24

Kit trudged down the sidewalk away from Evan and Tom, who were loading Tom’s camera into the back of their rental car. Corey had called, and Kit wished she could clone herself.

“She’s going to drive me up a wall, Kit.” Corey wasn’t prone to whining, but if anyone could push him there, it was Gwen, the donations-pickup volunteer.

“Gwen is just trying to help.” It was sure to be a late night. Kit had just told Evan she’d go with him to the Barlowe mansion to see if the Barlowes would be willing to talk.

“She brought her kids,” Corey added.

The cardinal sin. Kit bit back a smile. “You and Gwen are vying for the spot of favorite coworker, aren’t you?”

“Stop.” Corey sounded half serious. “I know we couldn’t manage without her, but she just suggested we skip the pickup this week.”

Kit frowned. “You mean donation pickups?”

“No, I mean giving out the food to the people who need it.”

“That doesn’t sound like Gwen.”

“Precisely. If you don’t come now, Gwen will actually post the signs. She likes to think she’s your replacement when you’re not here. I think it makes her feel important.”

“She does do a good job, Corey.”

Corey’s voice squeaked. “She plays Spice Girls on the stereo! Spice Girls!”

“So tell me what you want?”

“Funny.”

Kit could see Corey rolling his eyes.

“I want you here, Kit. You know that. But I get it. Madison is more important right now.”

She couldn’t tell if he meant that or was only saying it to make her feel better. Kit heard Evan coming up behind her. “Look, I’ll come in later tonight,” she promised. “Tell Gwen I’d rather she not cancel this week’s offerings to the community. Let her know people are relying on us.”

“Oooookay.” Corey didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll do that. I’m also going to tell her that you said ‘jazz only’ on the speakers.”

“I hate jazz.”

“But I don’t.”

“Fine. Jazz.”

“Thank you.” Corey sounded a tad smug. “Hasta la vista, baby.”

“Later, Schwarzenegger.” Kit had to admit, she was missing the food pantry. Missing the banter with Corey. Missing Gwen’s bullheaded ability to volunteer herself right into being irritating. The world needed more passionate volunteers like her. And Kit needed the food pantry. The routine. The world around her being predictable. Not all this mystery.

“Everything okay?” Evan asked as she turned to face him.

They stood on the sidewalk a few houses down from Alpharetta Green’s. Kit realized she’d walked away from it all without explanation when Corey called.

“Yes.” She slid her phone into her pocket. “Just stuff at the pantry.”

“You’re able to take this much time off without a problem?” Evan inquired.

“Yes and no. I’ll need to go in tonight.”

“By yourself?”

Kit shrugged. “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Want me to help?”

The offer took her aback. Kit searched for something to say and came up blank. “I, uh—”

“Hey, I do more than interrogate people.”

Kit chuckled. “I figured as much, but I—”

“Seriously, probably best not to be there on your own. Not now anyway.”

“You’re right,” Kit acknowledged, even though she didn’t want to. “What did we accomplish today in talking with Alpharetta?”

Evan glanced over his shoulder at her house, then back at Kit. “We learned more about Greta Mercy. We confirmed the lost boys are more than just a legend. Now we need to dive into who Greta Mercy really was and approach the remaining Barlowes here in town, see if they’ll talk with us.”

Frustration welled inside Kit. She crossed her arms over her chest. “And how is that going to help us find Madison?”

“I don’t know.” Evan turned and waved at Tom. “We’ll catch up with you later,” he called.

“What are you doing?” Kit frowned.

Tom waved back and got in the car, pulling out and driving away.

“What do you mean?” Evan asked, turning back to her.

“I mean, why did you send Tom away?”

“Because you need a little TLC.” Evan took her gently by the elbow to steer her down the sidewalk half covered in autumn leaves that crunched under their feet.

“From you?” Kit eyed him.

“Ouch.” Evan let go of her elbow and jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Sorry.” Fine. She could feel the guilt of someone with human decency and recognize that had sounded hurtful.

Evan didn’t look hurt, though. He looked as confident as ever. Sure of himself.

“Aren’t you ever afraid people are going to just stop liking your spot on the show?” Kit blurted out. “It’s not like you play the endearing one who tries to empathize with dead people. You’re practically on a mission to shut them all up.”

“Assuming they’re actually speaking.” Evan shrugged, unaffected by her question.

“But aren’t you worried you’ll come across too harsh? That the show will cut you out?”

