Chapter 15 Home Stretch （Margot） #4
It’s the kind of thing you’d find on an old storm shelter, metal and rusted, sunk into the ground and overgrown.
I swallow roughly.
This wasn’t on the property description. Holden Verity and Jackie Wilkes are detailed to a fault, but I’ve read the thing at least a dozen times and there was nothing about a hidden door.
Gramps never mentioned it either.
In fact, now that I think back, this little plot of land was fenced off when we were little. Just a few small wooden stakes, like something thrown up as an afterthought to keep rabbits away from a vegetable patch.
We always figured that’s all it was, but now…
What is this?
What was under the gazebo?
An old-timey storm shelter? A root cellar?
I crouch down, scraping away the loose plants growing around the sides. I must spend twenty minutes ripping up grass and weeds, tossing the debris to one side until the door looks clear.
The handle feels rusted shut.
When I try yanking the door open, it snaps off in my hand, staining my fingers brown.
“Jeez!” I yell, wrinkling my nose with disgust.
“What did you find?” Kane calls from the dock.
He must’ve brought the boat in while I was clearing the overgrowth.
Dan’s squirming his way off the canoe, not bothering to take off his life jacket in his enthusiasm.
“Not sure yet!” I call back. “Underground cellar, maybe? The door’s stuck.”
Kane grabs Dan’s arm and points him at the work shed, then motions Sophie to follow them.
They head over while I finish clearing a few more plants around the edge.
When they return, Kane has a crowbar, and Dan has a couple cans of WD-40.
“This dungeon was here the whole time? Crazy!” Dan whistles.
“It’s where the old gazebo used to be,” I explain. “I decided to walk through here and the ground felt funny. So I started digging.”
“You’ve never been down there before?” Kane asks, studying the dusty door.
“Nope. Never knew it was here. Nobody ever mentioned it.”
His eyes search mine, and I know we’re sharing the same thought.
This could be it.
The big secret I’m supposed to uncover to keep my grandfather happy in the Great Beyond.
“Okay, give me some space,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s see if we can bust this open.”
“Dad, do you need a flashlight? I can use my phone.” Sophie already has her phone out.
“What do you think is in there?” Dan asks quietly, standing behind us. His eyes light up. “You think he left buried treasure?”
“Leonidas wasn’t a pirate, little man,” Kane says.
No, but between his love for sailing, Mediterranean adventures, and pulling together the largest private art collection in Maine, he had the heart of a buccaneer.
“I don’t think there’s real treasure down there. Not like antiques or valuables,” I say. “But it’s exciting, right?”
The kids nod briskly, their little eyes gleaming.
My nerves spark as Kane works to force the door open.
Yes, I’m letting my hopes gallop away from me.
I desperately, desperately want to find something meaningful.
Even if it’s just some sappy old box of fishing lures or something.
Then the door pops with a loud reverberation that stalls the air in my lungs.
“I’ve got the flashlight,” Dan calls, handing Kane the phone with its beam switched on. “Do you want me to go down first?”
“Nah, Bud. Relax,” Kane tells him, ruffling his hair. “I’ll go down there first and scope it out. No telling what we might find.”
“Snakes? Scorpions? Evil interdimensional clowns?” Dan suggests way too eagerly.
Kane throws him an indulgent look.
“How would scorpions survive in Maine? And It isn’t real! I told you on the way up. It’s just a book by Mr. King,” Sophie says firmly. Like she’s totally old enough to be sneaking horror classics.
I bite back a laugh.
“Yeah, well…” Dan scowls. “Maybe there’s a new species or somethin’. Or a crazy guy dressed up in a clown mask!”
“Stop trying to freak your sister out. We don’t need more uninvited guests around here,” Kane warns.
Good luck with that, Sophie tells her brother with a glance.
I love them so much.
Kane’s eyes flick to me wordlessly. He rolls his eyes, but he smiles before a grave look falls over his face.
One good, careful grip from the sides lets him lever the door open.
A dull blast of stale air greets us, along with a set of concrete stairs going down into the hole.
“Wait here,” he tells the kids, who are still bickering about the possibility of snakes and bears down there.
I follow Kane down slowly, pressing one hand to the wall for support since there’s no railing.
His flashlight illuminates worn brick walls.
It’s sturdy enough, by the look of it, aside from a few loose bricks.
No snakes or spiders or bears.
Oh, my.
“Looks like underground storage,” Kane muses when he reaches the bottom, swinging the light around. He’s so tall his head almost brushes the ceiling. “Or maybe a fifties bomb shelter? They were popular, even in little towns like this.”
