thought you crossed the Shoreway. Were you living in the tunnel then, too?” Niccolo asked.
He didn’t really expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Rooney’s grasp of time was uneven. There were still days when he believed his wife was alive, days when he seemed surprised to find that his daughters were fully grown. Two years ago Niccolo had tracked the old man to a makeshift “den” on Whiskey Island, but now he knew where Rooney had stayed on the coldest days of that winter. He supposed that at the height
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