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‘We’d better search the rest of the hotel,’ James says. ‘The entire ground floor, and then the cellars.’ James is very disturbed by the appearance of room 202. Nothing like this has ever happened before. He asks himself if it is possible that there is someone here that they’re not aware of – some interloper. But he has no enemies. Not that he can think of. No mad relatives hidden away. No disgruntled employees. He wishes now that he’d installed security cameras, but he hadn’t wanted them in his quaint, old-fashioned hotel. He hadn’t thought they would ever be necessary. But now, if only he’d had cameras installed in the corridors, they might have shown what happened to Dana – if it happened before the power went out. But then he realizes they wouldn’t have been able to review the video anyway, without electricity.
James glances at Bradley. Bradley is standing in the hall with the rest of them, staring down at the floor, unaware that he’s being observed. There’s naked fear on his face. And something else that James can’t quite read. It’s a look he’s seen before …
James feels his stomach drop with a sickening lurch. He doesn’t really know everything about his son. No parent does. Bradley has had some brushes with the law. James thought those days were behind them. Dear God, he hopes Bradley hasn’t become involved with something bigger than he can handle. But then he assures himself that anything Bradley might be involved in couldn’t have anything to do with this. Bradley is a good boy, who once got involved with some bad people. But he’ll talk to him when he gets a chance.
He comes up beside his son and whispers, ‘Are you okay?’
Bradley looks up at him, startled. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ And that look on his face is gone and he looks like he always does, and James tells himself he’s worrying for nothing. This has nothing to do with Bradley. He’s just frightened like everybody else.
‘Bradley,’ James says, ‘you’ve got the lamp, why don’t you lead?’
This time, they take the back staircase down to the ground floor. It’s the first time Beverly’s seen it. It’s narrow and uncarpeted. They go down single file, their steps echoing.
‘This was the servants’ staircase,’ Bradley says.
‘Is there an attic we should be checking out?’ David asks.
‘No,’ James says.
They arrive at the bottom of the stairs where a door opens onto a hall that runs along the back of the hotel. Immediately to the left is the kitchen.
‘Let’s leave the kitchen and cellars for last,’ James says. ‘Let’s try the woodshed.’
Down the hall from the kitchen is the door to the woodshed. They follow Bradley. Beverly hadn’t really looked closely at the woodshed when she was here before, being in a hurry to follow the others to the icehouse. But she looks at it now. It’s really cold in here. The walls are simple barn board. It’s not insulated. There’s a large wooden stump with an axe plunged into it in the centre of the earthen floor. Logs are neatly stacked all around. Kindling, too. There are some gardening tools, and a musty smell, but there is nowhere to hide in here.
They move further along the hall at the back of the hotel and turn left, towards the lobby. On the right-hand side is the library. James opens the glass-paned door and they all follow him. There’s nowhere to hide in here, either.
They move on next to the sitting room, but again, there’s nothing to find.
When they get back to the lobby, they turn down the corridor towards the bar. It yields nothing. Further down the corridor is the door to James and Bradley’s apartment. James unlocks the door and invites them in. The apartment is small but tidy and nicely appointed. There’s no one there, either. As they return to the lobby, Beverly is both relieved and disheartened. She doesn’t know what they are going to do, how they will find the killer.
‘There’s nothing left but the kitchen and the cellar,’ Bradley says.
Beverly feels uneasy at the thought of going down to the cellar, but she follows along as they go back to the kitchen.
‘Come in,’ Bradley says. With Bradley holding the oil lamp aloft, they enter the enormous kitchen. It’s half country kitchen, half industrial. Beverly notices the enormous refrigerator that must be eight feet wide, and which is now full of food that must be thawing and spoiling. There’s an oversized island in the middle of the kitchen – obviously a busy workspace on most days. Cupboards line the walls, and there’s a large double sink and an industrial dishwasher.
Beverly watches James open the large refrigerator and look inside. Nothing. Then he opens the larder and they all look inside with the aid of the sputtering oil lamp. It’s empty, too.
James turns to them and says, ‘Only the cellar left.’ He opens an old wooden door and automatically reaches for the light switch before remembering. ‘Give me that,’ he says to Bradley, and reaches for the lamp.
‘No, let me go first,’ Bradley insists, and pushes past his father with the light.
They creak down the rough wooden stairs. There are no backs on the stairs, and there’s no handrail, either. Beverly keeps her hand against the rough stone wall for balance. When she arrives at the bottom, it’s like stepping into another century. Thick, heavy ceiling beams support the building overhead. The foundation walls are made of stone.
‘Two feet thick,’ Bradley says, pointing casually.
Beverly looks, impressed, at the whitewashed stone. The paint is flaking off.
‘Are there rats down here?’ she asks. There are probably rats. Beverly is terrified of rats. This is the country, and the cellar is directly below the kitchen.
‘We take care of them,’ Bradley says. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘How?’ Henry asks.
‘Warfarin,’ James says curtly, and Beverly’s uneasiness increases.
James seems uncomfortable about his guests seeing this rather primitive cellar, and possibly rats; it’s nothing like the fancy hotel upstairs. He must feel like he’s stripping down to his underwear in front of them, Beverly thinks.
She sees a rude wooden shelf built into the stone wall that must be original to the building. It’s empty. Bradley sees her looking at it.
‘We don’t use the basement much,’ Bradley explains. ‘We keep everything in the pantry upstairs.’
Beverly gazes around the very large open space. The cement floor is uneven. There are some small windows set into the stone high up in the wall. A modern electrical panel stands out for being clean and new. The furnace is relatively new as well.
‘There’s no one here,’ David says, peering around behind the furnace.
‘We’re not done yet,’ Bradley says. He moves towards the back of the cellar and slips through another opening to the right. ‘The cisterns are in here,’ he says, his voice sounding far away.
Not wanting to be left behind, Beverly reluctantly follows the others and glances through the rough doorway. There are two large square concrete cisterns to the right.
‘Empty now,’ Bradley says.
Beverly shudders. She doesn’t go inside the room with the cisterns. She stands at the opening, watching as Bradley looks down inside each one, holding the light aloft. David comes up beside him and looks down with him.
Bradley shakes his head. ‘All clear,’ he says.
‘Look,’ David says, his voice sharp.
Beverly follows where David is looking. There’s a window on the far wall, near the ceiling.
‘Shit,’ says Bradley.
Beverly watches, tense, as Bradley approaches and examines the window. She can see that the glass is broken; there are fragments on the floor below.
‘The window is still latched,’ David says, standing beside Bradley, studying the window.
‘So it might just be a broken window,’ Bradley says.
‘Or it could have been deliberately broken, unlatched from outside, and someone could have slipped in this way and latched the window again.’
Beverly feels herself go a little faint.
David says, ‘We’d better go outside and take a look around. See if there are any footprints. Bradley and I will go. Everybody doesn’t have to come.’
Matthew says, ‘I’ll come.’
Saturday, 7:10 PM
