30
Kit
OCTOBER, PRESENT DAY
“You told Detective Seamans about the possible hidden passageway?” Kit asked as she and Evan hiked their way from the theater toward the Barlowe mansion on the other side of the street.
“Of course. I said Seamans wouldn’t have either the time or a reason to investigate it. I never said I was hiding anything from him. I would’ve been irate if I were the investigator and wasn’t kept aware of what was going on.”
Kit hurried to keep up. “That makes sense. But did you know they’d found that note from Madison?”
“No.” Evan’s feet hit the sidewalk in front of the Barlowe mansion. “I’d just filled him on what we found with Dean and Selma Barlowe. The growing possibility that there might be a passageway after all. He said he planned to go back to the theater and look into it again.”
Kit put out a hand to stop Evan. “What about Heather and Tom?”
“What about them?”
“Aren’t they supposed to be filming this? Finding Madison? Won’t you get in trouble with the show?”
Evan grimaced. “Don’t worry about the show, Kit. Heather’s a big girl. The producer can work with her just as much as I can. She doesn’t need me there to film everything. Right now, I don’t have any desire to be near her or the crew.”
“She wouldn’t like to hear you say that.”
“Then we won’t tell her, will we?” Evan started for the mansion again.
Kit followed, adjusting her glasses that had slipped down her nose. “Why are we going to the mansion?”
They’d reached the vast porch of the mansion with its brick pillars and heavy stone planters, red impatiens and vinca vines trailing down their sides. Evan climbed the stairs toward the ornate front doors.
“Dean and his crew have been working all night to try to expose the vault—assuming his theory is correct.”
Kit pulled back. “Evan, wait. You said they had a prior engagement, which was why we left yesterday evening and didn’t keep excavating.”
Evan had the decency to look sheepish. “Detective Seamans felt it was best if you weren’t there. You realize you’ve hardly slept or eaten this week? You needed rest.”
“So you lied to me?” Kit stared at him.
Evan shook his head. “No. I . . .” He reached for her, but she sidestepped him.
“Yes, you did. While they were trying to find Madison, you had me relaxing by the campfire?”
“I was trying to help you, Kit. I was following Seamans’s orders. I was—”
“It’s not your place to protect me.” Kit’s throat was thick as tears threatened to spill over. She knew Evan could see them in her eyes. She remembered waking up against his chest. The smell of his sweatshirt. The feel of his protection last night at the pantry. But as was typical with most people, there was a limit to their loyalty. “Loyalty doesn’t include lies,” Kit stated.
“We just wanted to keep you safe and help you rest,” Evan said helplessly. He didn’t apologize. He offered justification instead.
Kit gave a little laugh. “Well, that backfired on you both. Instead, I got assaulted and almost strangled to death.”
“Not funny.” Evan’s expression darkened. He heaved a sigh and took a few steps toward the mansion’s door, then stopped and turned to face her. “Look, I overstepped. I see that now.”
“Yeah. You did.” Kit pressed her lips together to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not Heather. I’m not a show. I’m not a ghost. I don’t need debunking, Evan Fisher, and I don’t need you to prove me wrong or step in and direct the course of events. Between you and my dad, I feel like I’m back to being a juvenile who can’t make her own decisions.”
“Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”
“Thank you.” Kit lifted her chin and moved to pass him.
Evan’s voice halted her. “So how does a guy protect a woman he cares for if he can’t stop her when he sees her careening toward danger because he’ll be accused of being heavy-handed or dominating or a liar?”
Kit stared at him.
Evan stared back.
“My delivery might be off, Kit, but doesn’t the intent of the heart mean anything? Doesn’t the fact that I’m trying my best to keep you safe mean anything?”
His words sliced into her with a truth that hurt. “You barely know me,” she whispered.
Evan nodded. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care, that I don’t want to help and protect you. Remember that. Please,” he added. Then he lifted the iron knocker on the door and brought it down.
“You lied to me.”
Before Evan could reply, the door swung open, and Selma beckoned them inside. Her eyes were bright with anticipation and excitement. “Come in! Come in!”
