214 Palmer Street(49)

Later that evening, watching a Lifetime movie with my mother, I mulled over my options. I could do nothing, stay at home, mind my own business, and keep an eye on the local news to see how this played out on its own.

Or, I could continue sneaking over there, watching to see what she found. In my heart, I knew I couldn’t stay away. My years of waiting were over.





TWENTY-SEVEN





Sarah had intended to put the shovel down and quit for the night, but after Phil left, a breeze picked up, driving away the mosquitoes, so she kept going. She shoveled until her back and shoulders ached, scooping up dirt and tossing it to the side. Periodically she stopped to stretch, then continued. She was getting close. When the shovel at last contacted metal, she felt the reverberation go up her arms.

Her reaction was not jubilation. Instead, a knot twisted in her stomach followed by a sense of dread. Part of her didn’t think she’d actually accomplish the task, and now she wondered if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. There were only two possible outcomes to opening up the shelter and neither one was appealing. Discovering a body would point the finger at Kirk as a murderer while finding it empty would prove nothing and she’d still be left wondering.

“Now what?” she muttered under her breath. It wasn’t too late to take a shower, pack her stuff and call an Uber to take her home. She could tell Kirk she’d had a mild breakdown. He’d be hurt, but glad she was back. Later, they’d laugh about it. Absolutely she could depart right now, but in her heart she knew leaving at this point didn’t make sense. She was so close. She needed to see this through.

Using the long edge of the shovel, she scraped dirt off the shelter doors, working around the handles in the middle. Finally, she knelt down. Brushing away the last of the soil as best she could, her hands encountered a thick padlock, the U-shaped shaft enclosing the two handles. Yanking on them only raised the doors slightly.

Sarah vaguely remembered her mother-in-law mentioning how Bert had locked up the bomb shelter, but she hadn’t envisioned it like this. She took the pickaxe and hit the lock, then recoiled at the sound and stopped. Anyone on the block could have heard that noise. She couldn’t keep banging on it like that. It would be best to cut it off. Getting up to a stand, she brushed the dirt off the front of her jeans, then went into the house, leaving her boots on the back porch.

Inside the garage, she pulled the toolbox off the shelf and her heart rose on finding a set of bolt cutters. Once she was back in the yard, she knelt down to cut through the lock. After ten laborious, frustrating minutes she only succeeded in making notches in the metal. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she sighed. Tomorrow would be better; she needed to give her arms a rest.

If it came to it, she could always ask Phil to come back and cut open the lock. She hated to involve him, but he did offer. It was a shame to quit when she was so close, but it wasn’t like she was going to go down below when it was dark anyway.

Decision made, she set the shovel and pickaxe off to one side and set the bolt cutters on top of the door. Time to go inside and take a shower. Hopefully she’d be able to get some sleep because tomorrow was going to be a momentous day.





TWENTY-EIGHT





Gavin made the usual call home to let Natalie know he’d be working that night. “Again?” she said. “Oh, babe, you’re way too dedicated. You need to learn to delegate.”

Delegate. If she only knew. “It’s not a matter of delegating.” Gavin glanced at the framed photo of the two of them on his desk. Taken during their honeymoon in the Bahamas, it was one of his favorites, chosen for the beachfront in the background and the admiring way she looked up at him. He continued, “You know we’re shorthanded. Chuck is still on vacation and Kalisha is on maternity leave until the end of the month. The rest of us are covering until they get back.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “Just come home as soon as you can.”

“I will,” he promised. “But don’t wait up. It might be late.”

After he’d hung up, he went to his gun safe and pulled out his personal handgun, along with his silencer, then locked up the safe. Unauthorized, but still deadly. He hoped he wouldn’t need the gun but being prepared never hurt. He’d been in law enforcement long enough to know anything could happen. He tucked both into a canvas bag, then shut down his computer, turned off the lights, and left his office, taking the bag, and locking the door behind him.

From the car, he called Clarice. “We need to talk,” he said.

“About what?”

“Your friend Kirk and his wife.”

She let out an aggravated sigh. “This will have to wait, Gavin. I’ve got company right now.” In the background he heard a man’s voice, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Tell lover boy to go home. This is important.”

“You’re becoming very needy,” she said, in a lighthearted flirtatious tone. “You’re going to have to get in line. I’m very popular.” He imagined her in some flimsy lingerie, sprawled seductively across her bed.

“Look, Clarice, I’m not kidding around here. I’m coming over.” Another squad car pulled into the adjacent parking space. He gave a nod to the officer, who nodded back before exiting the vehicle and heading into the building. “So you better tell your friend to leave or I’ll find an excuse to arrest you. I’m sure your neighbors would enjoy seeing you hauled out in handcuffs.”