Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum, #27)(44)

“What about the tunnels?” Potts asked. “Did you find any clues down there? Sometimes in the movies there are symbols etched into stones or brick walls or wooden beams.”

“No luck with the tunnels,” I said.

“My friend Morgan is the fry cook at the Lucky Lucy Cafe. He says there’s an old, mostly sealed-up entrance to a tunnel in the basement, and when the Margo blew up it filled the entire café with smoke.”

“I told you about that!” Grandma said to me. “Remember, I heard it from Dottie.”

I had totally forgotten about the Lucky Lucy. I wasn’t too keen on going back into the Mole Hole tunnel to look for symbols that had been carved into now charred wooden braces, but the hope that a tunnel entrance from the Lucky Lucy was still at least partially intact was enough to motivate me. “Do you think your friend would let us see the sealed-up entrance?”

“I don’t see why not. He should be working until closing today.”



* * *




I parked in the Lucky Lucy’s small side lot and removed a giant Maglite from the driver door’s pocket. Good for illumination and cracking skulls.

We walked around to the front and looked up. A large sign displayed the Lucky Lucy’s name along with a logo of four playing cards, all aces.

“You think that’s the Ace it?” Grandma said.

I didn’t want to jinx anything, but I thought there was a pretty good chance.

“Only one way to find out,” I said. “Let’s talk to Morgan.”

The Lucky Lucy had booths along the walls and a few tables in the center of the room. All mostly full.

A waitress noticed Potts. “Hey, Georgie. Looking for Morgan? He’s in the kitchen.”

Morgan was wearing an apron that covered a small portion of him. My guess was that Morgan ate more fried food than he served. His face was sweaty and greasy from standing over the fryer, and he was singing an unintelligible song to himself.

“Potts, my man,” Morgan said, dumping a basket of fries out into a metal tray under a heat lamp. “What’s up? You have a cutie and her grandma standing here. Dude, don’t ask me to play wingman on this one.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I was telling Stephanie and her grandma about the tunnel entrance in the basement,” Potts said. “Is it okay to show them?”

Morgan jerked his thumb toward the back of the room. “Basement door is through the storage closet. I’d go with you, but I have to put some burgers together.”

I led the way past tubs of lard and gallon jugs of mayonnaise. A roach the size of a hamster peered at me from between plastic bags filled with burger rolls. I gave an involuntary shiver and pushed on to the door at the far end. I opened the door and looked at the stairs. Not good. Hastily put together a long time ago and not maintained. A couple of boards were at odd angles and obviously loose. I switched the Maglite on and carefully went down first. At the bottom of the stairs, a long, yellowed string hung down from a bare lightbulb. I gave it a pull and the room lit up enough to show your typical ugly basement. The floor was packed dirt and there were thick cobwebs in every corner. Grandma and Potts followed me down. Grandma went to a crude wooden door on the far side of the cellar. It had a large rusted-out metal padlock and ring handle.

“I have a good feeling about this. Let’s get this baby open and find my treasure,” Grandma said. She pulled her .45 long barrel out of her purse and aimed it at the lock. “Stand back. I’ve seen this work on TV. There’s usually a lot of splintering.”

Potts looked worried. “I don’t do well with splinters. I once had one that took two weeks to work its way out. I almost fainted every time I looked at it.”

Grandma unloaded a couple of rounds into the wood door, and we all froze. Our eyes focused on the cellar ceiling. We didn’t hear anyone screaming about shots fired or feet stampeding to the front door. It was business as usual in the café.

Potts put his finger in one ear and then the other. “Check one. Check two. Sibilance. Sibilance,” he said. “I have delicate eardrums. I hope I didn’t rupture one when Grandma shot the gun.”

I gave the door a kick, the lock popped off, and the door swung open revealing the tunnel. It was almost identical to the one attached to the Mole Hole.

I aimed the Maglite down the tunnel to my right. I could see the entrance to the passage where the cave-in happened. The tunnel to our left seemed clear, but in a state of neglect and decay. At least the wooden braces weren’t charred, but water dripped between boards that were supposedly supporting the tunnel ceiling. The floor of the tunnel was muck.

“This doesn’t look safe,” Potts said. “I can feel my sinuses clogging. I think I smell mold.”

Mold was the least of our problems. The tunnel reeked of sewer gas and animal rot.

“I’ll go first,” Grandma said, taking the Maglite and forging ahead. “I’m already too old to die young.”

I scrambled to keep up with her, sliding on the sludge, ducking around the worst of the drips. I could hear Potts humming behind me. I had no reception on my cell phone and my worst fear was that the batteries would fail on the Maglite.

“Are you looking for etchings and symbols on the walls?” Potts called to Grandma. “Are there street signs down here? Where are we?”