Another Stab at Life Read online

  I touched the slimy substance and then took a whiff. “It’s sticky and smells like honey,” I whispered to no one. So, that’s how the ants got started. Then I had another revelation. Maybe someone had primed the area over the mantle with the honey before I put in the doors and security. Then he or she recently added the honey outside to encourage the ants inside. Okay, that’s pretty farfetched, Bailey. But I didn’t want to believe people still had access to the inside of my home.

  I turned on the water hose and sprayed the honey away from the weep hole. I reminded myself to put down a load of ant poison in the morning. I turned off the water and glanced around again. All looked clear.

  As I headed to the back door, my brain was racked with questions again. What did the repeated w pattern mean? It didn’t look like a real w, yet it seemed familiar to me. I kept thinking of students and class. The filing cabinets of information in my brain suddenly uncovered something. . .a morsel of potentially vital information. The w wasn’t really a w. It was meant to symbolize something else.

  During high school, one of the teachers had tried to pound some Greek into all his students. Including me. I remembered only bits, but it was easy to recall the symbols for the alpha and the omega. The uppercase Greek letter for omega was well known, but the smaller case letter stayed in my head because it looked like the top of a pitchfork. The odd looking letter also represented “omega.” And, of course, omega meant. . .the end.

  I shivered even though the temperature was almost eighty. Feeling spooked, I slipped through the open door and secured it. I felt as though someone’s strange amusements, which had all been at my expense, were now taking a more sinister turn.

  All right. Calm yourself and think. As I paced through the house, I remembered a miniscule but significant fact from high school—Annie and Sam had never taken Greek. Whoever was putting on these dark theatrics wanted to show me how smart and clever he or she was. And neither Sam nor Annie had ever been academically inclined or particularly clever. I squelched what would have been a satisfying grin.

  I officially checked Sam and Annie off as culprits, but now I’d have to go back, looking at the others in question. I suppose eventually, though, everyone looked guilty. In fact, if I concentrated hard enough, I could probably incriminate myself!

  Then a thumping noise in the library stopped my reverie as well as my heart. “Who’s there?” Had someone gotten in while I’d been outside? I stood motionless, except for the tremor in my legs. There was the noise again. Someone was in the house. Or was it the usual creaks and moans from the ancient timbers?

  I wanted to move, but I couldn’t budge. I bit my lip and propelled myself toward the library. “Who’s there?” Why did I keep saying that?

  As I stood just outside of the library, I held my breath and reached my hand into the dark room. Was someone just around the corner? I flipped the switch on quickly and peered inside. No one. Light now filled every corner of the library. Nothing. How odd. “What’s happening here?” Just existing in this house of shadows and echoes was becoming agonizing. It was hard to know what was real and what was created merely from the momentum of my own imaginings.

  I noticed a moth battering himself against the bare bulb, his wings crumbling against the heat. He had no idea freedom was all around him. I shooed him away from the light, not wanting anything else to be tortured.

  I checked the whole house again for unwanted visitors and then headed into my bedroom for some sanctuary. As I sat down on my bed, I heard a scratching noise. What now? The two-way radio had come to life again. I’d kept fresh batteries in it, and now my diligence had paid off.

  This time I heard a man with a heavy accent. He yelled, “Where have you been? Answer me!” Then the man mumbled, or perhaps he’d pulled the device away from his mouth so he could talk to someone near him. I positioned the radio tightly against my ear, straining to hear every sound. Eva. Yes, he definitely had said the name Eva. He was talking to her, muttering about Volstead. I heard him say a few words I couldn’t make out, but after a few seconds of interference, I heard him murmur something to Eva that included the word Lakes.

  As I absorbed those last words, the radio slipped from my hand and fell onto the wooden floor. I looked down at the gadget. The green light had gone out even though the batteries were new. I had broken the two- way radio.

