Secrets of Harmony Grove (52 page)

“Troy was pushing on this part here, like this,” Floyd said, pressing against the back wall of the now-empty cubby, “saying that’s where the cash must’ve slipped through, and all of a sudden, this board just popped off.” With a final push, the piece of wood came loose, falling onto the floor of the hidden room inside with a muffled clatter. “Like that, see? We got a flashlight and took a look in this hole and realized there was a whole room back there. We thought for sure we’d discovered a secret treasure, like I said. It took a while to figure out how to get in, but by sticking a mirror up in there and shining the flashlight around, Troy figured out that was what the latch in the third cubby was for. Sure enough, he was right. This time, he just pulled and pulled until it actually worked.”

Finished with his demonstration, Floyd brushed himself off as he explained what had happened next.

“See, Troy had been lying to me about not skimming the cash, and we both knew it. But once we found the room and went inside and discovered that packet of money in there, we figured out a way that he wouldn’t have to die and I wouldn’t have to kill him. We would simply use the same excuse with the boss that Troy had tried to use with me, saying that he hadn’t taken any money after all but that it had been falling through a crack at the back of the stairs without either one of us realizing it. As long as I was able to produce the full amount of the missing cash—which we were able to do, thanks to the money we found in that envelope in there—they would believe me.”

“Money that wasn’t yours.”

He laughed as if that were a mere technicality and kept going with his tale.

“After sleeping on it that night, Troy came to me Tuesday morning and said he’d been thinking that it might be better for both of us if I delivered the explanation, along with the cash, in person rather than on the phone. He offered to stay here and man the fort, so to speak—said I could even spend the night there if I wanted to and make a whole evening of it, maybe take in a show or something with the little bit that would be left over from the
packet of money. Sounded like a plan to me, so I packed a bag and headed off to Atlantic City to meet with the boss, deliver the cash, and tell him our story, just like Troy said. After that, I had a great time, even caught the eight fifteen of Tony Orlando.”

Floyd seemed to be speaking in earnest, which made me realize that Troy had even tricked his own partner in crime. Having seen the journal and its mention of diamonds on Monday night, Troy had figured out a way to get rid of Floyd by sending him on an errand Tuesday morning—one that had lasted all the way through to Wednesday night.

“So when you spoke to your bosses, they believed you?” Heath asked.

“I thought they did. In fact, everything seemed fine. It’s strictly small time, this particular syndicate. They’re a lot like me, more about the money than anything else. I figured they were just as glad I didn’t have to off anybody to set things right, you know? By the time I left there, we were cool. Or so I thought. An old friend was even going to come with me to the show, but then he changed his mind once he heard Dawn wasn’t going be there, just Tony. Anyway, things seemed great, but when I got back here on Wednesday evening, Troy was dead. I was shocked, figured they hadn’t been as convinced as I had thought.”

All of his talk about syndicates and groups and contracts made things sound more like a business network than a bunch of thugs. Then I realized it was both, really: After all, that’s why it was called
organized
crime!

Floyd went on to say that the goons who had come into my inn this evening—at my own invitation, no less—were two of the most brutal hatchet men in the mob. In fact, he said, they were so tough they had only three real duties: bodyguarding the bigwigs, carrying out contract killings, and “all the C to B animal management stuff.”

“
Animal
management?” I asked, pulse surging.

Suddenly, Floyd’s face turned bright red, and from the look in his eyes I think he realized he had gone too far, saying something he shouldn’t have.

“Sorry, I don’t know a whole lot about that—C to B’s an area I don’t get into. Never mind.”

“What is ‘C to B’?” I asked evenly, thinking of all that had happened this week, of the creature we had been looking for, the gash in Troy’s leg.

Face flushing an even brighter red, Floyd held up both hands and told us not to worry about it, that it didn’t matter. With a burst of anger, I threw down the money I had been cradling in my arms, shifted my grip on the gun, and raised it to Floyd’s face.

“Oh, but it does matter, Floyd,” I said, ignoring the startled glance Heath shot my way. “You’d better keep talking,
now
. Or else.”

“Okay, okay, but keep your voice down,” Floyd whispered, real fear in his eyes. “I’ve been working with the feds on the money-laundering issue, but C to B is a whole ’nuther ball game—all of the wrong people involved, if you know what I mean, the kind of people that are very, very dangerous. If I spill on this, I’ll be a dead man for sure.”

“Looks like you lose either way. What does ‘C to B’ stand for, and what is it?” I asked slowly, my eyes and heart quick-freezing into ice. I had no idea if I would actually be able to pull the trigger or not if it came to that, but in that moment, it sure felt like a possibility. That must have shown on my face because after a beat Floyd continued, his voice nearly a whisper.

“Fine. ‘C to B’ stands for ‘Canaries to Bears.’ It’s a kind of gambling, the kind that’s not legal in the United States. I don’t like it, never have, but I can’t deny it brings in big bucks. That’s the word on the street anyway.”

