The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(74)

* Ellingham left house on night of kidnapping for approx. 45 minutes around 2 a.m., did not go through front door. Seemed to leave from office. Mackenzie seemed sure that there was a tunnel leading from the Great House out, and possibly another that went from Minerva, where Ellingham would house his mistress, to a location on the opposite side of the property.

“Gertie von Coevorden my ass,” Stevie said. “So this is how she knew there was a tunnel.”

There was one other point, and it seemed important.

*** Last thing Albert Ellingham said was “It was on the wire”***

“On the wire?” Stevie repeated.

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “She read that to me. She thinks it means on the wireless? The night Albert Ellingham died, there was a big radio show . . .”

“The War of the Worlds,” Stevie said.

This was something that came up in every book about the case. On the night Albert Ellingham died, there was a radio broadcast by Orson Welles called The War of the Worlds. It was a play about an alien invasion landing in New Jersey, told in the style of a news broadcast. Except people in the 1930s weren’t used to that kind of meta story, and thousands of people freaked out thinking there was a real alien invasion going on and the world was ending.

“Seems like a weird thing to mention,” Hunter said.

“On the wire,” Stevie said again. “These are the big reveals? Something about a tunnel and a wire? What about the stuff about the will?”

“She would never write that down. Like I said, she’s really paranoid. She doesn’t even like that I have a phone that can take pictures. But I think that’s the . . . well, you probably noticed the bottles. And the smell. And everything.”

“Kind of hard to miss.”

“I should put this stuff back,” he said, reaching for the folder. “You should probably get out of here, or . . . you know, we could . . . If you want to take a walk or something? Get some coffee? Go somewhere that doesn’t smell like ass? Before she gets back and sees you?”

They walked down Pearl Street, from the university area, down to Church Street, where the shops and the tourist section took over. This street was blocked off to cars, so they walked down the middle. They said nothing for a bit—just let the silence sit between them.

“She went through treatment once,” he finally said, “about ten years ago, because my family staged an intervention. She said she went only because they made her, to keep them happy. She always says she doesn’t have a problem. I think she believes that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hunter said. “Not for her, but . . . she’s not that hard to deal with. She’s fine to live with, basically. The house smells because she smokes inside and has no sense of smell. But my room is . . . it’s better. I have a giant air filter and a bunch of Febreze up there. I keep the window open a lot. Gets kind of cold.”

“Sounds awesome,” Stevie said.

“Sometimes I stay over with other people,” Hunter said. “My friends on campus. I just crash on the floor. It’s no big deal since I only live a few blocks away anyway.”

“Why do you do it?” she said. “Live here?”

“I get discounted tuition, I have a free place to live while I go to school, and I keep an eye on her and report back to everyone. With me around I think she’s a little more stable. She eats more regular meals. She maybe doesn’t drink as much. Every once in a while she gets kind of . . . agitated. She’s not dangerous or anything. She yells. But that’s it. We have one agreement—she doesn’t drive. I drive or she walks or takes a cab.”

Stevie wondered if Hunter really was as okay with this as he seemed. Living with an alcoholic aunt in a smoke-filled house in return for free room and board and a tuition discount seemed maybe not the best deal in the world, but on some level, she got it. You do what is necessary.

You make deals.

“You haven’t asked me about the crutch,” he said.

“I didn’t think I was supposed to,” she said. “You’re not wearing a cast, so I guess you use it permanently.”

He nodded.

“Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I’ve had it since I was fifteen. The cold doesn’t help. I should really live in Florida or something, but here I am, in warm and sunny Vermont.”

“Good pick,” Stevie said.

“It’s a big tuition discount. My friends have futons.”

There was a coffee place coming up on the right and Hunter headed for it, but Stevie lingered.

“The tunnel,” she said.

Hunter turned back.

“What about it?”

“How Ellie died down there. If we had known sooner . . . I don’t know. Maybe we could have gotten to her in time. Your aunt knew it was there. I know it’s not her fault. I’m the one who made Ellie run.”

“If I understand what happened,” Hunter said, “and I’m not saying I do, but, what you said was right. Wasn’t it? About what Ellie had done?”

“Yeah, but . . . I don’t think it was the whole story.”

“What do you mean?”

Stevie shook her head. She didn’t even know what she meant. There was too much information.

“You know what?” he said. “There are some cool swings by the water. Bench swings. Bench swings make everything better. Want to go try them out? Better than coffee!”