“How’s it going?” Evan’s ability to shift from the tense conversation to a polite friendliness as they followed Selma’s petite frame into the mansion both impressed and unnerved Kit.
He wasn’t entirely wrong in his assessment. The current culture wasn’t fond of men who took leadership over a woman. She wasn’t fond of men who assumed such leadership, and yet part of her wanted that. That hero to step in and navigate difficult circumstances for her. At the same time, she felt the need to hold men—even her dad—at a distance to protect herself. From them. From loving them. Not that she even remotely loved Evan, but still—he was someone she could potentially see herself with, and that thought terrified her. It was the ultimate vulnerability, the relationship between a man and a woman. Two separate people with separate minds and wills and roles. So did Evan have the right to mislead her in order to protect her? No. But his intentions of protecting her spoke of something she was almost more afraid of. Being cared for. Being led. Because if he cared, she could easily sink into that offer of security. Her roots had taught her security was tenuous at best. What happened if and when he misled her? What happened if she lost her identity in him and then lost him altogether? She would be who she was at birth. Without an identity, without someone to depend on . . .
She would be lost.
She was better off alone. She could forgive Evan’s errors in judgment, but she was still better off alone.
Selma was leading them down a hall, and her talking jerked Kit from her tumultuous thoughts.
“We’re almost through the wall. The team had to shore up the foundation before we could completely break through,” Selma explained over her shoulder.
Evan had obviously been affected by their conversation on the mansion’s porch. His reply was softer, more sober. “Detective Seamans wanted some of his men here.”
“And your film crew is here too,” Selma inserted. “I’m not sure about your cohost . . . Heather? And Dean and I asked some of our friends to help out.”
Selma gave Kit a bright smile, unaware of the churning in Kit’s gut.
All night. All night they’d been working on the wall while she’d been kept away.
Evan motioned for her to hold back. He caught Selma’s attention. “We’ll be right behind you. Can we have a minute?”
Selma looked between them and nodded kindly. “Of course.” She stepped away, leaving Evan and Kit at a standoff.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know the film crew was here. I wasn’t hiding that from you too. But really, I’m sorry.”
They were the words she’d wanted to hear.
Evan continued, “But I’m not sorry for wanting to keep you safe. For wanting you to rest so you don’t relapse. You’d been assaulted, you’re still dealing with a concussion, and your parents were worried. They told me you don’t slow down. Detective Seamans said the same. I was—”
“You were everyone’s tool to get me to rest,” Kit said.
“I don’t know if you see it, Kit, but there are a lot of people who care about you. You give your all to the ones you love, but have a hard time receiving the same in return.”
“Because I’m afraid it’s not going to stick,” Kit answered before she realized what she’d said.
Evan frowned, studying her face. “Kit—”
“It’s okay.” She pressed her fingertips to his arm in a gesture of truce. “Let’s just . . . move forward.”
“Yeah. Forward.”
She pushed ahead of Evan, feeling his eyes on her back.
Selma was around the corner waiting, and she led them to the basement, this time going a different way through a back room that housed cleaning supplies and shelves with paint cans and odds and ends. She opened a door to a narrow flight of stairs and started to descend, Evan and Kit close on her heels.
Kit took quick stock of the room they’d entered. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling to deter the flow of dust. Two men in dirt-encrusted jeans and boots worked alongside Dean. The television crew had set up a strategic light for filming. Tom and another camera operator were manning cameras. Heather wasn’t there, but another man from the show, obviously in charge, stood off to the side and motioned for Evan the minute he caught sight of him.
Dean’s voice echoed through the basement. “Okay, we’re going to bust through!”
The next few moments were dusty and loud, and then silence enveloped them all.
“Holy cow,” Selma breathed beside Kit.
Dean stood with his hands at his waist, elbows out as he turned wide eyes toward his wife. “We found it.”
Beyond the debris, a vault was framed into the wall. Its door was cracked open about an inch and sagged on hinges that were rusted from years of neglect.