I thought of the federal liaison Liz and I had met with earlier, the woman in the sensible brown shoes who had mentioned that there were certain types of gambling “that weren’t ever legal in the U.S.” This must have been what she was talking about.

“What does it involve?” Heath asked, his brow furrowed.

“Just what you’d think. C to B covers everything from canary fights to bear baiting and all sorts of other animals in between. Certain high rollers love it; they’ll pay a fortune just to get the day and time and secret location
of the next fight, which is always within a few hours’ drive of Atlantic City but changes every month. The ones who come are loaded with cash—and not petty cash, either. I’ve heard that millions will change hands in a single night. Crazy, huh?”

Lowering the gun slightly, I tried to understand what he was telling us.

“You mean animals fighting animals?” Thinking of Burl Newton’s father, I added, “Like cockfighting? These people watch the animals fight and bet on which ones will win?”

“Exactly.”

“Did Troy participate in this stuff?” I asked in horror. Even with all I had learned about my ex-boyfriend in the past few days, this would have been the most shocking revelation of all.

“No way. He found it as disgusting as I did. But he knew about the C to B stuff. Everyone knows about it but nobody squeals, thanks in part to the Nightmare Twins. Word is, they’ll handle and transport any kind of animal the bigwigs want to put on the docket, no matter how fierce. That should give you an idea of how tough those guys are. They don’t give it a thought; they just go for it. Same thing when it’s time to do a hit. There’s no fear in either one of them. Not an ounce of humanity between the two either. Is it any wonder I came down here to hide when I saw them coming?”

Heath and I looked at each other, ignoring his question. All I could think of was the wound in Troy’s leg, the one that had been made by an animal. I couldn’t know for sure, not yet, but I had a strong feeling that wound had something to do with these C to B fights. Whatever got at Troy and cut him that way wasn’t just some wild animal but one that had been raised and trained to kill. Maybe it really had been a bear after all, one that had been kept for a time in an emu’s cage.

Before I could voice my thoughts out loud, Floyd offered to show us one more thing that might help us understand, a special feature of the hidden room they had also discovered down here on Monday night.

“Heath, do me a favor,” Floyd said, turning toward the stairs. “Take hold of the banister there and push it upward. You gotta push hard, even harder than you did with the lever.”

Doing as Floyd instructed, Heath set down the flashlight and the cash
he’d been holding in order to put both hands on the shiny wooden banister and push it upward with all of his might. But nothing happened. I held my breath, watching as he tried again. Then, before I realized what was happening, Floyd had a gun—his own gun, which he had been concealing—pressed against my temple, and he was telling me to drop my weapon, nice and easy.

“Hands in the air, both of you,” Floyd said as Heath spun around to see what was going on.

As I released the grip on my MK40 and listened to it hit the floor, I knew there was no other “special feature” they had discovered. Floyd had just been distracting us so he could gain the upper hand.

“Don’t do this, Floyd,” Heath replied, looking at Floyd’s gun and slowly raising his hands as well.

“You think I want to?” Floyd asked, gripping my upper arm and moving me back from the stairs. “I got no beef with you folks. But my hands are tied, you understand? Open the door. And no quick moves, or she gets it.”

Heath did as he was told, pulling the lever that popped the stairs loose and swinging them open to again reveal the hidden room inside. Floyd made both of us go in, where I felt sure he was about to finish us off, execution style. But then he simply kept the gun trained on us and told us to toss him our cell phones and car keys.

“Don’t worry, you two,” he said, trying to catch each item as it was tossed his way. “There’s plenty of food and water in there. I’ll give it a couple of days, and once the feds have honored their part of the deal and I’m on that beach with that mango juice, I’ll give them your location and they’ll come rescue you.”

“And what’s to stop us from coming out of here before then?” I asked, heart pounding in my throat, terrified of the prospect of being locked in this damp, dark space.

Floyd thought for a minute and then replied.

“Because I’m going to wire it up with a couple explosives before I leave. One bad move and this whole place goes kerflooey. Understand?”

Without waiting for an answer, he reached out and began to close the secret door. With a final, metallic ping as it clicked shut, Heath and I were engulfed in darkness.

Catching my breath, I stood there frozen for a long moment, blinking furiously, praying that this was just a dream and that I would soon wake up. But it was no use. The truth was staring me in the face, so to speak, a truth blacker than the darkness of this musty, smothering grave.

“You okay, Si?” Heath asked, the sound of his voice suddenly snapping me into action.

“We have to move fast, before he has a chance to set up the explosives,” I said, thrusting out my hands as I blindly advanced toward the stairs.

He did the same, and though we both managed to reach the inside of the hidden door, it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard we pushed. Feeling along the surface with our hands, neither one of us could find any sort of latch or knob that would open the door and get us out of there.

“Think!” I cried, on the verge of a total meltdown, hot tears streaking down my cheeks in the blackness. “Do you remember anything about this from the plans?”

“No, I was only worried about how to get in, not how to get out.”