  22 – This Dark Journey

  Dr. Lakes. Well, he’d certainly acted oddly the day he’d handed me the deed and key, and he’d mentioned something about the house having an unwholesome feeling. Lakes couldn’t have been more right. I just had no idea some of the unwholesomeness might be him.

  And Eva—the wife of Boris Lukin. The two of them were my next-door neighbors. The ones always hiding behind the trees and shrubs. I suddenly remembered something Max had said—that the Lukins had wanted to buy Volstead Manor.

  I slid down to the floor. Okay. What do I have so far? The first time the radio had been in use, I had overheard the voice of an angry woman. That may have been Eva Lukin, although I couldn’t remember for certain if the woman had an accent. Eva had talked to someone named Seth about a plan not working. Now a man with a thick accent talked about my house, and then he mentioned the name Lakes as he spoke to Eva. What was the man’s accent? Romanian? Magnolia had said the Lukins came from a village in Transylvania. That fact was certainly easy to remember. Yes, indeed, the data leads to the Lukins’ house. It would also explain how I could hear the two- way radio, since the house wasn’t far away.

  Other intriguing particulars kept seeping into my thinking. I felt certain Granny’s attorney, Mr. Lakes, was mixed up in the plan since his name was mentioned. That means Lakes must have been the one to alert the Lukins of my arrival. Made sense. I picked up the two- way radio. Also, a person named Seth, who appeared to be the owner of the gadget, was somehow involved. And apparently Boris and Eva were livid, wondering why Seth hadn’t stayed in touch.

  I gripped the radio in my palm until it made my hand ache. I released it and noticed what I had not noticed before. The black device had wear marks on it from heavy use. Some of the shiny paint had worn off where Seth’s fingers had been. They were marks from much smaller hands than mine. The hands of a child. Seth was not an adult.

  Then I recalled the small ghostlike figure who had run through my backyard one evening. Perhaps that figure had been Seth. There had also been the strange flashing light, like Morse code, coming from the Lukins’ upstairs window, which I’d not only seen that same evening, but also on the night I’d moved in. And what about the Morse code I’d seen? Had I really caught the Lukins spelling out the word cat?”

  I rubbed my temples to help my concentration. I couldn’t help but wonder if other people were involved.

  And more important, what exactly was the plan Eva mentioned to Seth? My house wasn’t worth much, and Granny’s money had been a secret. I’d been down that rabbit hole before, and it only went in circles.

  I sighed and focused on something else Max had said. He’d mentioned a man named Buford who had desperately wanted the house and who’d been willing to pay much more than it was worth. Max had also said the offer had come in years earlier. That was long before Granny had even placed the money in the passageway. So, there must be something else enticing about my house.

  Oh Lord, please help me figure out the “whys” of this. You and I are still in this together. Right?

  The terms Prohibition and Volstead suddenly rang in my head for attention. There was the still in the attic as well as the strange passage in my bedroom closet, which did appear to be designed as part of the house when it was built. The long, narrow hole with the ladder was obviously a hidden storage for the alcohol, which the homeowners were trafficking illegally.

  But surely no one would be interested in a few jars of alcohol, especially since some of the booze made back during Prohibition had turned out to be poisonous. I doubted the canning jars were worth a great deal, but maybe there was something else hidden in th
e house— money, jewels, or valuables of some kind that were interconnected with the business of bootlegging.

  For some reason, a poem from a recent mystery, Too Close to the Flame, surfaced in my mind. A couple of the lines went something like:

  “Shall I come to fasten or tear apart,

  to love or veil this blueprint on my heart?”

  “Blueprint,” I whispered. Interesting word, which brought something else to mind—something I’d seen in the attic. When I’d looked into the compartment where the still was hidden, I had also seen a wrinkled piece of paper, bluish in color, like a blueprint. I wondered if the paper could be a true layout of the house. If the document was real, could it show any other secret passages? And might those hidden spaces contain something rare and valuable? Unfortunately, though, the blue paper had appeared unreachable that day. Maybe I can remove a few of the attic boards.

