Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) Read online

“Wherever we’re going, I think we’re here,” Wes said.

  This time, when we faced a freestanding wall in the center of the passage, we knew exactly what to do. We scooched around the wall’s sides to find ourselves in a coal storage room that was virtually identical to the one in my house.

  “Where do you think we are?” Wes asked.

  I’d been playing a guessing game with myself as we’d traversed the passage. “I think,” I said, “we’re in Todd Pedota’s basement.”

  Bruce ran his hands against the metal door, which looked exactly like the submarine hatch on the other end. “The direction we walked supports that theory,” he said. When he pushed on the door’s handle, I held my breath.

  Part of me wanted to stop him. After all, we could be trespassing into someone else’s home and I knew I wouldn’t appreciate strangers stumbling into mine. The other, more adventurous, part of me wanted to know what was behind that door.

  “It’s locked,” he said.

  I let out a breath of relief, coupled with disappointment. “I’ll have to let him know. I wonder what his side looks like.”

  “Oh boy,” Bruce said. “Todd Pedota with a secret passage between his house and yours. That’s a dream come true for a guy like him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Thanks a lot, Bruce.”

  Wes seemed enchanted by it all. “When we get back I’d like to look into prior owners’ occupations,” he said. “That is, if you don’t mind my doing homework on your house.”

  “Please, be my guest,” I said. “What will you be looking for?”

  “You noticed the brick walls that lined the passage? They were installed by someone who knew what he was doing.”

  “What does that tell us?”

  “Think about it. What good would it do to have a hidden space such as this one if you have to bring in a professional to help create it? Then the secret is out, isn’t it?”

  “So you’re saying that if you discover that one of the home’s owners was a bricklayer, you might have a good idea as to when the passage was constructed.”

  “It’s a place to start,” he said.

  “The group in my basement is probably getting restless,” I said. “Let’s head back before they really do send in a search party.”

  Chapter 18

  Owing perhaps to the fact that we were more relaxed on our return trip, the three of us found two buttons, another poison bottle, and several pieces of crockery that we’d missed on our exploratory journey. By the time we made it back to my basement, we had our hands full.

  The gathered group must have heard us coming because the camerawoman had her camera rolling. She filmed us emerging from the coal cellar. “Oh, great,” I said when I realized how awkward I would look as I climbed out, all dusty and having to lift my legs to clamber through. Before exiting fully, I handed the treasure in my arms to Larry. “Here, take these. I’ll be enough of a klutz climbing out of this submarine hatch. If I try to do it with all this, I’ll fall on my face.”

  Questions came so quickly and from so many directions that I couldn’t answer them all at once. I couldn’t even tell who was asking what.

  “Were there any dead bodies?”

  “Where did it lead? What was back there?”

  “How far does it go?”

  “What’s all that stuff you found?”

  As Bruce and Wes emerged, I raised my voice to explain. “It’s a passage. Wes thinks that it may have been built during Prohibition or even before that—it might have even been a safe hiding spot on the Underground Railroad.”

  The assembled crowd went silent, waiting for more. “Wes has generously offered to do some research for us on that matter. In the meantime”—I turned my back to them and faced the passage’s entrance—“this seems to be facing north by northwest, would you all agree?”

  There was murmured assent.

  “Let’s go outside and see if this leads where we think it does.”

  The reporter and his camera-wielding girlfriend seemed much more interested in the story than they had earlier. With them and the rest of our ersatz audience in tow, Bruce, Wes, and I trooped up the stairs and out the back door. I would have liked to have stopped long enough to have gotten Bootsie out of my room. We could have brought her along on her leash, but the risk of her getting stepped on was great. Reluctantly, I left her behind.

  We all traipsed to the south side of the house, near the front. Although everyone had a slightly different guess as to how far back from the front of the building the passage started, we all agreed that it was between ten and fifteen feet from the corner.

  “Too bad you weren’t able to measure how far you walked,” Hillary said.

  “I counted,” I said. “On the way back.”

  Wes grinned at me. “Good going.”

  There was no doubt in my mind where the passage ended, but we followed through nonetheless. When our 123rd step brought us to the side of Todd Pedota’s house next door, the reporter suggested we ring my neighbor’s doorbell. Everyone joined in, clamoring for me to get Pedota involved. The group wanted resolution and they wanted it now.

  “He’s probably at work,” I said when he didn’t answer. “I’ll talk with him when he gets home.”

  Disappointed, the reporter shoved his recorder in my face. “Do you think he knew about this passage? Why didn’t he ever mention it to you?”

  I held both hands up and pushed the tiny silver device away from me. All of a sudden the dozen or so people on Pedota’s grass made me uncomfortable. “We need to go back,” I said. “We’re trampling my neighbor’s lawn.” I pointed to one of the construction crew. “Don’t back up, you’ll step on his daylilies. Please don’t crush them.”

  To everyone, I said, “Let’s all be very careful, shall we? I shouldn’t have brought you all along. We’re trespassing here.”

  “But if this”—the reporter read from his notes—“Todd Pedota didn’t know about the secret passageway, he’s going to want to explore it from his side, isn’t he?”

