The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(83)
“So what are you saying?” I asked.
“That sometime between 1930 and now, someone was sent up to the attic to check out a roof leak, and discovered the staircase behind the wall, and then decided to hide a little doorway panel that gave access to the old stairwell.” She reached inside to the top step and pulled out an old paint can, its lid and handle flaky with rust. “I did find this, which is why I think the mural could have been painted before the door was made, and then the paint touched up with this. It’s only the background color, which makes me think the addition wasn’t made by the original artist.”
“Sumter,” I said. “Amelia told me that Sumter painted it for Hasell.”
“But why would they need a hidden door?” Jayne asked as we all moved forward to get a better look.
“I have no idea,” Sophie said.
My mother, who’d remained silent up to now, said, “Because whoever put it in wanted it to be kept a secret.” She stepped forward and stuck her head through the opening. “Is this where you found the cat?”
Rich Kobylt spoke from behind her. “Yes, ma’am—poor thing’s at the bottom of the stairs. His skull is crushed—either from falling down the stairs or . . .” He didn’t finish, but I knew all of our imaginations were working overtime. “I’m not a fan of cats, but that’s a heck of a way to go.”
“What else is down there?” she asked.
“Well, that’s the interesting thing,” Rich said, scratching the back of his head. “When I first went down there, it looked like the stairs ended at a cement wall. That’s when I saw the cat, and it about scared the britches off me.”
I didn’t remark how that wouldn’t have been too hard, considering how low they were hanging, and waited for him to continue.
“Anyway, I was about to come back up to get a bag for the cat bones, and that’s when I had this odd feeling, like a little voice almost, telling me to press against the wall where it ran alongside the steps. That’s how I found it—a little button. And when I pushed it, a door opened into the butler’s pantry downstairs. I went through it and closed it, and dang if you can tell it’s there even if you know it. Whoever built that really knew what they were doin’.”
I met my mother’s gaze. A little voice. Maybe a little girl’s voice. Maybe Hasell had wanted him to find it. Because it meant something.
“Maybe it was made for Hasell,” Sophie suggested.
I shook my head. “These steps are even steeper than the other ones. In her physical condition she couldn’t have gone up and down by herself. And she was bedridden for the last few years of her life.”
I turned back to Rich. “And there’s nothing else?” I pressed, wishing this discovery had yielded more information.
He looked a little sheepish. “I didn’t really have much chance to look. That cat scairt me a little, so as soon as I popped through that door in the butler’s pantry, I came got Dr. Wallen-Arasi. But from the looks of it there’s just a bunch of wooden stairs—and be careful on them, too. Some of them are warped from moisture. Easy to catch your foot on one.”
As soon as he finished speaking, I realized that Jayne was still humming and hadn’t said anything for a while. I faced her, noticing her skin was a washed-out gray, accentuating her dark roots beneath the blond hair. “What’s wrong . . .” I started to ask before I followed her gaze behind me.
Clustered around the old doorframe, a thick, moving mass of buzzing flies swelled and swayed, their sound suddenly noticeable. We watched in mute fascination as they formed themselves into a ball, then flew into the stairwell and out of sight.
Sophie reached the opening first and peered down. “They’re gone,” she said. “I don’t know where or how, but they’re gone.”
A loud thump sounded behind me and I turned to find Jayne sprawled on the floor in a dead faint, her fall broken by a pillow from the bed that I didn’t remember seeing there before. I looked toward the window at the setting sun, and felt the cold air on my back just as the rotting smell of dead flesh crept up from the blackened stairway.
CHAPTER 24
Iwalked slowly down the stairs at my house on Tradd Street, listening to the reassuring ticking of the grandfather clock in the quiet house. I’d just settled a reluctant Jayne into her bed with an Advil PM, and the twins were already tucked into their beds. They were supposed to be asleep, but I heard Sarah babbling. To whom, I wasn’t sure. Nola and her friend Lindsey were holed up in Nola’s bedroom studying for an AP American history exam the following day.
When I’d gone up to the girls earlier to deliver a plate of sugar-free carob-chip cookies, I surreptitiously checked for any sign of a Ouija board, and had been satisfied that it hadn’t been brought back into our house.
Jack was at his desk in the front room, surrounded by haphazard stacks of paper, making my fingertips itch, and jotting notes on his yellow lined notepad. He looked up as I approached. “How is Jayne?”
“Fine. More embarrassed than anything. She thinks she was holding her breath too long, and that’s why she fainted. It’s funny, though. . . .” My voice trailed away as I thought back to the attic room and the hidden steps.
“What’s funny?” Jack prompted.