  I glanced down at my clothes. I still had on my heels and black dress. The outfit wasn’t a good fit for the evening’s agenda, but I didn’t want to waste any more time.

  With flashlight in hand, I bounded up both flights of stairs to the third floor. As I reached for the attic doorknob, I felt a ripple of regret for not telling Max all about the recent events. He did know about Granny’s money as well as some of the original unpleasant incidents, but all the current happenings hadn’t been mentioned to him. Or to anyone.

  If Max could see me now, he’d think I was leading a double life. One minute I was the quirky Bailey who he hoped had potential as a wife and friend, and then there was that other side—the Bailey who couldn’t commit to anyone or trust anyone or even call the police when she was pursued by scoundrels!

  I needed Max’s help. I wanted his help. And yet I was a woman on a mission, and to stop now and explain all the facts would most certainly slow everything down. Not to mention that Max would insist I call the police. I would refuse, and then we’d be at an impasse. Well, I’d started on this dark journey, and I was determined to finish it.

  I opened the door to the attic, turned on the light, and climbed up on the stack of wood near the far corner. I shined my flashlight down the opening. With only a little strain, I saw the bluish document again but couldn’t reach it. Hmm. If I managed to rip off one of the boards at the bottom, I might be able to reach in and slip the paper out. I proceeded to rip off a loose board with the heel of my shoe. Well, at least I’ll get some good out of these silly things.

  I then wallowed on the dirty floor in my dress, trying to stretch my hand into the narrow opening. I felt for the paper, found it, and gingerly eased it out. A task that should have been impossible, or at least tricky, became almost too easy.

  The paper did appear to be a blueprint of some kind. I placed the document on a nearby crate and smoothed out the wrinkles. I moved my finger along the faded lines, trying to find something familiar. After a few seconds of probing, I found the living room, kitchen, library, as well as the other rooms. Then I saw the second floor bedrooms and even the tower on the third floor. The document did indeed appear to be the original blueprint of the house.

  I quickly zeroed in on my bedroom closet. Would the hidden space be indicated? Yes, there were extra parallel lines—a passage had been designed into the walls between the two bedroom closets. My goodness. Guess the owners had to bribe the architect as well as the builder to keep quiet. Or maybe the owners just claimed they wanted a place to keep their valuables, and then they simply added their own shelving later.

  A drop of sweat fell from my forehead and splattered on the document. I dabbed up the wetness with the hem of my dress. I noticed not far from the damp spot was a circle with an x inside, which had been drawn in separately within the passage. Looks like someone has drawn the lines in with black ink.

  I had this gut feeling I was about to discover something. If I could understand the motives of my tormentors, I might think of a way to outsmart them.

  I felt invigorated yet unexpectedly spooked as if someone were watching me. I looked over my shoulder.

  No one was there. Calm down, Bailey.

  Without delay, I folded up the blueprint and headed downstairs to my bedroom closet. I stared at the false door, which I hadn’t opened since my first morning in the house. The ladder had looked so precarious, I hadn’t wanted to risk my life for exploration’s sake. Now I needed to know. I had to get some answers. Right now.

  I remembered the procedure. I lifted the section of the wainscotings that had been made as a separate unit and slid the door all the way up until it locked into place. I positioned my flashlight to shine into the hole. Oh, if those walls down there could talk, the stories they might tell. Enough postulation. Let’s see. Okay, my shoes weren’t going to work. I yanked off my heels and got on my knees. I backed into the hole before I could talk myself out of going. I eased my foot down ever so slowly to find the first rung of the ladder.

  Odd smells tickled my nostrils as my foot settled down on the first board. The wood felt solid enough. Okay. Next rung and then the next. Nothing felt wobbly, so I hung on with one hand and reached up for the flashlight with the other. Leaning back, I set the light behind me on a shelf between two jars of home brew. Now I could see what I was doing.

  The map had shown the mark to be just right of the door, but how far down, I had no idea. With great care, I lowered myself farther down into the passage.