“Barlowe’s vault,” Dean declared. He blew out a controlled breath of anticipation and glanced at Evan. “Here we go.” Pulling on the vault door, it groaned a metallic protest. Even the hired workers leaned forward to see what was inside. Selma stepped toward her husband.
Kit moved beside Evan merely because it would give her a better line of sight. He glanced at her, and she looked away. She’d figure out how she felt about everything later.
Tom edged up next to her, camera positioned in his hands.
Dean snapped on a flashlight and flooded the inside of the vault with light.
“It’s empty,” Selma announced.
“Wait.” Dean aimed the flashlight. “Are those ledgers?” He leaned into the vault and pulled out a stack of black books. Selma held the light as Dean gingerly opened the cover of the book on top, its binding crumbling a bit. He skimmed the first page. “They’re transactions, I think. Varying amounts of monetary exchanges for . . .” He lifted shocked eyes. “Uh, looks like Barlowe was involved in some serious smuggling.”
“Liquor?” Selma asked.
“Maybe. Lots of illegal things, it seems.” Dean flipped to the back of the ledger. “There’s a list of names here. Probably buyers or sellers. Most of them are out of Chicago.”
“What year did Barlowe build the theater?” Evan asked.
“Back in 1915,” Dean supplied. “It would’ve been before the height of gangsters like Capone, but there are historical records in Kipper’s Grove that Capone stayed in town a number of times.”
“Barlowe could’ve been involved in that type of thing later,” Evan concluded. “This could have all been the beginning.”
“Could be.” Dean handed Selma the books and swung his light back into the vault. “There’s nothing else in here.” He ducked to step inside, raising the beam of light into the corners and around the back of the vault. “Hold on. What’s this?” Dean waved for Evan to come inside.
Evan glanced at Kit, and she avoided his eyes.
“What’d you find?” Evan asked as he entered the vault, his voice echoing in the box.
Dean was shining his light along the back wall of the vault. “See there? There’s a thin crack all along the top and sides. It’s not a seam—it’s definitely a crack.”
“Vaults don’t have cracks,” Evan said.
“Exactly.” Dean handed Evan the flashlight. “Which means, if my theory is correct, this back is moveable.” He tried pressing on different parts of the wall, pushing with his shoulder to see if it would give way.
“What about this?” Evan reached up into a corner and out of sight of Kit.
There was a loud clank, followed by a cloud of dust. Groaning of metal on metal echoed through the basement, and those outside the vault took an instinctual step back.
Once again, there was a moment of stunned silence. And then Dean’s exclamation ripped through the group huddled outside the vault. “And that, folks, is what a secret passageway looks like.”
“You’re gonna want to see this.” Evan’s words were directed at Kit, who held up her hand in front of the cameraman. He was far more intrusive than Tom with his handheld. The show’s manager tapped the guy on the shoulder and motioned for him to step back.
Dread filled Kit like none she’d experienced before. She should be excited, intrigued, if not a little exuberant. But every pore in her body was petrified to step foot in the century-old tunnel—and not because she was afraid it was going to collapse with age. No, she was afraid she was going to find Madison, and not in the way she hoped to find her friend.
“Hold on.” One of Dean’s hired hands stopped her. He was a few steps into the tunnel. He looked back at Dean and Evan. “We need to make sure this tunnel is sound. The last thing we want is it collapsing. We don’t know how well it’s supported.”
Okay. That was it. Enough was enough. Kit pushed her way in between Evan and Dean. Her feet landed on hard-packed earth and ahead of her was a tunnel just high enough and wide enough for a full-grown man to traverse. Some pipework ran along the edge, for what she had no clue. Every several yards or so there appeared to be a structural support.
“I’m not waiting any longer,” she stated. “If Madison is in here, I’m going to find her.”
“Kit!” Evan barked after her as she started into the tunnel. She heard him scrambling in behind her.
A light shone ahead of her, which jolted Kit into awareness that her impulse was iffy considering she’d charged into the tunnel without a light. She looked behind her. Evan was following. The workman had stepped back into the vault and was arguing with Dean about anyone being allowed in.
