Philip slipped into the back door of Jane Frey’s house onto a screened-in porch. The lock on the kitchen door took about two seconds to pick. He paused and listened. Silence. He took a step inside and shined his penlight around. Light bounced off copper pots hanging above an island cook top. He pushed through a swinging door into a breakfast nook. The dining room next to this was filled with unopened boxes. Books sprawled in the corner.
Coming to the house yesterday had been a risk, but worth it. He’d hoped to do a bit of reconnoiter, figure out where to look. Also to win her over, convince her there might be some risk of burglars. Older women who lived in small towns were usually easy to manipulate, but her background in big business had made her more sophisticated than he’d anticipated. Not that much, though. She knew about the Blake prints. He could tell by her response, but nothing more.
In the long living room he looked for a safe behind pictures and books. Nothing. Then he moved to a library, pushed all around the fireplace, but nothing moved to reveal a hidden nook. He checked behind pictures and more books, then made his way up the stairs, listening for any movement. The house remained silent.
Behind the door at the top he heard snoring—two sets of snores, in fact. Good. That little night cap always did the trick.
He moved down the hall, heard something. He turned back. A gleam of light reflected back at him. He moved the penlight and found a cat watching him. The cat remained still. Philip pushed open a door to a room directly above the library. A small bed, a box of toys.
In the next one he hit the jackpot. Paintings covered the walls. He moved closer. Looked like Blake to him. He’d done a crash course on the plane. He closed the door behind him and switched on the light. The door rattled. He looked down and saw a paw groping underneath. He opened the door before it could make any noise and the cat ran in, rubbed its chin on the corner of the room and sat to watch him.
Philip started snapping photos. He carefully set each sketch against a blank wall and took a picture. The cat pushed at the door, asking to leave. Philip opened it quickly before the calico’s request was verbalized, then shut it as the mottled haunches and straight tail vanished down the hallway. He heard singing in the distance. Probably a radio from a neighbor. He finished up the pictures, turned off the light, then heard the bedroom door down the hall open.
A woman’s voice said, “You’re supposed to protect me, you know.”
He stood stock still.
✬ ✬ ✬
Late in the night, something woke Jane. She lifted her head from the pillow and listened. Faint singing floated up from somewhere. A radio probably. She pulled a pillow over her ear and burrowed deeper, but sleep did not return. Wrapping up in her robe, she moved toward the sound, thinking maybe she’d left a window open, but the windows in the front bedroom that adjoined the one she was using were all closed tight.
She called Winston. “You’re supposed to protect me, you know.” He licked her hand as if in apology and walked down the hall in front of her. The sound grew more distinct. Was someone parked in her driveway listening to music? The door to Miss Essig’s room stood ajar. She pushed it open and the singing grew louder so that she could almost make out words. Maybe some drunk sat outside singing to the moon.
She walked over to the windows that faced the front of the house, but they were closed also. The other set looked out on the backyard. Closed. A half-moon lit the new garden. The rose bushes looked like a pencil sketch in the muted light. Suddenly Marvin burst from the walk-in closet.
Jane screamed.
Winston barked.
Suzie B ran in from the hallway to join him.
A tiny, dark shape dove under the bed. The cats followed in hot pursuit.
“You scared the crap out of me!” she scolded.
The mouse made a dash across the floor and squeezed behind the chest of drawers. The cats took up positions on each end, tails twitching, ears perked, ignoring her. Then she realized the singing had stopped. The car must have driven away.
How had a mouse gotten up here? Steeling herself for more rodents, she walked to the closet and nudged the door open the rest of the way. She’d expected it to be stuffed with Miss Essig’s old clothes, decade after decade of fashion, but instead she found bare wood. Except for a shadow in the corner.
Her hand groped for a light switch, but slide down a smooth wall.
“Winston,” she called.
Loud breathing announced his presence.
She swung her hand over her head. A string brushed her fingers. She tried to grab it, but missed. On the second attempt, she captured it and pulled. Harsh light from the bare bulb flooded the closet. She closed her eyes against the glare for a second, then squinted.
The dark shadow in the corner remained. A panel stood partly open. She’d thought the wall was just that—a solid wall. But there was an opening. Winston sat in the doorway, his head cocked. The singing had started again, softer this time. It was coming from behind the open panel.
Jane forced herself to move. She walked to the wall, pushed the panel all the way open and carefully looked inside. A narrow set of steps descended at a steep angle into darkness. The singing was even louder inside the stairwell. She didn’t know if she would fit inside. It was too steep for the dog, that was for sure, but the cats would have no trouble with it. At least the mystery of how the mouse had gotten in had been solved.
