PAWSitively Sinister (A Klepto Cat Mystery Book 11) (18 page)

Peter glanced at Rochelle, then said to Michael, “Why don’t you guys just take pictures—I’m not into anything that crazy.”

“Are you going down?” Peter asked Rochelle.

She looked at him apprehensively. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I guess I should.”

“Only if you want to, hon,” Peter said.

“Why, how bad could it be?” Savannah asked.

“Okay, Savannah,” Craig said, “come on down, but don’t touch anything.”

“Like she’d want to,” Arthur said under his breath.

Suzette chuckled nervously. “Can’t be all that bad.”

“Oh yes it can,” Savannah called up to her once she’d exited the lift. “Come down at your own risk.”

“My God!” Suzette exclaimed when she stepped out of the electric lift and walked around behind the screens.

“Might as well see it,” Rochelle said, apprehensively stepping into the cage once it had returned to floor level again.

Peter watched Rochelle exit, then brought the contraption up for Iris. He followed reluctantly.

Once everyone was down in the hidden room, the women with their hands clasped against their chest or over their mouth and the men walking around the room flashing their lights here and there, and muttering, they suddenly heard the lift engage.

“Who’s there?” Craig asked, shining his flashlight toward the opening between the two rooms. “Rupert, did you change your mind?”

No one answered. Suddenly, the trap door slammed shut. “Hey!” Craig called. “Who’s there? Hey, open that door; there are people down here,” he shouted.

After a few moments, they heard pounding and then the sound of someone running away.

“Hey, come back!” Craig yelled. He thinned his lips, shook his head, and said, “Well, a fine fix we’ve gotten ourselves into, folks.”

“Who was that, anyway?” Arthur asked, taking hold of Suzette’s hand.

“Well, let’s think about it. Who else did we tell about this room, do you remember?”

“Just Ruth and Rupert,” Savannah said. “Certainly, they wouldn’t have any reason to… ” she said, sounding near hysteria. When the reality of the situation struck her, she said, “I can’t believe it. We’re locked in a dungeon with a bunch of… dead people.”

Craig shined his flashlight around again. “Yeah, dead people all dressed and posing as if they’re alive.”

“… having a séance—the dead trying to raise the dead,” Suzette said. “How weird is that?”

“Do you recognize any of them?” Craig asked.

“We’re stuck down here, maybe forever,” Iris said, “and you want us to identify the corpses. Have you lost your mind, Craig?”

“Awww babe,” he said, putting his arms around his wife. “Rupert knows where we are. He’ll come looking for us… sooner or later.”

“Let’s hope it’s sooner,” Peter said. “I’m claustrophobic.”

Michael glanced at Peter and responded to Craig’s original question. “It would be hard to identify them; they’ve done some decomposing down here.”

Craig shook his head. “They’re in remarkable condition, actually.”

“I’ll bet that’s the grandmother—Mrs. Randall—leading the party,” Savannah said, pointing.

Suddenly, Suzette grasped Savannah’s arm. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “That picture. It’s them!”

“What picture?” Arthur asked.

“We were looking at a picture in that reading room up there—you know—of a séance or a reading. Didn’t you see it?”

The men each shook their head.

“Yes, it must have been taken shortly after they were… put down here,” Savannah said.

“Or,” Iris suggested, “before they were put down here. I want to look more closely at that when—if—we ever get out of here.” Suddenly she said, “There. Look. It’s another shot of them in that picture. Craig, shine your light here. Take a look at this.”

Craig looked at the photo, then back at the corpses, who all sat in chairs around the large table. “Holy sh--, it’s them, all right. In the same poses.” He said, “… except for the madam. I think she was alive in this picture. My gosh, whoever did the embalming was good.”

“And the makeup is amazing,” Iris said.

“Miriam’s father was a make-up artist for some of the theatrical groups in town,” Rochelle said.

“Oh my gosh,” Savannah said, “so he was in on all this, too?”

“And obviously, so was that poor little girl. Only she evidently didn’t buy into the program and the guilt sent her into the bottle,” Craig surmised.

“So who did this? I mean there’s the grandfather and the grandmother. Who would have done this?”

Craig took in a deep breath, grimaced, and said, “My guess is the butler did it.”

Several minutes had passed and Craig was becoming more and more impatient. “Well, we’re using up oxygen here,” he growled. “Obviously, no one knows we’re in trouble yet. We’d better try to get someone’s attention.” He called out, “Help! Help!”

