Nine Lives (Lily Dale Mystery #1)(85)

It’s a secret . . .

Portal.





Chapter Eighteen


Bella leans further into the secret doorway, shining the flashlight’s beam down into the hole in the floor, into a vertical tunnel. A crude wooden ladder is built into wall, appearing to extend well beyond fifteen, maybe twenty feet—down past the first floor and into the bowels of the house.

She reaches into her pocket and feels around for the change from the ice cream cones. The key ring is there, and her phone, and Pandora’s scrunchy, and—

Some coins. She pulls one out, not caring whether it’s a penny or a quarter. She drops it into the hole and then listens for a sound.

It hits solid ground with a clank. So then this isn’t a hidden well. Nor is it a bottomless pit. It sounded like metal on stone—the basement floor?

The coin drop is immediately followed by a rustling sound that makes her skin crawl. As she leans forward, training the beam in search of glittering rodent eyes and wondering whether she can possibly force herself to climb down that ladder, something furry brushes against the back of Bella’s bare leg.

She cries out, nearly toppling into the pit, catching herself on the roughly sawed-off edge of the floor.

It’s only Chance the Cat, who for the first time in two days has left the crate with her babies.

Shaken, Bella watches the cat walk calmly past her and hop onto the ladder’s top rung. For a moment, she peers into the darkness, whiskers twitching. Then she deftly descends into the hole as if she’s done it thousands of times before.

She probably has, Bella realizes. It would explain how she manages to come and go without opening a locked bedroom door. Even a cat’s paw could probably depress the secret latch.

But where does the tunnel lead?

There’s only one way to find out.

Watching Chance stealthily slink into the darkness beyond the flashlight’s glow, Bella tries to convince herself to follow. Only the thought of Max and Jiffy stops her.

Well, not only that.

It would be stupid, perhaps even dangerous, to go down there alone.

This, too, will have to wait for Luther.

She clicks off the flashlight and crawls backward out of the closet, leaving the door ajar for the cat.

“Don’t worry, guys. She’ll be back soon,” she assures the mewing litter.

Having promised the same thing to her own offspring, she returns the flashlight to the nightstand drawer and steps out into the hall, locking the door behind her.

A glance down the hall shows that the door to the Piersons’ room remains closed, indicating that they haven’t left yet.

Sure enough, as she goes downstairs and is about to step into the parlor, she walks right into Steve coming around the corner from the opposite direction.

“Oops, sorry, there,” he says, reaching out to steady her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes—are you?”

“Still a little jumpy, I guess.”

She looks him in the eye. “Is that why you’re leaving?”

He seems taken aback. “Eleanor told you?”

“Yes. She’s upstairs, packing. She said your daughter is in labor back in Boston, but I’m guessing that might not exactly be the case. Did something else happen?” she asks. “To you or to her?”

He looks away and then back at her, and she realizes she’s hit the nail on the head. “You know, running scared isn’t something I’ve ever done in all my years on the job. I’ve had to deal with some tough issues. Unions, the community, state mandates, budget problems—I’ve always prided myself on facing them head on.”

“But now?” she prompts when he stops talking and fidgets.

“But now I’m out of my element. If someone tries to kill me or . . . or hurt my wife, then . . . then I may be tough, but I’m no fool. We’re not going to stick around here like sitting ducks.”

“What happened to Eleanor?”

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anything at all. Only that you were leaving because of your daughter.”

“And you didn’t believe her.”

“I wasn’t sure. What hap—” she starts to ask again.

And then it hits her.

The house is too still.

She’d left the boys in front of the television, but . . .

But now the TV is off.

And the boys . . .

“Max?” she calls abruptly. “Max!”

“He left,” Steve tells her. “He and his friend.”

“What?”

“They were just leaving when I came in.”

“What?” she says again and rushes toward the front door with Steve hurrying behind her. “Where were they going?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did they say anything about the playground?” she asks. “We were there earlier. They were looking for buried treasure.”

“That must be what they were talking about. I heard one of them mention treasure.”

Darn that Jiffy Arden. He might be a sweet kid, but he’s a terrible influence. Max would never have wandered outside alone before meeting him.

She pushes out onto the porch, hoping she’ll see the boys riding recklessly, perhaps even helmetless, on the street. As long as they’re here and in one piece . . .