Page 79 of Wildwood

“No, thanks.” I’m lost in thought, my brain trying to catch up to a thought that’s just out of reach. Joan walks out of the room, and I feel an intense, almost angry need to see what’s right in front of me.

Suddenly, I hear Joan cry out in pain and then a crashing sound comes from the parlor.

“Joan!” I yell, instantly pulled back to the present. I race down the hall, heart thudding. “Are you okay?”

As I hurry down the creaking stairs, I see Joan is crouched in the parlor, inspecting her foot. It was just the nail.

“Oh, thank god,” I say quickly, trying to steady my breath. “I’m so sorry,” I kneel by her side. “It’s that fucking nail, it always rises.”

“It’s okay. Can I grab some ice?” But suddenly, Joan’s voice sounds very far away.

I’m looking down at the floorboards. Floorboards that I’ve stared at so many times, as I’ve angrily hammered down the nail. I must have left the basement light on when I’d come through after finding the secret room. Because the cracks in the floorboards around us are glowing. I peer around. Yes, they are glowing. Except the space right below us. The space where the nail rises up. Those cracks are still dark.

Chapter 70

I walk over to the basement door, not saying anything to Joan. She follows me, hobbling slightly, knowing that I’ve found something.

We walk down the creaking stairs and then veer left. My head is craned up, scanning the ceiling. It’s a mess of ventilation shafts, wires, cobwebs. It’s easy to see why I wouldn’t have noticed anything before. I didn’t know there was anything to look for.

But now I see it. In the area where I think it should be, there’s a panel of wooden boards forming a box. It’s not deep. Maybe eight inches, no more than ten. I know what it is immediately. It’s a hidden storage area. A place to hide things you don’t want others to find.

“Look,” I say, pointing up.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I think it’s like a homemade vault or something.”

We look at each other and both race back up the stairs. I grab the hammer from the mudroom and kneel down on the floor. I pry up the nail, grunting with the effort.

“Here, let me,” says Joan, taking the hammer. Her face clenches in concentration and a moment later, the nail comes out and clatters to the floor.

“Shit,” she mutters, looking up at me. “How will we get the others out?”

Joan’s right. This nail was rising, and we were at least able to grasp it with the hammer. But the other nails are firmly embedded in the wood. Damn this good craftsmanship.

“Fuck it,” I say, holding her gaze. “Just smash it.”

Joan smiles, a wicked gleam in her eyes, and she proceeds to smash the hell out of the floorboards. I can’t help but wonder if she’s imagining Madeline’s face each time the hammer falls.

Once she’s broken through, we carefully lift up the splintered boards and peer into the dark space below.

Inside, there is a thick layer of dust and a rectangular metal box with an old lock.

Joan pulls it out and sets it on the floor. She yanks on the lock, apparently hoping it might just break off with age.

“I could grab pliers?” she suggests.

“Wait,” I say and scurry back upstairs. I grab the keys from my underwear drawer and come back downstairs. My heart is beating fast.

“My uncle left me these,” I say. “But he didn’t say where they went. This one went to his desk.” I hold up the smaller of the two keys.

She gasps. “The hidden drawer.”

“Yes!” Then I stop and stare at her. “How’d you know about that?”

Joan flushes. “Yeah. Uh. I figured your uncle might have kept important documents in the library so I went through all the drawers one day when you were out.”

She gives an embarrassed laugh. “I even tried to pick the lock, like I’m a spy or something.”