Kit paused because, frankly, she needed Evan and his light. He glared at her with frustration, then turned to address Dean. “Just give me a minute with Kit and—”
The back of the vault, which had turned out to be a hinged door that opened out and into the tunnel, suddenly shifted. Due to its heavy weight, the door swung back toward the vault. Dean shouted. The workman reached out to stop it. There was a scream from Selma, and then the door slammed back into place.
Evan launched toward the door, looking for a way to open it from inside the tunnel. “Hold the light!” He waved the flashlight at her.
Kit grabbed the flashlight and held it as Evan examined the door. There were no latches, no levers on this side.
“Dean!” he shouted.
They could hear Dean from the other side, a distant echo, but they couldn’t make out the words.
“Twist the bolt and lever at the top right of the wall!” Evan shouted, then pressed his ear against the vault.
Kit looked behind her down the passageway. It smelled earthy and old. Spiderwebs swooped from the ceiling along the edges.
Evan cursed and slammed his palm against the vault. “The bolt, Dean! The bolt!”
“Why isn’t it opening?” Kit was already starting to feel claustrophobic.
Evan shot her an intense glare. “Because I was the one who opened it. There are bolts on the inside of the vault that appear to be part of the structure. One of them twists when you push on the frame just so, and it releases the latch.”
“So Dean can—”
“I didn’t get a chance to show him. He wasn’t watching me when I opened it.”
“If you figured out, they can figure it out.” Kit tried to reassure herself as much as Evan.
He gave her a dark look illuminated by the flashlight, his face a bit ghoulish. “Let’s hope.”
“Do we just wait then?”
“You want to wait now?” The irony in his words were thick. “You charged ahead without thinking, Kit.”
He was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Then he’d make the point that this was exactly why he’d done what he’d done last night. To protect her—because she didn’t protect herself.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t appreciate people making judgment calls on my behalf.”
Evan’s exasperated expression summed up what he had to be feeling. “You’re a concussed, half-strangled, exhausted woman. Exhibit A, we’re trapped in an underground tunnel. So really? You’re thinking clearly?”
She had the flashlight. He didn’t. Kit hesitated a moment, then started down the passageway.
“Kit, hold on!”
“What if Madison is in here? We need to find her!”
“Just go easy.” Evan was right behind her, and she could feel him as he brushed against her shoulder.
They headed slowly down the tunnel. The flashlight shone ahead and disconcertingly revealed an area of earth that had collapsed and partially blocked the way forward.
“See?” Evan’s comment was unnecessarily smug.
Kit didn’t answer. She squeezed around it while hearing Evan stammering behind her.
“Evan—” She stopped. She’d caught sight of color ahead. There wasn’t supposed to be something that looked red in a tunnel over a century old.
Kit increased her pace, her heart pounding.
“What is that?” Evan had caught sight of it too.
“Madison?” Kit called, breaking into a jog. Her foot caught a rut in the ground, and she almost catapulted forward. Evan caught her around the waist, pulling her back against him.
His breath was warm against her ear. “Slow down, Cat. You’re gonna cause an accident.”
“But Madison—”
“Kit. If that’s Madison . . .” His words hung there, and Kit caught on to their meaning.
“Madi!” Kit cried. She launched forward, tearing from Evan’s hold. The flashlight bobbed ahead of her, catching the color of red near the ground. Madison was lying prone. She had to be.
Except as Kit drew closer, it quickly became apparent the red was merely cloth. No person. No body. Just a shirt. Brilliantly red, in a remarkably black passageway.
Kit bent, shining the flashlight to study the cloth. Evan kneeled behind her. She could hear him breathing, and it matched hers.
In. Out. In. Out.
All the nervous anticipation melted into disappointment and then, as Kit reached for the shirt, morphed into utter horror.
“Evan?” Kit turned toward him in her cramped position, holding the shirt out. She met his eyes and knew he knew the moment he saw it. She didn’t have to say it, but she did anyway. “It’s Madison’s shirt. The same one she wore on the night she disappeared.”