The women began screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs, as well.

Michael pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, but found that he had no service, so he picked up a stool, climbed up on the table, and began banging the object against the ceiling.

After several minutes, Craig said, “It’s no use. We’re too far away from anyone to be heard. We have to hope that Ruth and Rupert will come looking for us, that is, if… ”

“If what?” Savannah asked.

“If whoever nailed that trap door shut didn’t… harm them.”

Savannah gasped.

When Craig realized what he’d implied, he put his arm around Savannah. “Just joking around; nothing to worry about. I’m sure they’re okay.”

But his words didn’t soothe her new fears for her child.

“What about ventilation in here?” Suzette asked. “It’s stuffy, but there seems to be an air source.”

Craig looked around the room and saw an aluminum vent running along the wall up toward the ceiling. “Excuse me,” he said, moving one of the chairs from around the table. As he did so, the corpse, that had been occupying the chair toppled over and hit the floor. “Oh, that’s not good,” Craig said, staring down at the man. Closing his eyes briefly, he stepped over the body, carried the chair to one corner of the room, and began tapping on the metal tubing with a metal vase.
Clang, clang
.

Within the next fifteen minutes, the prisoners could hear a faint voice calling, “Craig? Savannah?”

The group exercised renewed energy. “Here! We’re down here!” they shrieked and shouted. Craig continued to bang on the vent pipe.

When they stopped the noise, they heard a man’s voice calling, “What happened?”

“Rupert,” Arthur called out. “The trap door’s nailed shut.”

“Find a claw hammer or a crowbar and pry it open,” Michael instructed.

“I don’t see any tools,” he responded. “I’ll have to go get something.”

“Rupert,” Savannah called out, “the baby?”

“She’s with Ruth. Still sleeping,” he said.

Savannah relaxed a little. “Just hurry,” she said.

Craig looked from Michael to Arthur. “What do you suppose happened to the tools? Did Miriam run off with them?”

Another four or five minutes went by before they heard Rupert’s voice again. “Everyone okay?”

“Yes,” they said in unison. “Hurry.”

“Sit tight.” The next thing they heard was the squeaking sound of nails coming loose from wood. “Got it,” he announced through the opening. “How did you all get stuck down there?” he asked, scratching his head. “And what did you find, anyway?”

“You aren’t going to believe it,” Michael said.

One by one they rode the lift up and climbed out.

“I took a couple of pictures,” Savannah said. Once you opened the trap door, I was able to use my cell phone camera.” She showed one to Rupert. “Look what’s been under your feet all these years.”

“What?” Rupert said, staring at the photograph. “Those people are down there? What are they doing? Who are they? Do they live in there?” he asked, trying to peer into the secret room.

“Not exactly. But they’re dying to get out,” Arthur said, chuckling nervously.

When Rupert continued to look puzzled, Craig said, “It’s like the living dead.” He glanced down at the hole. “Creepy.”

“Boy, is it ever,” Suzette agreed. “They’ve been embalmed and dressed—they’re wearing make-up and are all sitting around doing a séance.” She shivered. “Can you believe it?”

Rupert looked down at the trap door and said, “But how did you guys get locked in there—this door was nailed shut from up here. Who did that?”

“I’m pretty sure it was one of only two people alive who know what’s down there,” Craig said. “Miriam Moore or her father.” He looked at his watch. “What time is it? Nine-thirty. Not too late. I need to find that woman. Savannah, do you know where she hangs out?”

“Ruth’s sister does. Ruth has Mattie’s phone number.”

“Let’s go get it,” Craig said, leading the others back to the main part of the house.

Michael and Suzette hung back. She grabbed the photograph she’d seen of the deadly séance and he nailed the trap door shut once again… maybe once and for all.

“We’re in the cab on our way back to our camp,” Mattie said to her sister.

When Ruth told Craig, he grabbed the phone. “Mattie, is this Mattie?”

“Yes,” came the meek reply.

“Is Miriam with you?”

“Yes.”

“This is Craig Sledge. I must speak with her immediately. Please have the driver bring you both to the Peyton Mansion.”

There was silence on the other end and then he could hear the two women arguing.

“Mattie, where are you?” he insisted.

“Um, on the edge of town. Ralph won’t come back. He has a fare.”

