Blood oozes from the gash.
I can’t tell how deep it is.
I also can’t do anything about it down here.
So, I resume my search, more carefully this time.
I use the bucket to sort through the detritus. A broken bottle. Shards of glass. Several rusted nails. Chunks of mortar. A few soaked rags. A handful of coins. A clay smoking pipe. A scrap of ribbon like those tied to the tree in the midnight garden. And creepiest of all, the hand of a china doll.
My teeth begin to chatter as I continue my search. My frozen fingers crawl over every crevice, sifting through the sludge, until my hands are numb and wrinkled like prunes.
The skeleton key is nowhere.
It’s as if it has vanished without a trace.
Like Simon and his family thirty years ago.
Up above, I can hear the patter of rain.
My palm continues to bleed.
And when I shine the flashlight up along thestone, I swear there are scratch marks. As if once upon a time, something tried very hard to get out.
It’s time to go.
Despite my rope climbing prowess, the ascent is awful. The rope is slick. My frozen hands struggle to maintain a grip. My elbows and knees keep knocking into the stone. And the wound on my palm burns like fire. There’s no way I would make it if not for the knots I tied. Gritting my teeth, I focus on reaching one, then the next, until I haul myself over the rim with a burst of fear-fueled strength.
I collapse onto the ground—all at once relieved and terribly disappointed. If we’re going to keep Harper and Kate far from Lainey, we need them to believe us, and for them to believe us, we need proof. But how can I show them proof without the key?
It should have been down there.
And yet, it wasn’t.
How is that possible?
Did someone beat me to it?
The thought wedges itself in my brain like popcorn stuck between my teeth. Leaving the rope tied to the tree, I drag myself to my feet and hurry home. Fueled by adrenaline and an inexplicable sense of urgency, I snag Dad’s keys, hop into his Bronco, and drive to the cemetery.
I all but run to St. Fortuna’s, unsure what to expect or what I’m hoping to find. I can’t get into the crypt without the key. And even if I had it, I can’t move that stone slab of a door on my own. But when I reach the ruins, I see that I don’t have to.
Somebody has already moved it for me.
21
CLAWS & TENDRILS
Irun past the Mercedes Benz parked along the circular drive. A chauffeur sits behind the wheel. I can feel his eyes upon me as I race up the steps of the manor’s imposing entryway. I’m just reaching for the knocker when the doors open. Isabel is in motion on the other side, sliding her arm into the sleeve of her coat as she speaks over her shoulder. “The committee meeting may run late.” She pulls her hair free. “I trust I don’t need to repeat myself about the east wing?—”
Isabel’s sentiment is cut short.
She lets out a strangled cry at the sight of me, out of breath on her portico in my dad’s oversized barn coat with frazzled hair and smudges of dirton my face. She presses her hand against her chest, looking aghast.
“What in the world?” she says, shifting away.
“Is Jude home?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