  The air chilled my overheated skin, making me feel feverish. I glanced downward into the black pit. My hands went weak, thinking of the consequences of a fall. Bailey Marie Walker, whatever you do, don’t look down!

  I froze in place to calm my thoughts. Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay. I searched the inner wall for signs of anything that might look like a secondary entry. Hmm. If I were trying to hide something, how would I do it? Possibly with yet another sliding door? But wouldn’t that be too obvious? Just as I flirted with that thought, I moved a couple of jars of spirits and noticed an area between the shelves that looked slightly different. As I held on, I let my other hand feel the surface of the wood. The tips of my fingers felt a slight notch in one of the boards.

  I looped my arm under the rung of the ladder for a little extra support and safety, and then with my other hand, I tried to grip the notch and pull. Something shook loose. I swung a bit to the right for some leverage. I tried again, and bit by bit the miniature door slid to the left. A hole. I couldn’t believe it. A small hidden space had been exposed.

  I leaned closer to the opening. The flashlight did little to illuminate the hole. Did I really want to stick my hand in there? I gritted my teeth and plunged my fist inside. I spread my fingers as something wispy lighted on my hand. Oh, great. Spiderwebs. Those creatures certainly weren’t my best friends. Maybe they were all asleep. Just keep going.

  Then my hand hit something hard. I felt around the object. It was a box with handles! Wow. I wanted to cheer. I wanted to find Max and kiss him. But not yet. I had more work to do.

  In one sweep, I pulled the box out of the hole. Dust stirred and hovered around my head, making me cough and sneeze.

  I could see the box was really a small antique looking chest. I couldn’t believe it. A rush of satisfaction and relief washed over me. Even if the box turned out to be empty, I didn’t care. I’d found it. Yes indeed. I’d finally discovered the engine that had driven a small cluster of folks over the edge.

  No time for reflection, Bailey. My arms were starting to ache, so I pushed my hand through one of the circular handles and started up the ladder. The box wasn’t weighty, but the metal still cut into my wrist. With speed that surprised even me, I hauled the chest up, hollering all the way up for oomph. I heaved the box up onto the ledge. Next, I retrieved the flashlight and sat it next to the box. Now, to get me out of here.

  I reached up to grab the edge of the closet, but my sweaty hands lost their grip. I slipped downward, screaming. My arms thrashed about, trying to find something to grasp. I heard a ripping sound and then felt a slight jolt. Stunned, but grateful
, I saw that the flared part of my dress had caught on a sharp piece of protruding wood. With only my leg caught in a rung of the ladder and my dress precariously holding me, I semi dangled in terror for a moment. With adrenaline- laced strength, I grabbed a wooden shelf and then the ladder. Got it. Thank you, Lord.

  Once attached again, I gave the ladder the clutch of death. I felt funny hugging two-by-fours like that, but I couldn’t help myself. After a consoling pause, I reached out ever so carefully and released my dress from the spike of wood. Then I hoisted myself back up into the light. Freedom at last.

  I rested back on my closet floor, horizontal and motionless. My teeth felt gritty. I licked my lips and swallowed. I stayed there without moving until the horror of what had nearly happened faded a bit.

  I suddenly realized why someone would want to create another separate compartment in the passage. If anyone unsympathetic to their business were to find the goods, at least the cash would still be safe. Safe to launder or use for bribes or hold until the Volstead Act could be repealed. I raised an eyebrow. Sounded logical. And since there were so many remaining jars, the owners must have been forced to leave in a hurry. Could they have been murdered by the mob? If so, the house may have been abandoned, controlled by the state, and then auctioned off.

  Hmm. Even though Granny never lived in the house and it had fallen into disrepair, I wondered if she’d been the one to modernize it since the ’20s. I shook my head. Only God knew the answers to all my queries.

  I switched gears and thought of Max again. I wondered what he would have thought if he could have seen me carry that chest up from the depths of the house. Would he be proud of me or would he be upset that I didn’t call the police? Maybe a little of both. I chuckled.