“I think that’s why the show is popular. Heather and I counteract each other. Drama, tension, and all that.” Evan waved jazz hands at her.

“But what if—?”

“Why do you care?” Evan stopped and looked down at her.

“Well, I . . .” Kit realized he was quite taller than her. She’d not noticed that before. Of course, she was only five-foot-four, so even a guy of average height would seem tall to her. She hadn’t meant to bring up the topic of rejection. But boy if it wasn’t eating at her! Corey and Gwen were bound to get frustrated soon with her lack of attention at the pantry. But if she stopped searching for Madison, it would leave Avery on her own with her dysfunctional family, and Madison’s safety was top priority. If she’d been abducted, if she’d been—

“Kit?” Evan’s voice was softer this time.

She looked him in the eyes. “Yes?”

“You need to cut yourself some slack. You can’t be everywhere and everything for everybody. No one can.”

“I can try.” Her voice sounded small, even to her.

“Sure you can, but you’ll fail. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she admitted. Evan’s question was more personal than she preferred to answer.

“Look.” Evan started walking again. Kit followed, catching up until they were shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t expect to be on the show for the rest of my career. Life doesn’t work that way. Things change. People come and go.”

“But why?”

Evan stopped again to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“Why do they come and go? What about loyalty? Why must there be conditions and so much change and . . . running out of capital with people?”

“Like Monopoly?”

“Yeah. But not the game. I mean monopoly with others. People have only so much to give and then they’re finished. They mortgage their loyalty and move on to another game.”

“Or life just moves them in different directions.”

“Sure, but what about the ones who leave because they’re done with you?”

Evan studied her for a long moment. “Are you afraid you’ve lost Madison?”

Kit started to shake her head, then stopped. “Maybe, I don’t know. Madi disappeared—she didn’t just leave me. There’s a difference.”

“But you’re afraid she did,” Evan stated.

Kit stared at him. He was voicing a scenario she hadn’t yet considered, let alone put into words.

“You’re afraid that something as nefarious as an abduction is too extreme maybe? Same as something paranormal influencing Madison’s disappearance.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “Well, I never actually thought a ghost ran off with her.”

“No, but we’re acting under the assumption she disappeared against her will.”

“She did,” Kit asserted.

“Okay. Then what are you afraid of? Why the worry about being left behind?” Evan would not let up.

“Because it’s just what people do, Evan Fischer.” Kit threw up her hands in exasperation. “It’s what people do when they’re tired of you.”

An orange maple leaf drifted down between them, floating back and forth on the heavy silence.

Evan’s eyes were stormy, more so than she would have expected from him.

“What?” She crossed her arms in self-defense.

“I thought you were a woman of faith.”

“I am.” That was brutal, and Evan knew it. Kit glared at him.

“Then act like it. God hasn’t abandoned you yet, has He?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not abandoned. You don’t need anyone else but Him. That’s why I’m not afraid. Not afraid of losing my job, not afraid of people leaving me. Human nature is conditional. People, unfortunately, are conditional for good or bad reasons. But God is not. So you trust Him, you step out in faith that others will care for you in His strength and grace, and you realize that sometimes people make mistakes. They leave you. Or they betray you. Or life just sends you in different directions.”

Kit looked deep into Evan’s eyes, searching for something to be angry at. She hated his truth. Hated the way he’d stated it so bluntly and plainly, and yet he was right. There was no sympathy in his voice, not even empathy, but neither was there any cruelty or hardness in his expression. To Evan Fischer, it was just that simple.

“Anyone who puts all their faith in another person is bound to get hurt,” he finished.

Somehow, his words didn’t make Kit feel any better.

Dean Barlowe was a tall, wiry man in blue jeans and a light blue polo. His hair was sparse, his glasses framed kind, brown eyes, and he seemed altogether unsophisticated for being a Barlowe. His wife, Selma, was petite, with an equally friendly smile, her olive complexion and dark eyes a pretty complement to Dean’s simplicity.

They welcomed Evan and Kit into the Barlowe home without any fanfare. The three-story brick mansion with its curved driveway and arched overhang was imposing. At its peak was an octagonal window, and Kit remembered as a little girl she was always afraid to stare at the attic window for fear she’d see the ghost of Rufus Barlowe peering down judgmentally at her. That was another Kipper’s Grove rumor—Rufus Barlowe’s ghost.

