tunnels. Through the basement? How else?
Jack poured black coffee into an oversize mug and carried it with him when he opened the cellar door. He turned on the light switch and made his way cautiously down the steep flight of narrow steps. He walked around, trying to figure out where a trapdoor could possibly be located. If one of the tunnels led to the barn, the opening should be right about where he was standing. The only problem was, he was standing on a concrete floor that had no cracks and nothing that could pass for a trapdoor.
Jack picked up a broom handle and started tapping the wooden walls. They all gave off the same sound. No false doors. He focused on the shelves, where he could see jars of home-canned peaches. Maybe there was an opening behind the shelves. He gave up that idea when he saw the thick cobwebs and dirt. Everything in this basement had layers and layers of dust.
It was like any other basement, full of junk and odds and ends. Still, he wasn’t giving up. He continued to poke and shove. He moved an ancient ice box — nothing. Maybe Myra was a pack rat and couldn’t bear to part with her junk. It was unlikely that any of the clutter was being kept for sentimental reasons.
An hour later, Jack stomped his way back upstairs to the kitchen. He didn’t bother to look back. If he had, he would have seen the footprints he left behind. He closed and locked the cellar door before he poured himself a second cup of coffee, then called Mark to report his lack of progress.
“Check out Charles Martin’s room, Jack. Listen, I really don’t know much about old slave houses and the like, but doesn’t it stand to reason they wouldn’t have an opening in the basement? Wouldn’t that be the first place one would look? I’m thinking it’s probably some kind of secret opening. Try tapping the walls. That’s what they do in the movies.”
“This isn’t a movie, Mark. I’m watching the time. I’ll call you back.”
This time Jack left his coffee on the table. He galloped up the staircase to the second floor. He’d been here before but for some reason the house now looked more lived in. He smelled perfume as he walked from one room to another. He looked through everything, trying to figure out who slept where. He knew where Nikki’s room was. She’d shared it with Barbara when they were kids. She still slept here from the looks of things. He moved around but didn’t touch anything. He opened a closet and saw many garments he recognized. Nikki must be using a new perfume these days. He closed his eyes and let his senses and his memory go astray. He forced himself to move out of the room. His eyes burned unbearably. Must have been all that dust in the cellar.
Myra and Charles’s room. So neat and tidy. King-size bed. Triple dresser, double walk-in closet. Two bathrooms. His and hers. Well, why the hell not? When you had money you could have two bathrooms back to back. The bathrooms here were bigger than his bedroom in the apartment he shared with Mark.
Everything was luxurious, the carpeting lush and ankle deep. The draperies were a rich champagne color and were drawn across the windows. A fire was laid in the huge fireplace. Two deep matching recliners sat next to the fireplace with small folding trays beside them. The old folks probably ate breakfast or had late-night snacks while they watched the news. On the opposite wall a giant television screen waited to be turned on. A person could literally live in this room.
Jack moved to the dressing room, which was lined with mirrors. Nothing there. He looked behind the pictures hanging on the walls. No wall safe anywhere. Nothing in the bathroom or the linen closet. He moved over to Charles’s closet. Clothes, shoes, winter wear, summer wear, luggage. Nothing personal. Not even a check book or a receipt of any kind. He pawed through the dresser drawers. Underwear, socks, tee shirts, pajamas. Nothing underneath. No false bottoms to the drawers. Zip. His
Jack poured black coffee into an oversize mug and carried it with him when he opened the cellar door. He turned on the light switch and made his way cautiously down the steep flight of narrow steps. He walked around, trying to figure out where a trapdoor could possibly be located. If one of the tunnels led to the barn, the opening should be right about where he was standing. The only problem was, he was standing on a concrete floor that had no cracks and nothing that could pass for a trapdoor.
Jack picked up a broom handle and started tapping the wooden walls. They all gave off the same sound. No false doors. He focused on the shelves, where he could see jars of home-canned peaches. Maybe there was an opening behind the shelves. He gave up that idea when he saw the thick cobwebs and dirt. Everything in this basement had layers and layers of dust.
It was like any other basement, full of junk and odds and ends. Still, he wasn’t giving up. He continued to poke and shove. He moved an ancient ice box — nothing. Maybe Myra was a pack rat and couldn’t bear to part with her junk. It was unlikely that any of the clutter was being kept for sentimental reasons.
An hour later, Jack stomped his way back upstairs to the kitchen. He didn’t bother to look back. If he had, he would have seen the footprints he left behind. He closed and locked the cellar door before he poured himself a second cup of coffee, then called Mark to report his lack of progress.
“Check out Charles Martin’s room, Jack. Listen, I really don’t know much about old slave houses and the like, but doesn’t it stand to reason they wouldn’t have an opening in the basement? Wouldn’t that be the first place one would look? I’m thinking it’s probably some kind of secret opening. Try tapping the walls. That’s what they do in the movies.”
“This isn’t a movie, Mark. I’m watching the time. I’ll call you back.”
This time Jack left his coffee on the table. He galloped up the staircase to the second floor. He’d been here before but for some reason the house now looked more lived in. He smelled perfume as he walked from one room to another. He looked through everything, trying to figure out who slept where. He knew where Nikki’s room was. She’d shared it with Barbara when they were kids. She still slept here from the looks of things. He moved around but didn’t touch anything. He opened a closet and saw many garments he recognized. Nikki must be using a new perfume these days. He closed his eyes and let his senses and his memory go astray. He forced himself to move out of the room. His eyes burned unbearably. Must have been all that dust in the cellar.
Myra and Charles’s room. So neat and tidy. King-size bed. Triple dresser, double walk-in closet. Two bathrooms. His and hers. Well, why the hell not? When you had money you could have two bathrooms back to back. The bathrooms here were bigger than his bedroom in the apartment he shared with Mark.
Everything was luxurious, the carpeting lush and ankle deep. The draperies were a rich champagne color and were drawn across the windows. A fire was laid in the huge fireplace. Two deep matching recliners sat next to the fireplace with small folding trays beside them. The old folks probably ate breakfast or had late-night snacks while they watched the news. On the opposite wall a giant television screen waited to be turned on. A person could literally live in this room.
Jack moved to the dressing room, which was lined with mirrors. Nothing there. He looked behind the pictures hanging on the walls. No wall safe anywhere. Nothing in the bathroom or the linen closet. He moved over to Charles’s closet. Clothes, shoes, winter wear, summer wear, luggage. Nothing personal. Not even a check book or a receipt of any kind. He pawed through the dresser drawers. Underwear, socks, tee shirts, pajamas. Nothing underneath. No false bottoms to the drawers. Zip. His
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