Chapter 9
Wet stone.
Iron.
Earth.
Her flashlight illuminated shelves of empty Mason jars.
A wooden workbench.
An old kerosene lantern.
A rusted shovel.
Then the beam crossed a mark on the stone wall.
A rectangle.
Newer mortar.
Rachel walked closer.
Someone had patched a section perhaps four feet wide.
Not recently.
Decades ago.
She touched the mortar.
Memory flickered.
Thunder.
Her grandmother’s arms around her.
A red metal box.
Rachel turned.
There.
A wooden bench sat against the opposite wall.
She pulled it away.
Nothing.
She crouched.
Ran her fingers beneath.
A strip of metal touched her skin.
Rachel shone the flashlight.
A flat steel handle had been recessed into the floor.
Her pulse changed.
She cleared dirt with the shovel.
The outline of a hatch emerged.
Approximately two feet square.
The hatch was locked.
Rachel tried Evelyn’s keys.
Third key.
Click.
She lifted.
Cold air rose from below.
A ladder disappeared into darkness.
Rachel remained still.
Then she took out her phone.
No signal.
She should not climb into an unknown space alone.
So she did not.
She closed the hatch.
Locked it.
Moved the bench back.
Then drove nine miles until she found service and called Thomas.
“I found the place my grandmother hid from the storm.”
Thomas went silent.
“Is something there?”
“A locked subcellar.”
“Do not go down alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“I also found a photograph.”
She told him the date.
Thomas did not speak for several seconds.
“Rachel, dates on photographs can be wrong.”
“I know.”
“Do you recognize your mother?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain enough to be driving to your office tomorrow.”
“What about tonight?”
“I’m staying.”
Thomas exhaled.
“I don’t like that.”
“Neither does Daniel.”
“How do you know?”
Rachel looked at the fourteen missed calls now displayed on her screen.
“Because he’s been calling me for an hour.”
Daniel called again while she was speaking.
She let it go to voicemail.
Then a text arrived.
Call me. Urgent.
Another.
You need to leave Black Laurel tonight.
Rachel stared at the message.
Then she called him.
He answered instantly.
“Where are you?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Rachel, are you at the cabin?”
“Why?”
“Because I heard you drove up.”
“Heard from whom?”
“People.”
“Your mysterious mountain people again?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No.”
“Leave.”
Rachel leaned against the Subaru.
“Why?”
“The place isn’t safe.”
“What changed since yesterday?”
“It’s falling apart.”
“You offered to buy it.”
“For convenience.”
“You also offered Evelyn six hundred thousand in January.”
Silence.
Not long.
But long enough.
“Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Thomas shouldn’t be sharing private negotiations.”
“I’m the beneficiary.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Why did you offer her six hundred thousand for a worthless cabin?”
“It wasn’t for the cabin. It was strategic land consolidation.”
“Then why offer me seventy-five?”
“I didn’t know you’d seen that.”
Third mistake.
Rachel looked toward the road.
“You expected me not to?”
“Rachel, listen.”
“I am.”
“The project changed. Appraisals changed. Markets changed.”
“In seven months?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
May you like
“Financing.”
“You told First Piedmont investors Mountain Crest was fully capitalized.”