After the introductions had been made, Dean and Selma led Evan and Kit into the conservatory, which overflowed with ferns, palms, spider plants, and other greenery Kit couldn’t identify. It was an insect’s paradise.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, aware she was looking for six-legged cuties. Yet she knew this wasn’t an insect conservatory. It wasn’t as though the people of Kipper’s Grove were never allowed access to the Barlowe mansion. At one point in its history, when Kit had been in elementary school, they’d offered paid tours. So she’d been here before, although that was years ago.

But she’d never been to the attic window, where Rufus Barlowe was said to appear on occasion and judge Kipper’s Grove below.

Dean pointed to a gold-framed watercolor on the wall. “Selma painted that!” He gave a proud smile, showing the gap between his two front teeth.

Selma nodded shyly.

Evan studied the painting, a hummingbird hovering over a red flower. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

Selma laughed lightly. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder.”

Dean stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Barlowes past would roll in their graves if they saw Selma and me. We like to frequent art fairs and craft shows and flea markets. Nothing pompous or lofty like the late Barlowes.”

Kit felt herself relaxing in their presence. Just the name Barlowe brought with it an element of historical impetus that was intimidating. Had she met Dean and Selma at a craft fair, she would never have pegged them to be part of the distinguished Barlowe family.

“I’m guessing you want to see the basement?” Dean asked.

Evan looked surprised, and he shot Kit a quick glance. “I, uh . . .”

So the self-assured Evan Fischer could be at a loss for words! Kit reveled in this for the brief moment that it came and went.

Dean looked between them expectantly. “I assumed so, what with the show you’re filming and then Madison Farrington’s disappearance. I half expected the cops to come here, but they haven’t yet.”

Selma swatted her husband’s arm. “I told you that you should call them.”

“Do you know something about Madison?” Kit felt a twinge of hope rise within her.

Dean haphazardly waved toward the hallway just past the sliding pocket doors of the conservatory. “Not specifically, no. But it’s no Kipper’s Grove secret that my great-grandfather Rufus Barlowe is said to have built a secret passageway between this house and the theater.”

“Did he?” Evan flat-out asked, and for once, Kit didn’t mind his bluntness.

Selma tucked her dark hair behind her ear and answered, “We honestly don’t know.”

“I’ve wondered myself,” Dean admitted. “I’ve even gone over the old blueprints for the place. Spent some time knocking on the walls in the basement to see if I heard any hollow spaces. And with Madison just vanishing the way she did, it sure did get my curiosity going again.”

Selma offered Dean a loving and patient smile. “He’s been down there the past several days, poking around, trying to see if we can put this family mystery to rest once and for all.”

Dean reached over to pick off a dead leaf from one of the plants. “And to see if we can help find Madison,” he added. “She’s always been a champion of my family’s theater and the history of Kipper’s Grove. Considering her grandfather is Al Farrington.”

“You don’t like him?” Evan inquired.

Dean dropped the dead leaf into an empty pot on the floor. “Oh, it’s not that I don’t like him. He’s a businessman, and I can’t fault him for that. Honestly, he’s not much different from my great-grandfather Barlowe. To progress, you typically have to step on people to get there.”

“Or on history,” Selma provided.

“Or on history.” Dean nodded. He then snapped his fingers. “Now, let me show you what I’ve been doing in the basement.”

With a glance between them, Evan and Kit followed Dean and Selma from the conservatory, along a back hallway, and down a wooden staircase that led to the basement level.

“I think I’m beginning to really not like basements,” Kit murmured as she stepped onto the cold floor. The cinder-block walls were cool to the touch. The air smelled as if history had been trapped here and decaying for over a century.

“We got a new water heater and furnace installed about two years ago.” Dean pointed to the appliances as they passed. “The spot I’ve been checking out is over here.” He led them through a long empty room that looked like it might have once stored coal, then on into another cavernous, windowless room.

Selma gestured toward the wall that had a wooden framework built against it. “We thought perhaps that structure was shelving at one time designed to disguise a hollow area.”

“The entire wall looks like it’s made of block?” Evan squatted near it to get a closer look.

“That’s what it seems,” Dean agreed. “A few years ago, we brought a GPR down here to see what we could find.”

“A what?” Kit asked.

“Ground penetrating radar,” Selma said.

Dean continued, “It’s like an X-ray machine that can take photos of the layers of earth. If there’s an anomaly, it will show on the picture by way of a gap, shadow, or even a coloration. A GPR is often used to locate unmarked or lost graves.”

