Chapter 26
CHAPTER 26
T he air in the tunnel was damp and thick, carrying the scent of earth, mildew, and secrets long buried. My flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing crumbling stone walls, wooden support beams warped with age, and cobwebs that looked like they belonged in a haunted house.
Amy exhaled loudly behind me. “So, let me get this straight. We are voluntarily walking into a pitch-black, underground tunnel—where rats, ghosts, and possibly a murderer might be hanging out?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” I teased, stepping carefully over a section of uneven earth and crumbled stone. “Watch your step.”
She sighed dramatically. “You know, I could be home right now. Safe and sound watching a mystery show where the detective does all the work, and I get to eat snacks.”
I chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I heard a chuckle in her response. “Where’s the survival in this?”
“We’ve survived worse dilemmas.”
“True. You got us into endless ones.”
“But I always got us out of them,” I reminded.
A sudden clunk echoed through the tunnel, cutting off our banter.
Amy grabbed my arm. “What was that?”
I swung my flashlight toward the direction of the sound. The tunnel stretched ahead, a long, gaping corridor of blackness. My pulse kicked up. There was someone else down here.
I tilted my head, listening. Silence. But not the comfortable kind. The kind that crawled under your skin and made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
“We’re not alone,” I whispered.
Amy tightened her grip on my arm. “I hate when you say things like that.”
I pressed forward, keeping my light low. We had no idea how far ahead the person was, but if he’d been using this tunnel, then he knew his way around. We were at a serious disadvantage.
Then came another sound—soft, shuffling footsteps.
Amy froze. “Pepper…”
“Stay close.”
As we crept forward, the tunnel walls seemed to narrow, closing in around us. I ran my fingers along the damp stone, feeling for anything unusual. If there was a hidden turnoff or door, we had to find it before we were found.
The air grew colder.
Then, ahead of us, a light flickered.
Amy sucked in a breath. “That’s not our light.”
“No,” I agreed.
“Please. Please, let it be a ghost,” Amy whispered.
We moved cautiously, keeping to the edges of the tunnel. As we got closer, the source of the flickering glow became clear—an old oil lantern, set on a stone ledge. The flame trembled as if disturbed by movement.
“The person left that on purpose,” I murmured. “He wants us to know he’s ahead of us.”
“Why couldn’t it be a ghost,” Amy muttered. “So, what do we do? Keep going toward the obviously ominous lantern?”
I studied the setup before sharing with Amy. “Someone could be waiting just beyond the light, or worse—he could have some kind of trap waiting for us.”
Amy added to the dire situation. “What if there’s also someone behind us?”
Then, somewhere ahead in the darkness, a sudden crash sent dust and debris falling from the ceiling.
Amy grabbed my arm. “Please tell me that was just an old support beam giving out and not a booby trap meant to kill us.”
My silence spoke for itself.
“I heard you loud and clear. You don’t know.”
A distant sound reached us, coming from the opposite direction.
“Someone is behind us and headed our way,” Amy whispered.
“We have to keep moving,” I murmured and took a careful step forward when?—
Something skittered over my boot.
Amy let out a strangled yelp and scrambled back, slapping at her legs like she was being attacked. “NOPE. NOPE. I AM DONE.”
“Quiet,” I warned and shined my flashlight down. “Relax, it’s just?—”
Amy kept her voice to a whisper but in my head, I heard her scream it.
“DO NOT SAY ‘JUST A RAT’ LIKE THAT MAKES IT BETTER.”
The rat, thoroughly unimpressed with us, squeezed itself between two stones in the wall and disappeared.
Amy bent over, resting her hands on her knees and breathing hard. “I swear, if that thing just crawled into a hidden passage, I quit. I’m done.”
I narrowed my eyes at the wall. The stones there were looser than the others. I stepped closer and pressed against one. It shifted slightly.
Amy groaned. “Oh no. No, no, no. You’re going to open it, aren’t you?”
“Do I have a choice? Ignatius wouldn’t let anyone know the way to the mausoleum. That was for Claire and him alone.”
“Maybe so, but you do realize this is how every horror movie starts, don’t you?”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re in a mystery.”
I pushed harder on the stone, and with a low, grinding groan, the stone shifted. A narrow gap appeared, revealing a darkened alcove. And inside…
Footprints.
Fresh ones leading deeper into another tunnel.
I turned to Amy. “Looks like whoever is here took a detour.”
She let out a long breath. “Or knows his way around.”
I stepped inside the passageway. “Coming?”
Amy hesitated, then squared her shoulders. “You always talked me into these?—”
“Adventures.” I finished with a gleeful smile. “You know that you wouldn’t want to miss such fun for anything.”
With one last glance behind us, Amy followed me into the unknown.
The passageway grew narrower, the damp stone walls pressing in as Amy and I moved forward. The dim tunnel air carried an unsettling silence, except for our footsteps—and the distant, unmistakable sound of someone else drawing closer behind us.
Amy whispered, “I swear, if that’s a rat with unnaturally large feet, I am going to see that he gets you first.”