Jane ran back into her room and threw on sweats, laced up her running shoes, then rushed down to the kitchen and rummaged through a drawer. She finally found a flashlight in the corner of the pantry. She ran back upstairs with it and shined a beam of light down the steps. No cobwebs. It had been used recently. Or cleaned. And not by a rodent, but someone tall enough to clear the cobwebs. Steeling herself, she stepped into the narrow passage.
But what if she ran into an intruder? Thieves usually didn’t sing, but still. Jane backed out again and surveyed the room. A set of antique irons, heavy black metal, sat on a table next to the chaise lounge, serving as bookends. She picked one up and swung it in an arch. It would work. Jane made her way back to the closet, squeezed into the steps and started down. Her shoulders were too broad, so she angled her body and kept descending. Winston stuck his head through the opening and whined.
“Hush,” she whispered, then listened. The singing continued. It sounded like a rhythmic chant now.
What had Philip and Margaret said? That Miss Essig heard chanting? A shiver chilled Jane. She steeled herself and moved forward.
A few more steps and the flashlight faded. She hit it against her hand. A flicker, then nothing. “Damn,” she muttered. Wouldn’t you know the batteries would go dead? She tucked the useless plastic cylinder in her pocket.
Encased in the deep dark of the narrow staircase, Jane forced herself to keep descending. Her upper thighs, already aching from an afternoon of squatting in the garden, started to shake. A dank, moldy smell wafted up from below, making her appreciate the clean, dry scent of old wood. She kept going.
A few more steps and the dark greyed. On the next, her foot hit dirt. Mildew filled her nostrils. She lifted her face but no breeze touched her cheek. She must still be inside. She held up her hand and could just make out its shape.
Then she heard someone breathing. She froze. Her heart pounded. Damn, it was a burglar. Or worse. Lifting the iron in front of her, she took a step toward the sound. Then another. Her knee bumped into something dense and warm.
She screamed.
Winston barked.
“Oh, my God.” She reached out and found the solid shoulder of the bulldog. “You guys are going to scare me to death.”
Winston licked her hand.
“How did you get down here, anyway?”
As if in answer, Winston turned away from the secret stairway and headed into the darkness. She grabbed his collar and followed, slowing him down so she didn’t scrap her shins. He made his way through a lighter grey patch in the darkness. The texture of the floor changed from compacted dirt to concrete. Square shapes hunkered in the corner. She reached up and found another string. Flicked it. The washer and dryer gleamed stark white under the light from another bare bulb. She stood in the basement right next to where the laundry chute dumped out. Just beyond that, a set of stairs went up to the hallway near the small library.
Now that she could see, Jane walked back where she’d come from. Winston had led her through an opening between two overlapping walls. No wonder she hadn’t noticed it before. She went back through, the bulldog at her heels, and found Suzie B sitting at the bottom of the steps busily cleaning her face. It would seem the mouse had been dispatched.
Jane looked around for another light switch or a string hanging from an overhead bulb. Finding none, she moved so the light from the laundry room fell on the far wall. Only a thin beam of light made it through the opening, revealing paneled walls just like the ones in the closet upstairs. Did one of them pop open to provide access to yet another set of stairs or a passageway? Jane ran her hand over the wood, pressing at the joints. Nothing.
A cat rubbed against her leg. She reached down and found long fur. Marvin. She scratched behind his ear, grateful for another warm body. Then she leaned her head against the wood and listened. She thought she heard a scrape, then a murmur of what could be voices. She pushed against the panels more firmly. Nothing budged.
“Damn,” she whispered. It was too dark to really see anything. This would have to wait until morning.
Jane made her way back to the laundry room, then down the hallway that led to the greenhouse to the right. She lugged two large flower pots back and put them in front of the opening. Any intruder coming out from a secret panel in that wall would trip over the pots, making a clatter. She climbed up into the house and locked the door behind her. Then walked into the kitchen, put the flashlight on the counter and grabbed a pile of dishes which she propped against the door to the basement, then locked the new pet door she had installed. She’d hear if anyone tried to come in.
The clock on the stove read 3:33. Too early to stay up, but could she sleep after this? She thought about the herbal tea in the kitchen, but if she drank it, she’d sleep too late. Winston headed up to the bedroom and the cats bounded up behind him. Jane picked up the antique iron and followed. She went into Miss Essig’s room and closed the panel in the closet, locked the door to the room, then walked back to her bedroom, locking that door behind her as well. All three animals lounged on the bed watching, eyes shining. To them it was all a grand adventure.
✬ ✬ ✬
Philip waited until Jane was in the master bedroom and slipped down the stairs silently. He walked carefully through the long living room and out through the side porch, then jogged to his vehicle, watching for lights or cars. Once there, he emailed all his pictures to Coche, then headed to his hotel. He probably could grab a couple hours sleep before he got a response.