  “I can’t presume to speak for him,” I said. “Let’s all get back to my yard, okay?”

  “What about ownership?” the reporter asked. “Who owns the tunnel?”

  I tried to catch Hillary’s eye, to enlist her help in getting away from this guy, but she was on camera with his girlfriend, talking about her design and renovation business, using my house as a backdrop. There was no way to get her attention when she was performing. The earth was soft beneath her spiky heels and I watched them sink slowly into the ground. Hillary seemed far less worried about her shoes out here, where she had the opportunity to talk about her business. I decided not to call her out on that.

  I turned to Bruce. “Can you make sure that we didn’t mess Pedota’s yard up too badly while I get everyone back to our side?”

  “You got it, Grace,” he said.

  Wes sidled up. “I would imagine that ownership would be shared between the two parties. Unless, of course, there was some agreement the homeowners came to years ago.” He shook his head solemnly. “I went over your blueprints and house plans a number of times, Grace. I don’t think that was the case. I’m afraid this may have to be settled between the two of you.” He gave me a sheepish look. “But I’m no lawyer. You’ll need to consult someone who specializes in real estate law to figure this out.”

  I felt my shoulders slump. With the murder and now this, my to-do list was growing by leaps, bounds, and underground tunnels.

  “Bennett Marshfield can probably recommend someone,” Wes added.

  “I’m sure he can, and will. I have to admit though, I’m tempted to tell Todd Pedota that it’s all his if he wants it.”

  Wes grimaced.

  “What?” I asked.

  “This is none of my business, and I should be grateful you let me participat
e this much.”

  I waited for the “But.”

  “But,” he said, “you’ve made it clear that you respect history. You’re a curator, for heaven’s sake. That’s what drives you. I don’t want to add undue pressure, but this tunnel is an incredible find. We came up with a few artifacts, but I’ll bet there are a lot more in there.”

  I could see where he was going with this.

  “Todd Pedota is an unknown,” he continued. “Maybe he’ll be open to our exploration of the passage. Maybe he’ll want to keep it sealed shut. If you give up all rights to it, those become his calls to make. If you fight for half, or discover that the entire connection belongs to you—”

  “That’s a big if.”

  He acknowledged me with a so-so shake of his head. “In either case, you’ll have a say in what happens down there. I have to believe that you would make good decisions.”

  The reporter guy had been paying rapt attention and was writing everything down. “This is all off the record,” I said.

  He gave me a look. “Are you kidding? You can’t be off the record. You’re a local celebrity. You’re always involved in murders around here. This is big news.”

  “The murders aren’t enough?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “Yeah, well, they give those juicy stories to the older reporters. And their photographers.” He sent a glance at his girlfriend, who was still recording Hillary’s impromptu infomercial. “This is the first time I have something to offer that’s bigger than a shop opening, or somebody’s dog being found.”

  “Oh, well, then,” I said, “I’m happy to oblige.”

  I’d meant it sarcastically, but the young man didn’t notice. That was good because the moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. We all want to be important in our own worlds, and if delivering a human interest story like this one made his day, who was I to judge?

  Wes looked like a man who’d been granted his fondest wish. “I’ll go back and collect the items we picked up before I leave, if that’s all right?” I nodded, but before I could answer, he continued, “I’m going to get right on this. I have a feeling that some of what we found will help us discover the answer to who built the tunnel.”

  Bruce had gotten the remainder of the audience to disperse. After asking a few more questions, the reporter left, with his photographer girlfriend in tow. Finished in front of the camera, Hillary hurried over to talk to us as we made our way back up my driveway.

  “This whole story started because of my renovations in your home,” she said in a rush and with such high-energy elation that I barely recognized it was Hillary talking. “When this story goes live, everyone will want to hire me. This is the best thing that could have happened to my business.”

  “It’s probably too late to keep this quiet,” I said, thinking about how that young reporter had salivated over the story. “But I think it’s only fair to let Todd Pedota know about the tunnel before the rest of Emberstowne finds out.”

  “Five minutes!” she shouted, flinging her hands out, arms extended, as though ready to give me a hug.

  With no idea what she meant, I hesitated.

  “He couldn’t have been here five minutes ago?” she asked rhetorically, and in that moment I realized who she really wanted to hug. “Your neighbor is home. Let’s go tell him the good news.”

  Todd Pedota barely had time to get out of his car before Hillary started for him. Wiggling her fingers high above her head, she singsonged, “Oh, Toh-ohdd,” as she scurried to his driveway in her mud-caked heels.

  He spun at the sound of her voice. Todd Pedota had never been a man who backed off where an attractive woman was concerned, and he didn’t now. Despite the fact that he clearly hadn’t expected anyone to come running when he pulled up, he was quick to welcome her. Hillary practically squirmed with excitement and Todd, clearly misreading her approach, grasped Hillary’s upper arms and rubbed his hands up and down her bare skin. “What a wonderful surprise,” he said. “What brings you—”

  He cut himself short when he caught sight of me and Bruce coming up from the sidewalk. Letting his hands drop from Hillary’s sides, he took a step back, suddenly wary.

