probably running for my life with a family of assassins hot on my trail, I’d find some info on their plans.
I circled the desk and went straight to the fireplace and the panels next to it. I pressed, pushed, pulled.
Nothing.
I ran my fingers along the edges where the panel met the wall, searching for some kind of button or oddly shaped lever. Nothing. I faced the wall and studied every oddly colored brick and grouting around the fireplace.
Something nudged the back of my legs and I jumped.
“Prince!” I rubbed the top of his head as my pulse relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He tilted his head and looked at me as if puzzled, questioning my decision to spy on his owners.
“You don't get it, Prince. It's complicated and I don't have enough time to explain. But, someday, you and me, we'll take a long walk along the seashore and I'll tell you every bit of my complicated life.”
He flopped to the floor, his large head resting on his paws, and watched me. I moved my attention from the panels to the fireplace. Yes, I went back to my Nancy Drew days. The bricks felt rough under my fingers but I felt each and every one, pressing and pushing. Until I heard a slight click and a door slid open to the right of the fireplace. I sucked in my breath. I was in.
After several glances toward the door and peeks out the window to assure myself the family had not returned, I flicked on my mini flashlight. It barely penetrated the blackness, and I crept inside, with Prince at my heels. I pulled on the string, which turned on a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was a little disappointing. I didn't know what I expected but the room was kinda boring. Filing cabinets. And more filing cabinets. A couple of chairs and a small table. That was it. I'd been hoping for an open file labeled Constance. Not happening.
Prince growled as if warning me to leave. My neck prickled as I slid open the first cabinet. I flipped through the files until I found the G section. And sure enough, the first one was Constance Gerald. Hungry for knowledge on him, I opened it right there.
My eyes widened. The file held every little factoid about his life: birth date, address, weight, height, and eye color. It ran down a list of addresses he'd called home. A date was highlighted in yellow so I ran my finger along the date line. Seemed he came into quite a bit of money a few years ago, quit his job and purchased his current home. Interesting.
One name caught my eye. It was scribbled underneath the highlighting.
Robert Yertsky.
I searched the rest of the file but there was no explanation of his connection to Constance or Will’s family plans on assassinating Constance. Prince barked and jogged from the room. I took that as my sign to go. They were too smart to leave the details of their future crime in the folder in the secret room. I slipped out and pressed the same brick for the door to slide shut. I'd go back to my room and read. I didn't need to tiptoe but for some reason I couldn't help it. Maybe all my midnight trips to gorge on lemon bars had created a bad habit. I flicked the light on in the kitchen. How much time had I spent in the secret room?
“Good evening, Savvy.” Bartholomew stood behind the kitchen counter. His greeting wasn’t the friendly kind of good evening. More like a Darth Vader kind of greeting.
I froze mid-creep, the blood draining from my face and the feeling of ultimate doom flushing my body. Damn. I was losing my touch.
Nineteen
Bartholomew pointed to a chair against the wall. I stumbled over to it, wondering if I should make a break for it. Janelle and Edith gathered around him with stony faces and hands clasped. A plate of lemon bars lay on the kitchen bar.
Edith focused on me with a sickly sweet smile. A heat rash spread like wildfire across my neck. My mouth went instantly dry and I stuck my hands under my legs to hide the trembling. Every few seconds I glanced at the hall, hoping Malcolm would
I circled the desk and went straight to the fireplace and the panels next to it. I pressed, pushed, pulled.
Nothing.
I ran my fingers along the edges where the panel met the wall, searching for some kind of button or oddly shaped lever. Nothing. I faced the wall and studied every oddly colored brick and grouting around the fireplace.
Something nudged the back of my legs and I jumped.
“Prince!” I rubbed the top of his head as my pulse relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He tilted his head and looked at me as if puzzled, questioning my decision to spy on his owners.
“You don't get it, Prince. It's complicated and I don't have enough time to explain. But, someday, you and me, we'll take a long walk along the seashore and I'll tell you every bit of my complicated life.”
He flopped to the floor, his large head resting on his paws, and watched me. I moved my attention from the panels to the fireplace. Yes, I went back to my Nancy Drew days. The bricks felt rough under my fingers but I felt each and every one, pressing and pushing. Until I heard a slight click and a door slid open to the right of the fireplace. I sucked in my breath. I was in.
After several glances toward the door and peeks out the window to assure myself the family had not returned, I flicked on my mini flashlight. It barely penetrated the blackness, and I crept inside, with Prince at my heels. I pulled on the string, which turned on a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was a little disappointing. I didn't know what I expected but the room was kinda boring. Filing cabinets. And more filing cabinets. A couple of chairs and a small table. That was it. I'd been hoping for an open file labeled Constance. Not happening.
Prince growled as if warning me to leave. My neck prickled as I slid open the first cabinet. I flipped through the files until I found the G section. And sure enough, the first one was Constance Gerald. Hungry for knowledge on him, I opened it right there.
My eyes widened. The file held every little factoid about his life: birth date, address, weight, height, and eye color. It ran down a list of addresses he'd called home. A date was highlighted in yellow so I ran my finger along the date line. Seemed he came into quite a bit of money a few years ago, quit his job and purchased his current home. Interesting.
One name caught my eye. It was scribbled underneath the highlighting.
Robert Yertsky.
I searched the rest of the file but there was no explanation of his connection to Constance or Will’s family plans on assassinating Constance. Prince barked and jogged from the room. I took that as my sign to go. They were too smart to leave the details of their future crime in the folder in the secret room. I slipped out and pressed the same brick for the door to slide shut. I'd go back to my room and read. I didn't need to tiptoe but for some reason I couldn't help it. Maybe all my midnight trips to gorge on lemon bars had created a bad habit. I flicked the light on in the kitchen. How much time had I spent in the secret room?
“Good evening, Savvy.” Bartholomew stood behind the kitchen counter. His greeting wasn’t the friendly kind of good evening. More like a Darth Vader kind of greeting.
I froze mid-creep, the blood draining from my face and the feeling of ultimate doom flushing my body. Damn. I was losing my touch.
Nineteen
Bartholomew pointed to a chair against the wall. I stumbled over to it, wondering if I should make a break for it. Janelle and Edith gathered around him with stony faces and hands clasped. A plate of lemon bars lay on the kitchen bar.
Edith focused on me with a sickly sweet smile. A heat rash spread like wildfire across my neck. My mouth went instantly dry and I stuck my hands under my legs to hide the trembling. Every few seconds I glanced at the hall, hoping Malcolm would
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