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CHAPTER 39
THE HOUSE IS AGITATED.
The others don’t feel it. They stare at the secret panel sliding open to reveal a sudden, gaping wound in the cellar. They are shocked and amazed.
The house is scared.
I place my hand on the wall closest to me. I try to tell the building it’s okay. I know bad things have happened here. It’s not the mansion’s fault, any more than it is mine. We’re both victims.
The house is ashamed.
Once more I try to soothe, but the house doesn’t believe me. “Go,” it shifts, groans. “Go, go, go.”
The house shudders deep on its foundation. An ominous cracking sound emits from its old timber joints—this, the others hear.
“Sudden temperature change,” Keith says. “Just causing the beams to contract.”
Smart people are often stupid, I think. But then I worry my lower lip. The building must be very upset. I’ve never heard it do that before.
“Someone should go in.” Keith again. His voice isn’t scared, more like uncertain.
D.D. takes an automatic step around the huge table between us and the tunnel. Then she pauses, glancing at me. I don’t need words to understand what she’s thinking. She can’t walk into that tunnel. She has a responsibility to me; she must keep me safe.
“Go,” the house moans again, and I can feel a small shudder rumble beneath my fingertips.
The sheriff moves forward. “I’ll do it.” He unclips a flashlight from his duty belt, snaps on the beam.
“I’ll go, too,” Keith speaks up. His decision doesn’t surprise me. I would draw him in shades of orange and green and yellow, with a faint shadow of black. He could have more dark around him, but his curiosity won’t allow it.
He has his phone out, fiddling with it.
“Any word from Flora?” D.D. asks sharply.
He shakes his head. They don’t say anything out loud, but I can tell they’re worried.
The older woman glances at me in concern. Mrs. Counsel wouldn’t approve of the woman’s shockingly large build, but would like her pretty blue sweater. As for me, I’m not a fan of strangers. I need to stay with D.D. It’s very important to stay with D.D. I know it, even if I don’t know why I know it. “Maybe we should go upstairs, dear,” the woman says soothingly. “Let them do what they need to do. Wouldn’t you like a glass of lemonade?”
I shake my head, while the house shudders unhappily.
The sheriff steps around the oak table, approaching the secret doorway. The beam of his flashlight punches through the pitch-black gloom, illuminating the tunnel of darkness that waits beyond. Keith joins him, his phone glowing more weakly than the sheriff’s high-powered flashlight. The opening is broad enough for them to stand shoulder to shoulder. Tall enough for them to remain upright.
And yet, even with two beams of light...
Nothing but deep shadows ahead, as they take the first step, then another. I reach for D.D.’s hand, but she’s already left my side, rounding the table to where she can better monitor the sheriff and Keith’s progress.
“Tunnel’s not bad.” The sheriff’s voice echoes from somewhere ahead. “Reinforced with wood timbers. Recently used, too. Some of these beams aren’t that old.”
“A secret entrance to a secret club,” D.D. murmurs.
Near the fireplace, the sheriff’s department lady twists the gold cross she wears around her neck. She doesn’t like the tunnel any more than D.D.
I run my fingers down the wall next to me. A gentle touch, meant to soothe.
I’m waiting, I realize. The house is waiting, too.
Then the sheriff’s voice again, more distant. “We found the cook,” his voice booms grimly.
“Do you need help?” D.D. has to cup her hands around her mouth to amplify her question.
