Never Lie (13)

Anyway, it’s just me and Ethan here. Yes, I want to look my best for my husband, but we’ve been married for six months now. He understands I can’t look absolutely perfect all the time. I mean, I’m sure he understands that. Even though he always looks frustratingly perfect.

When I emerge from the bathroom, I notice yet another bookcase tucked behind the stairwell. Geez, Dr. Adrienne Hale sure liked books. Most of the bookcases in the house seem to be related to psychiatry or psychology. All stuff about the human mind, anyway. But this bookcase is different. This one is filled with paperback novels—guilty pleasures.

I scan the rows of books, searching for something that might entertain me if we’re stuck here for much longer. I try to imagine the psychiatrist with the intense green eyes curled up with a Danielle Steel novel—I can’t do it. I’m not much of a romance fan either. But she has a few Stephen King novels that are more my speed. And they’re long and engaging.

I’ve already read all the Stephen King books on her shelves, but I wouldn’t mind rereading a few classics. And anyway, I won’t be here long enough to finish it, so there’s no point starting something new. First, I pick up the copy of It, but I practically sprain my wrist getting it off the shelf—this one might be a bit long if we’re only spending one night. Finally, I decide on The Shining—one of my favorites—and I tip the book out to swipe it from the shelf.

Except it doesn’t come out.

I pull harder on the book, but only the top of it comes free. The bottom seems wedged in place. And when I move the top of the book, I hear a loud click. And the bookcase shifts slightly.

What the…?

I glance over my shoulder. Ethan is nowhere in sight. He’s probably still fiddling with the heat. I peer around the side of the bookcase—it’s shifted away from the wall. I tug on the side of it, and a concealed door swings out towards me. I blink a few times, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

It’s a secret room.





Chapter 8


The room is completely dark inside, but it feels small. About the size of the walk-in closet upstairs. I squint into the dark space, trying to get my eyes to adjust.

I take another step and something smacks me in the face. At first, I think it must be a spiderweb, but then I realize it’s a cord. I feel around for a moment, trying to grab it. Then my finger makes contact. I tug on the cord and there’s another click as a single bulb illuminates the room.

My eyeballs bulge as I take in the contents of the room.

I was right about the size of the room. It’s about the same dimensions as a walk-in closet. Part of me had been scared I might find a dead body stashed in here, but no. The room is filled with more bookcases—wedged into every available space. But these bookcases don’t contain books.

They are lined with cassette tapes.

There must be—God, I don’t even know—thousands of them. And each one is labeled the same way—a set of initials, followed by a number, followed by a date. The dates seem to go back almost ten years, and there are dozens of different initials. The row in front of me is labeled with the initials PL. Those were the same initials of the main subject featured in Dr. Hale’s smash bestselling book, The Anatomy of Fear—could it be the same person? Are these tapes PL’s private sessions?

And there’s one tape that’s labeled differently. It’s stuck at the end of one of the rows and all it has is one word in big capital letters:

LUKE

The name jogs my memory slightly. Luke. Was that the name of the boyfriend that they thought had killed Adrienne Hale? It was years ago that the whole thing was splashed all over the front page of every newspaper and on every single news channel. The disappearance of Dr. Adrienne Hale.

I wonder if the police knew about this hidden room.

Vaguely, I hear Ethan calling my name. He’s probably got the heater going. I’m sure he’s wondering why it’s taking me so long in the bathroom. I don’t have a reputation for being quick in the bathroom, but this is slow, even for me.

“Just a minute!” I yell.

Impulsively, I grab one of the many PL tapes from one of the shelves and stuff it into my coat pocket. Then I yank on the cord hanging from the ceiling and the room is plunged back into darkness. I step out of the room and as I shove the bookcase back into place, I hear a reassuring click. When I step back now, I can’t tell the hidden room is even there.

I hurry back into the living room, where Ethan is standing in front of the sofa. He’s grinning ear to ear, and he’s got a bottle of wine dangling from his right hand. “I got the heat going!”

I shiver. “It’s still freezing in here.”

“Well, it’s going to take a little time to heat such a gigantic space.” He nods pointedly at the massive living area. I’d like to point out to him that if we moved in here, our heating bills would be astronomical, but Ethan’s got enough family money that he doesn’t worry about that sort of stuff. “Did you find the bathroom all right?”

“Yes.”

I shove my right hand into my deep coat pocket and feel the rectangular shape of the cassette tape I stole from the hidden room. This would be the time to tell him about my discovery. There’s no reason not to tell him.

But he won’t want me listening to these tapes. He’ll tell me it’s none of my business—he always complains I’m a huge busybody. I’m not a busybody though—I just have a natural sense of curiosity. Is there anything so wrong with that?