“Gramps wasn’t much of a prepper. It’s weird that it’s here.” I swipe a finger along the rough brick.
Slightly damp, but not as bad as I thought it would be.
The beam swings again, revealing a small, unfinished statue on a long table beside the stairs. The only thing in the room.
My pulse slows.
“You recognize that?” he says.
It’s like a massive workbench with a lamp and an old leather chair pushed in front of it. Of course the lamp doesn’t work, and neither does the small switch on the wall Kane tries for the overhead light.
At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing.
There are drawings of tiny shoes.
A small box of round objects, either clay or stone. Tools for sculpting, I think. A few round things that vaguely look like shoes, but small and indistinct, no bigger than my palm.
Then on the other side—a bigger statue.
People.
It’s a couple locked in a loving embrace.
“Hold up. I think…” I step closer, and Kane hands me the flashlight. “I think that’s Gramps?” Despite being incomplete, I recognize my grandfather’s younger profile in the clay. “Holy crap. Was this my grams’ workshop?”
“Could be. You said she painted, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, and I knew that. But nobody ever said a word about her sculpting.” I trace the unfinished model gingerly.
This isn’t some deep dark secret, no, but it feels like I’m closing in on some hidden truth.
“They look happy,” I whisper. Then I look at the pile of little clay statues again and frown. “The little shoes, I don’t get. They were in that painting we found in the attic, too, what looked like baby shoes. I wonder if it’s part of a bigger project Grams was working on…”
“Is this what your granddad wanted? The stuff he left you?”
“Maybe?” There’s hope in my voice, but I’m not convinced.
Not yet.
If these odd, unfinished statues are the big finale, it feels unsatisfying.
The letter made it sound like there was a lesson here, something clear and obvious, a little like the doozy he left Ethan.
The couple statue looks beautiful, despite being abandoned.
Or I might just think that because they were my grandparents. On its own, it doesn’t offer much insight into his life.
It doesn’t enrich my world.
At the end of the day, it’s just a pretty sculpture, and the unfinished shoes are hardly even that.
My throat stings with disappointment, though I should be ecstatic.
It’s the first real meat we’ve found since I showed up here.
Too bad it feels so lacking.
“There must be more,” I whisper, sweeping the flashlight around the room again.
I’m looking for paintings, something else Grams left behind, completed artwork.
Nothing.
The wall behind the statue glints sharply in the light, and I grab Kane’s flashlight for a better look.
There’s a beautiful stained glass window in the wall. The light can’t quite filter through it when I stop and focus the LED beam.
Still, the colored light scatters gloriously in the brightness.
“What’s that?” He’s already standing over me, running his fingers along the sides of the window. As I get closer, I see what he means.
It’s like some kind of old artsy cabinet, more like the type of thing you’d see in a church than some strange underground cellar.
There’s even a handle on the side.
But when I pull, it won’t budge.
Disappointing.
For a hot second, I thought this was it.
Our great mystery.
“Was your grandfather religious?” Kane asks softly.
“I don’t think so. He had his beliefs, but he wasn’t too serious.”
“Huh. There’s a real chapel vibe here with that window.” He tries the handle, but again, it doesn’t move. Almost like it’s locked.
I exhale sharply, one long deflated sigh.
“Guess we should leave it alone for now,” he says. “I don’t want to risk breaking anything. And if we can get more light down here, all the better.”
“You’re right.”
“We’ll come back,” he promises, running a hand down my arm. “I just don’t want to force it. They don’t make glass like that anymore.”
I nod in agreement.
The glass is beautiful, all bold colors set in irregular patterns. For all I know, maybe my grandmother made that, too.
There’s no denying she was multitalented.
It hurts a little, knowing I’ll never be able to ask her or Gramps. These are just breadcrumbs, scattered for us to find.
Kane kisses the side of my head as he grabs the flashlight from my lifeless fingers.
“We’re getting warmer,” he says as he heads to the bottom of the stairs. “Okay, guys, it’s all clear,” he calls. “No snakes, bears, or evil clowns. Careful on the stairs coming down.”
Dan moves first.
Sophie, with her shoes, comes slower and more carefully.
But a minute later, they’re both poking around the old workbench, touching the statues and marveling at the stained glass.
Kane could be right—we must be close.
I just don’t know if that’s wishful thinking.
I want to believe it and put this to bed so much.
Just like I want to believe that this man watching me so intently with his adorable kids could stay, rather than winding up like this cellar of artifacts, buried and forgotten.