Thursday, Late Morning
Harrington House
Molly held up a package of spinach. “Did we get enough for the frittatas?” Molly and Elise had just returned from the market and were unloading their purchases.
“Yes. That’s plenty.” Elise opened the refrigerator and added the two dozen eggs, butter, and other supplies.
Molly stopped midreach to hand Elise the vegetable bag.
Elise grabbed the bag out of her hand. “What?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I thought I heard a thump like something fell.”
“Molly?”
“Shh.” Molly put her forefinger in front of her lips, walked into the butler’s pantry, and listened. She heard a shuffle.
Elise followed. “I heard that,” she whispered.
Molly pointed to the basement door. “I think someone is in the basement. Was Kevin’s truck parked over by the barn?”
“No. He’s working in Georgetown today.”
Molly raised her voice, “Hey Elise, didn’t we buy some strawberries?”
“Uh. Yeah. They look fantastic, too,” Elise answered loudly.
Molly stepped into the kitchen and opened and closed the refrigerator door. “Okay, we’re all done here. I’m going upstairs to dust the rooms.”
Molly picked up the marble rolling pin and took a short practice swing.
“What if it’s the prowler from the other night?” Elise’s eyes widened. “Are you going down there?” she whispered.
Molly nodded.
Elise’s eyes darted around the kitchen, resting on her brand-new sauté pan. She picked it up and said, “Well, I’m finished, too. I’m going home.” She opened and closed the back door.
Elise followed Molly into the butler’s pantry, where Molly slowly turned the basement doorknob. The door opened with a creak, and they cringed. Molly glanced back at Elise and then flipped on the stairwell light. The soft yellow glow illuminated a faint spotlight on the concrete floor below. Molly took a deep breath, and, holding the rolling pin in a striking position, she slowly descended the stairs one step at a time, with Elise close behind. Molly’s heart raced with each cautious step down the narrow basement stairs.
Molly stopped when she reached the bottom. Across the room, light drifted in through small, dusty, rectangular windows. In the dim light, Molly could see the hot water heater in the far-left corner and the workbench in front of her. In the large room to her right, shelving stored Christmas decorations and other household items, indicated by the labels in her mother’s scrawl. Boxes were stacked in the furthest corner. Molly thought she saw movement in that direction. Holding the rolling pin high, she quick-stepped across the room and pulled a string that hung from a bare lightbulb. Her heart jumped to her throat when a figure covered in a quilted moving tarp poked a head from behind the boxes. Elise screamed and ran at the tarp-covered being, her pan raised above her head.
“No-o-o-o,” a man’s voice croaked as he ducked, pulling the tarp over his head and crouching on the floor.
Molly ran at him, the rolling pin ready to strike.
“Please don’t hit me,” he yelled. “It’s me. Tommy.”
Grabbing the edge of the quilt, Molly pulled it away. He stood, his hands held high, gripping a flashlight. His hair fell across his forehead, and he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light.
Molly shook the rolling pin at him, and her voice quivered with anger. “Why in the hell are you hiding under a tarp in my basement?”
“Yeah,” Elise said. “That’s trespassing—sort of.”
His palms patted the air in a “stay back” motion. “I-I’m sorry, but I heard you coming, and I panicked.”
Molly poked him in the belly with the tip of the rolling pin handle. “You’re one of those,” she growled.
“Ow.” He grabbed his stomach and took a step backward, dropping the flashlight. “One of what?”
Elise held up the silver pan, and he took another step backward, tripped over the tarp, and fell against the concrete wall. “Don’t pretend with us,” she said. “We’ve got your number.”
He put his hands flat against the wall to steady himself. “What number? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re either a reporter or you’ve read Aubrey’s book, and now you’re poking around searching for that damned secret room that doesn’t exist,” Molly accused. “You’re probably not a student at all.”
“I can explain.”
“Start talking,” Molly said.
He sneezed. “Can we please go upstairs? I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
***
Tommy sat across from Elise at the kitchen island while Molly paced.
“May I have a drink of water?” he asked. “It’s dusty down there.”
Molly grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap. This kid was seriously getting on her nerves.
She shoved the glass toward him, and water sloshed onto the counter. “There. Talk.”
Elise glared at him. “Are you an architectural student, or is that a lie, too?”
He shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“You just omitted a few things.” Molly continued to pace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
He glanced away. “I am a student at the University of Cincinnati. I can show you my college ID.”
“If you don’t tell me why you were poking around in my basement, I’m calling the cops.” Molly reached for the landline handset on the counter.
Tommy jumped to his feet. “Okay. Okay. Don’t call the cops.”
Elise reached across the counter and touched his arm. “So, Tommy. What’s going on?”
He took a deep breath and returned to his seat. “I grew up across the river. My grandmother told stories about her father and how he worked with the man who built this house. Whenever we drove by, she’d point her finger out the car window and say, ‘That house has a story.’”
Molly slid onto the stool next to Elise. “So, your great-grandfather was in business with my great-grandfather. Does that mean yours supplied the illegal moonshine that mine transported up and down the river on his boats?”
Tommy gave a quick nod. “My mom’s friend gave her Aubrey Rhodes’s book for her birthday. She said that the story sounded very similar to our family’s story. My mom kind of freaked out a little.”
“I understand how she feels,” Molly muttered.
“Then the author gets killed, and my mom really flips out. I told her I’d see what I could find out.”
Elise’s eyes narrowed. “So, you thought you’d trot right over and look around for yourself.”
He shrugged. “Something like that. I should have thought that through a little more.”
Elise huffed, “Ya think?”
“But why would you think the secret room is anything but a figment of the author’s imagination?” Molly asked. Unless Aubrey talked to someone on that side of the river like he talked to my mother.
“Because my grandpa used to tell stories about coming to this house to pick up the money for his daddy’s shine. Perhaps someone told Aubrey that story, and he wrote about it.”
“That doesn’t mean there’s a secret room in my basement,” Molly said. “There is no evidence one ever existed.”
“Then why did someone kill Aubrey Rhodes if not to keep his secrets?” Tommy asked.
“Lots of reasons,” Molly said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Could’ve been his agent. He was getting replaced. He had at least one visitor after the party that night, and he was overall not a very nice person, so someone cracked his skull with a champagne bottle.”
Elise looked at Molly wide-eyed. “You think George killed him?”
Molly shook her head and raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I don’t know. He admitted going to Aubrey’s room after the visitor left but said Aubrey was dead when he arrived.”
“He just left him there and didn’t call for help?” Elise asked. “And you’re just now telling me this?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just so much with Aubrey’s murder, the canceled reservations, the trespassers, the annoying media, Metzner, and his stupid construction. Now,” she directed her heated gaze at the young man across from her, “… you’re poking around my basement searching for a nonexistent secret room full of illegal hooch.”
“I’d still like to speak to your brother,” Tommy said. “He did the renovations, correct?”
“Yes, mostly.”
“And I’d like to see the plans.”
“Why should I do that?” Molly asked. “You misrepresented yourself, and we caught you sneaking around in my basement.”
“Besides the personal aspect of my visit, I’m working on a certificate in historic preservation.” He glanced at Elise and back to Molly. He raised his eyebrows, forming a furrow between them.
Molly closed her eyes and shook her head. Even though she was still ticked at him, if he knew anything about the possibility of a secret room, it would be worth putting up with him for a few days. Besides, that pleading puppy-dog look got her every time. “All right. I’ll call him.”