AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Reed didn’t answer, just studied the crypt, his jaw tightening, his thoughts darkening. Had the girls died here? He didn’t think so because of the positioning of the victims. They had been laid side by side, the bony fingers of the older girl’s hand entwined with those of the smaller child.
“You don’t think this was some kind of weird suicide pact, do you?” Morrisette was looking at the clasped hands.
“What? No.” He couldn’t imagine anyone would put themselves into this dark hole on purpose and slowly die of either lack of oxygen or starvation or madness.
“Or a game of, like, hide-and-seek gone bad? No one found them and quit looking?” But even as she posed the thought, she was shaking her head. “Nah, course not. Someone killed these girls and put them in here. Placed their hands together. Arranged them just so. What kind of a sick jerk-wad would do that?”
Reed didn’t know. Serial killers sometimes staged the positioning of their victims to throw off the police, or posed them to fulfill some kind of fantasy. But in this case, bodies locked away as they were for what appeared to be years, possibly decades, why would anyone go to the trouble?
Reed felt sick inside.
This tight, dank place was getting to him.
Yeah, he’d seen more than his share of death and mutilated bodies. Had witnessed firsthand how malevolent one person could be to another, but this . . .
Carter swung the beam of his flashlight to an empty space between the smaller victim and the wall of the crypt. “Look at that,” the deputy said, shining the bright light over the small depression in the dirt floor of the crypt. “Don’t that look like another spot for, y’know, another one?”
“Another body,” Morrisette clarified. “You mean, like he wasn’t finished or got interrupted?”
“Or used another spot,” Carter suggested.
Reed’s stomach clenched again. The deputy was right. The first two bodies were lying side by side, yes, but each nestled in a small, carved-out spot in the floor, their joined hands slightly elevated on the rim of dirt between them. Next to the smaller of the two another shallow indent was visible, just large enough for a third body.
“Holy crap,” Morrisette whispered. She straightened and ran a hand through her near-white hair. “Any other bodies?”
“Not that I saw. Been through the top two floors and looked through all the stuff down here. Found nothing. But I guess there could be more inside here. Y’know, buried beneath these. Stacked like sardines in a can. Or maybe there’s another crypt here somewhere.” He swept the beam over the interior of the tomb again. “Who’s to say?”
Reed asked, “Crime scene team?”
“On their way,” Carter said. “Same with the ME.”
Reed eyed the mess in the basement. “Might need cadaver dogs.”
“And a hazmat unit,” Morrisette said. “C’mon. I’ve seen enough down here. Let’s check the rest of the house.” She was already heading for the stairs.
They took the narrow servants’ steps to the top floor, intending to work their way down. The attic/maids’ quarters was dark and dank, stuffed to the gills; some of the rooms were exposed to the elements as a portion of the roof had collapsed near the chimney. The sky was visible here, treetops swaying slightly, clouds skittering high overhead. Water from the recent storm pooled on the buckling floors and seeped under the stacked, already-moldering boxes, crates and baskets. What had been stored here—boxes of clothes, an old sewing kit and treadle machine, books and records—were long ruined and scattered by nesting squirrels or birds or whatever.
Morrisette said, “I’m surprised this whole house didn’t come down with the hurricane. Can’t be safe up here. Let’s go.”
The second floor had been stripped of most of the furniture, the remaining bedframes stacked against the walls of four massive bedrooms complete with fireplaces. A large, intricately tiled bathroom had been stripped of fixtures aside from a stained claw-foot tub, and the center ballroom was devoid of its chandelier, electrical wires exposed, a few crystals scattered and broken on the stained, intricately laid hardwood floor below. Layers of spider webs and insect carcasses clung to the windowsills while water from the floor above dripped from bowed ceilings.
“Nothin’ here,” Morrisette observed, frowning. “Hard to believe anyone would let this happen, y’know.”
“Too expensive to keep up?”
“Too greedy to spend the time and money to keep it up, most likely. More money in sectioning it off, I guess,” she said sourly.
On the main floor, dark because the windows had been boarded over with waterlogged plywood, they picked their way through the kitchen. Cabinets and appliances were either broken or missing, the dirty floor uneven, evidence of rodents visible on the loose tiles as the grout had crumbled away. Morrisette trained her flashlight on an overflowing garbage bag stuffed near the dumbwaiter, and a rat, fat and dark, scurried from the bag and through a hole in the woodwork, its thin tail snaking behind.
“Nice,” Morrisette remarked, skimming the light behind a rusting, ancient stove. “Just peachy.”
The dining room was mostly empty, though a broken-down piano missing keys had been shoved against a huge, blackened fireplace, its tiles cracked or fallen. In the parlor or main living area, the stained wallpaper peeled from the wall, exposing previous layers.
She shined her flashlight up the broad, curving staircase in the foyer, where balusters had splintered and several steps had rotted through.
“Looks clear,” Morrisette said. “Like Crater said, no more bodies. No bad guys hiding in any closets. No squatters. Just squirrels in the attic and rats down here.”
“And two dead bodies in the basement.”