  Hillary turned, making eye contact with me, as if to say, “Let me handle him.”

  “What is all this?” he asked. “Are you planning a block party? Looking for donations? Count me out.”

  Hillary ignored his questions. “We have the most exciting news.”

  From the look in Todd Pedota’s eyes, the only thing exciting that Hillary could tell him right now was that she’d be happy to scamper up his front steps, accompany him inside, and shut the door on the rest of the world.

  “What are you doing home so early?” I asked.

  Hillary had moved closer to him, close enough that their shoulders touched. She slid a hand around his arm. It took a moment, but he recollected himself. The self-assured lounge lizard was back.

  “I’ve been working from home a lot lately. Even with all the construction noise going on at your house, a bad day at home is always better than the best day at work, right?”

  I smiled at the cliché, which he took as encouragement.

  “Seems like today was a particularly good day to be home.” With a glance around at us all, and a fond assessment of Hillary, he asked, “Tell me, beautiful, what’s going on that’s so exciting?”

  “Well,” she began, running a perfect fingernail down the front of his dress shirt. “We have a surprise for you.”

  The man couldn’t have been more confused.

  Hillary pulled back slightly. Enough to make eye contact. “We uncovered a secret passage in Grace’s basement,” she began. “And we think it leads to your house.”

  “Wait, what?” Pedota took a step back, his expression darkening. “You’re crazy,” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  It took some convincing and a great deal of Hillary’s charm, but she finally persuaded the man to allow us to take a look inside his basement.

  Pedota was as flustered as I’d ever seen him. He walked us up to his front porch as the realization that we weren’t kidding began to seep in. “Wait here a minute,” he said at the door. “I have a few things I need to put away.”

  Bruce, Hillary, and I exchanged a glance, which Pedota caught.

  “Get your minds out of the gutter,” he said. “I live alone and didn’t expect company. I may have left a few personal items lying around.”

  He disappeared inside.

  While we waited, I made a swift appraisal of Pedota’s abode with its clean and freshly painted façade. The home’s pristine appearance made me doubly glad I’d allowed Hillary to begin renovations on my house. Pedota’s painted lady was a mirror image of mine. They both had massive wraparound porches, high ceilings, and gingerbread trim. The difference was that his house had been maintained over the years, while mine had been allowed to fall into disrepair.

  Bruce scowled at our surroundings.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t like this guy. Don’t feel good about this.”

  “I get the impression the feeling is mutual,” I said. “I’m sure he’d prefer it if both you and I disappeared and he had Hillary to himself.”

  She gave a Cheshire cat smile. “I’ve dealt with his type before. Touchy-feely, overconfident, bold.” Running her palm along the side of her hair, she said, “I can handle him. Don’t you worry.”

  When Todd finally opened the door again to allow us in, I noticed that he’d changed. Instead of a dress shirt and slacks, he sported a red polo and tight jeans. His feet were bare and he’d liberally applied a cologne that made me want to cough and wave my hand in front of my face. A move like that probably wouldn’t help us get what we wanted—a look into his basement—so I powered through instead.

  “I don’t know what you expe
ct to find,” he said as he shut the door behind us. “I’ve been in my basement a thousand times and I’ve never noticed any sort of passageway.”

  “What about an old coal storage room?” I asked.

  “Nope.” He led us through his living room, dining room, and back into the kitchen. The floor plan made my head spin.

  Bruce was feeling it, too. “This is exactly like our house,” he said, “only flipped.”

  Hillary waved her fingers from side to side, vaguely indicating our surroundings. “Your home was professionally decorated, wasn’t it, Todd?” she asked.

  “Might have been,” he said. “Whoever decorated did it before Vicki and I moved in. We didn’t have a chance to change much before—before she was gone.”

  I would have liked to hear more about Pedota’s former wife, but Hillary was more intent on drumming up business. “It’s lovely but I think it could use a little refreshing, don’t you?”

  Could she be more obvious?

  Pedota opened the door to the basement and I was overcome with the damp cloud of mildew that enveloped us. “Sorry for the smell,” he said.

  He went first and I managed to squeeze in after him before Hillary did. “I never met Vicki,” I said.

  Pedota half-turned. “You couldn’t have known her. She moved out well before you arrived.” At the basement floor, he reached up and pulled on a string to turn on an overhead bulb. “More like I kicked her out.”

  “Oh?” I asked with a leading lilt. “I take it you had some trouble?”

  He gave a half snort, half laugh. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. The cops have. After Keay got himself murdered at your Marshfield, the detective came to talk to me. Like I had any reason to kill the old geezer.”

  “Why did they think you did?” I knew the backstory, but I wanted to hear Pedota’s version.

  Hillary, probably worried that any further talk in this vein might hurt her chances for a renovation job, stepped forward. “The first thing I’d do if you hired me would be to get this basement dried out. You’re on high ground here. That”—she pointed to a stale puddle—“tells me you have leaky pipes.” Dried water marks around the puddle made it obvious that it had been much larger at one time. Rust-colored drip marks streaked the stone walls and white mold had formed uneven lacy patterns around every crack in the floor.