“Tell him to stop right there. I’m on my way,” he said as he raced toward his car.

After twenty minutes, Craig returned to the mansion with the two women. When he parked near the kitchen door, Mattie jumped out, but Craig had to help Miriam, as she was in handcuffs. He walked them inside, through the dining room and into the atrium, where most of the others had gathered.

“Handcuffs, Craig, really?” Savannah said.

“She was uncooperative.” He turned to Miriam and asked, as he removed the cuffs.

“You’re going to cooperate now, right?”

She gritted her teeth, then asked, “Can I have a canned soda?”

Craig motioned for someone to get her one, and Suzette volunteered. “Sit here,” he instructed the women, motioning toward a couple of straight-back chairs. Craig sat opposite them. He addressed Miriam. “So you knew about your grandmother’s little rip-off scam and body collection, did you?”

“I guess I did,” she said, choking up, “but I swear, I didn’t remember it until today.” She took a deep breath. “I was walkin’ past a store in town and saw on the TV a Dracula movie. It reminded me of something, you know, and I finally figured out it was something real to me.” She began to sob. “That’s what I saw that day when I followed my grandmother—all those bodies dressed up like that. I don’t know if it was the punishment or seeing them that messed me up so bad, but after that day, I forgot it all. I never went near that place again; never ever, ever. When I remembered it, I cried all day and then I came out to see if it was real or if it was one of my night dreams. When I saw the hole in the wall and heard you all down there, I knew it was real.” She turned to her friend. “God Mattie, it was real all this time.”

“And you tried to kill us. Why did you do that?” Craig asked, sternly.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you. I just didn’t want the secret out. Know what I mean? I couldn’t do that to my grandmother.”

Craig winced at the woman’s naivety, then sat back while Miriam began to explain.

“Grandmother and Grandfather were very wealthy. When I was born, my mother—their daughter—died and Grandmother stopped her social life. No more parties, charities, trips. Father told me that her only interest in life after that was trying to talk to her dead daughter… my mother. They moved into this place with me and my father. Grandmother got so hung up in the spiritual world that she became a sorta psychic healer and she started advertising herself. People came and they had these weird gatherings. I grew up with it all, so it wasn’t so crazy to me at the time.”

“What about Julian Fletcher?” Craig asked. “How did he fit in?”

Miriam took a swig of soda. “He was our butler, but he also worked with my grandmother at the readings—you know—taking things the guests offered.”

“That they offered?” Savannah said, wincing.

“Yeah, things they’d brought for their dead relatives.” She glared at Savannah and explained, “It made them happy to think the gifts went to their relatives. It was our job to make sure they left here happy.”

“How did those people end up down in the hidden room? Dead?” Craig asked.

Miriam finished downing her soda. “Oh that. Well, Grandmother and Julian would focus on certain people who came here for help. They’d convince them their loved ones were communicating from the grave.”

“So they were doing séances?” Rochelle confirmed.

“Yeah, for some of the guests.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “I don’t know how those people got down there. All I know is that I’d make friends with someone, like Stanley and Jeffry—I’d see them most every day around here. They’d play with me—jump rope, hopscotch, monopoly—then they’d disappear. Like Grandfather. He disappeared, too. I didn’t know they were living—dead—in that chamber. I didn’t know it, until I followed my grandmother that day.”

Craig grimaced. “How did your grandfather and the others die?”

“Now, that I don’t know. Poison, maybe? Suffocation? Maybe it was natural...what do you call it… natural death.” She shrugged.

“And your father? What was his role?” Craig asked.

Miriam hesitated. “I don’t think Father was part of that. He was a make-up artist.”

Craig gave the others a knowing look. He asked Miriam, “Did you kill Mr. Fletcher to keep him from telling the family secrets?”

She sat up straighter, “No. he was already dead. There were pill bottles around. I think he checked himself out, don’t you?”

Craig stared at the woman for several moments, then said, “May I ask how you ended up on the streets?”

“Hell, as I grew up and got out some and saw how other people lived, man, it became clear to me that something was wrong in my family. What I’d thought was normal, I found out was way far out. Know what I mean? Once the truth of it all hit me, I headed for the bottle. I even did drugs. I just wanted to forget. It’s been maybe twenty years since I left all that behind me. When I saw there was an estate sale here, I decided to come back and see what the place looked like now. You know a lot of the stuff in here belonged to my family. I got a bit...like… homesick.”