“Archaeologists like to use them,” Selma added.

“Did you find anything?” Evan didn’t appear too hopeful, and Kit assumed if they had, Dean would have led with that.

“That’s the odd part,” Dean admitted. “There was a section behind the wall that appeared as though it might’ve been a void at one time. But it wasn’t large enough to be a tunnel. It was more the size of where my great-grandfather Barlowe housed a vault.”

“We never went any further to investigate,” Selma explained, rubbing her bare arms against the damp chill of the basement. “While it intrigued us, there wasn’t any motivation to demolish the wall.”

It would have been enough of a motivation for Kit! She didn’t express her thoughts out loud, however. But a hidden vault? Why not tear down the wall?

“But I got to thinking just yesterday,” Dean went on, “what if the vault was like a decoy for the passageway?”

“How so?” Evan frowned.

“If there was a vault, one wouldn’t think to look beyond it. But what if we were to get inside—assuming that’s what the void area is from the GPR—and we find that the back of the vault’s wall is false?”

“You mean the entrance to a passageway?” Evan pressed his lips together and nodded. “It’s not unrealistic.”

“No. It’s not.”

“But if that’s the case,” Kit couldn’t help but interject, “and Madison somehow got sucked away into this supposed secret passageway, then the only way for her to get out is the way she came in. Through the theater. Since this wall is blocking any old entrance.”

“And?” Selma pressed gently, sensing Kit was leading somewhere with her train of thought.

“And that means Madison is trapped inside the passageway for some reason, or she’s not in it to begin with.”

“If she’s trapped inside—” Evan began.

“She’s starving to death,” Dean finished. “Assuming there’s enough oxygen flow in and out.”

Kit’s body tensed. This whole scenario sounded farfetched and ridiculous. “But for Madison to have been abducted, whoever took her somehow had to get her out of the basement without any of us seeing or hearing it. Impossible,” Kit concluded.

“Unlikely,” Evan corrected.

“Okay. So assuming this passageway exists,” Kit continued, “the other option is that someone shoved her inside and locked her in. Yet no one’s found any evidence of the entrance to the theater, which means Madison has been in an underground tunnel that goes from the mansion to theater for more than a week now?”

“What would that someone’s motive be?” Dean questioned.

“Motive?” Kit squawked without intending to. “Who cares about a motive? We’re talking about Madison being trapped in an old secret passageway like some Nancy Drew novel, only in this real-life story she’s without food and water. And we can’t find her!”

“Kit.” Evan stood from his bent position by the wall.

She could feel the panic and the disbelief coursing through her. She wanted to grasp on to reason, only there was nothing reasonable about this theory. In fact, it was a load of poppycock—if she could steal an old-fashioned word to replace a more current expression. “Don’t Kit me!” She scowled at Evan.

Dean and Selma had grown respectfully quiet.

Evan approached Kit, and she lifted her hands in warning. “Don’t,” she commanded.

Evan reached for her.

“I said don’t. Don’t touch me, Evan.” Kit shrugged him off. “A human being doesn’t just vanish into thin air. If Detective Seamans is right, someone took Madison or else she ran off herself for some odd reason. If you all are right”—Kit swept her arm around the room—“then Madison is stuck in a wall! She’s probably dead by now. Or almost.” Kit’s words cut off in a gasping sob. “How is this helpful to Madison? To anyone? How do we find—?”

The sob that sucked the words from her cut off her breath as well. Evan didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, pulling her to his chest.

Kit wasn’t prepared for the show of tenderness. She wasn’t prepared to feel Selma’s comforting hand rubbing her back.

Evan’s embrace was too nice of a place to be. The comfort he sought to give her was empty considering what Madison was potentially suffering.

Kit tried to pull away. Evan let her step back, but he kept his hands on her arms, drilling his blue eyes deep into hers with a familiarity she wasn’t sure he had earned in the short time they’d known each other.

“Deep breaths, Kit, deep breaths,” he coached.

Selma hadn’t stopped rubbing her back, and for a weird moment, Kit was thankful for her presence. It was calming.

“This is why we came here,” Evan reassured Kit. “To find answers.”

“I don’t like these answers,” Kit whimpered, wiping at the tears that stained her face.

“None of us do,” Dean asserted. He went over and picked up a sledgehammer leaning against the wall. “So let’s get to work.”