I kept my flashlight low and my voice lower. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
Amy grabbed my arm. “Faith that your mom will be waiting in the mausoleum to rescue us from all the rats, human and animal.”
“Then let’s pick up the pace and not keep my mom or the rats waiting.”
We hurried forward, my heart thudding in rhythm with our footsteps. The passageway began to slope upward, and the closer we got to the end, the stronger the scent of damp earth and old stone became.
Then, finally, we reached steps that led to a white marble column. Amy and I hurried up the stairs and pushed against the column. It opened slowly and with each strenuous push, an eerie glow began to seep out. When we finally stepped past the opening, it was to see two lanterns, flames flickering inside each and casting soft light on the inside of the Willow Mausoleum.
I barely had time to process our surroundings before a sharp, collective inhale filled the space.
Standing near the three crypts were Professors Anderson and Swatcher, both looking like we had just emerged straight from the underworld.
For a second, we all just stared at each other, a heavy silence hanging between us.
Then my flashlight beam landed on Professor Anderson’s hand.
A bloody knife.
“Professor Anderson with a knife in the mausoleum did it,” Amy said nervously, sounding like she won the game.
Anderson held it up, his face pale. “I—I just found it.”
Swatcher snorted. “Sure you did. And where would that be? Right next to Jones’s body?”
I exchanged a quick look with Amy. Jones. The dead man in the Mercantile.
Anderson’s grip on the knife tightened. “I told you already, I had nothing to do with that.”
Swatcher crossed his arms. “Right. And I suppose you’re just down here to admire the decor?”
“I’m working with the FBI,” Anderson snapped. “And it’s all your fault.”
Amy nudged me. “You got part of that right.”
“I hoped you would figure it out, Pepper,” Anderson muttered.
Swatcher let out a dry laugh. “Please. You think I don’t know a setup when I see one? You killed Jones. And now you’re playing the ‘I found the knife’ game. Classic.”
“I didn’t kill anyone! But you did and you set me up,” Anderson shot back. “You planted gold coins in my carry-on when we were on that treasure hunt in the Florida Keys and the only way for me to prove my innocence was to work with the FBI to prove you guilty.”
“You’re crazy. I did no such thing,” Swatcher said angrily.
“Every place you went with Waters for a treasure hunt a major theft followed somewhere in the area. Were you and Waters working together? Was that how he was able to afford to collect those antiques and art pieces and allowed him to boast about retiring early?”
“What are you talking about?” Swatcher asked, confused. “Waters was as just as interested in the Willow treasure as I was. When he found the secret passageway, we thought we hit the jackpot. He died before we could finish looking for it and before I could get the key from him to get back in here.”
“So, you hired a thug to steal the key?” I asked, knowing my dad wouldn’t be happy hearing that.
“I had no choice. I worried that someone else was after the treasure and I was right,” Swatcher said.
I took a guess. “The vanishing guy in the hospital. You had Jones try to finish him off at Treetop.”
“No, he was just supposed to scare him off,” Swatcher insisted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Anderson was responsible for that incident.”
“You’re not setting me up again to take the fall,” Anderson warned, waving the knife at him.
The tension in the mausoleum thickened, and I wasn’t sure who was going to lunge first. But then?—
A sudden noise behind us made Amy and me spin around.
Bootsteps. Fast. Closing in.
I barely had time to react before Ian and Beau came bursting into the mausoleum, their faces creased with worry and looking ready to do whatever was needed to rescue Amy and me.
I opened my mouth to reassure Ian, not wanting to ignite the hostility already flaming the situation. Unfortunately, Anderson and Swatcher didn’t feel the same. They simultaneously lunged at each other.
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
Swatcher knocked Anderson back, the bloody knife clattering to the stone floor. Anderson went for a tackle, but Swatcher dodged, sending the professor stumbling straight into?—
Me.
I was knocked backward, colliding with Amy, which sent both of us toppling into Beau, who let out a startled yelp as we all crashed to the floor in a heap.
Beau hurried to help us to our feet while asking anxiously if either Amy or I were hurt.
Meanwhile, Ian—bless his soul—was attempting to separate the scuffling men who obviously had little fighting experience. Ian looked more like a teacher breaking up a playground fight.
“Okay, enough!” Ian barked, grabbing Swatcher’s arm while trying to wedge himself between them.
It almost worked—until Swatcher shoved backward.
Ian, caught off balance, crashed straight into me, Amy, and Beau who had approached to help him calm the two men.
The four of us landed on the floor.
Amy wheezed. “How are you getting us out of this one, Pepper?”
I barely had time to respond before the mausoleum doors creaked open.
Light flooded in.
I slowly turned my head—only to see my dad standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking very much like an annoyed sheriff.
“Hands up, everyone!” he ordered.
Beside him stood my mom, who took one look at the pile of bodies on the floor and sighed deeply. “My goodness, Pepper, what’s going on here?” She smiled suddenly. “And congratulations on finding the secret passageway.”
My dad exhaled, long and slow, as he shook his head. “Everybody outside. NOW! And don’t any of you touch that bloody knife on the floor.”