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“Beth? What’s up?”
“Mikey, we might have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“There are two guys here checking out the house. One of them is going down to the wine cellar right now.”
“Fuck.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing, and don’t panic. How’s it going with Eleanor?”
“I think she’s scared. She should be gone soon.”
“Good, be sure to keep me posted, and like I said, don’t panic.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As David left to check the second floor, Matt collected the keys from the table in the foyer and headed to the wine cellar. As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, an automatic light illuminated the impressive room. Standing on the landing, he thought back to the last time he’d been there.
The home had been owned by Jay Whittaker, a cruel, nefarious crime lord. Though eliminating him had been risky and taken all of Matt’s skill and cunning, the secret mission had been successful.
Jay’s death had been the talk of Elk Valley for weeks.
It was widely held the gangster had deserved a torturous death, not the swift justice of a bullet through the back of the head by an unknown assailant. But the evil man was gone and lives had been restored.
Matt had no regrets.
When he heard the house had been bought by Tom Mitchell, the East Coast businessman who owned the new lumber yard across the Elk Valley River, he thought it a strange twist of fate. The yard had supplied the lumber for the Clarkson Housing Development, and he was now married to Becky Clarkson, the daughter of the developer.
It was a small world full of strange coincidences.
Roaming his eyes around the cellar as he moved down the steps, it appeared nothing had changed since that fateful event except for the addition of an elegant table shaped like a barrel in the middle of the room. It offered four chairs and a couple of empty decanters.
He glanced across at the electrical panel.
On the night he’d assassinated Jay Whittaker, he’d stumbled upon it my accident. The discovery had been a Godsend and probably saved his life. But as the memory floated through his mind, he noticed it now had a padlocked cover.
Locking an electrical panel made absolutely no sense.
With a worried frown, he lifted his phone from his pocket and took several photographs.
His senses now on high alert, he checked the walls for any secret spaces, and tested the racks to see if they moved. With everything apparently in order, he strode to the door that led out to the driveway—the same door he’d used to escape from the house and make his getaway the night of Jay Whittaker’s demise.
It refused to budge.
His pulse ticking up, he hurried back up the stairs, strode through the kitchen, out to the driveway, then hastily made his way down the side of the house.
“What the hell…?” he muttered as he carefully studied the cellar door.
Staring in disbelief, he snatched his phone from his pocket and called David.
“Hey, Matt? What’s up? Did you find something?”
“I sure as hell did. Come down to the driveway.”
“Why?”
