When Eden stepped into the kitchen, she gasped. Outside a security light shone through the curtainless windows and showed her that her clean, tidy kitchen had been ransacked. Doors and drawers were open, canisters of food had been overturned. Through the window in the kitchen door she could see what looked to be a flashlight moving about on the screened porch. To her right, through the dining room, she could see the glare of another flashlight, and she could hear things being moved. There were at least two of them, and they were quietly shifting things around. She heard what sounded to be a sofa cushion hitting the floor.
Why aren’t they afraid of waking me? she wondered. She glanced up at McBride to see that he was frowning so hard that the furrows between his eyebrows were an inch deep. He didn’t like what was going on, and she had an idea that if she weren’t with him he’d confront the people in her house. In a gun battle? she wondered.
He pointed to the door that led into the pantry. It was a small room between the dining room and the kitchen. Inside was a trapdoor in the floor that led down into the cellar. Rarely did people see that trapdoor, as it was usually covered with boxes of cans. But Eden hadn’t bought enough food to fill the kitchen cabinets, much less the pantry. As she reached for the ring that was flush with the floor, McBride caught her hand. She looked at him and he shook his head no.
When he reached for a bottle of cooking oil, Eden nodded and took it from him. Feeling her way along the dark floor, she felt for the rusty old hinges, then uncapped the oil and poured it on the tired old metal. Setting the bottle down, she turned to him and nodded, then he picked up the ring and lifted the door into the cellar. He wanted to go first, but Eden pushed him away. She knew the stairs better than he did. There were ten of them, and they had been replaced just before she left—which meant that they were now “only” twenty-plus years old.
Taking a deep breath, she started down the stairs, cautiously putting her foot down before she applied her full weight. They held. When she reached the bottom, she turned to McBride, who was right behind her. He’d lowered the door above their heads.
Eden felt along the damp walls of soft old bricks and tried not to shiver when she touched the dirty shelves. When she’d lived there she’d kept the cellar clean because she’d used it for what it had been built for: storing produce from the garden. She’d wrapped up green tomatoes, apples, potatoes, and carrots, and had kept them in the cellar for months. And even though one wall looked as though it had been rebuilt, the room was full of the nests of insects and rodents. Bath, she thought. When I get out of this I want a long, hot bath.
Finally, she found what she was looking for: candles and matches. Because of the dampness of the cellar, the matches were always kept in a tight metal box. Now she hoped that they’d kept dry for all these years. Holding her breath, she opened
the box, withdrew a little box of matches, pulled one out, then struck it. It burst into a very welcome flame, and Eden lit three fat white candles. By the time this was done, McBride had his cell phone open.
“I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t call your sheriff,” he whispered, looking at her in the candlelight. “I think my people should handle this one,” he said.
Eden started to say something but didn’t. Instead, she watched him. She had no way of knowing what was going on, but she knew that something was making him very angry. He wasn’t frightened, and didn’t seem to be looking for a way to get them out of the house, which she thought was odd. Instead, he was calling “his” people. All things considered, she decided that Jared McBride knew a great deal more about what was going on upstairs than he was telling her.
Just as she heard his phone ring on the other end, they heard footsteps above their heads. In an instant, he had closed his phone and Eden had extinguished the candles. She could see nothing in the darkness, but she felt McBride’s strong arm as he pushed her into a corner of the room while he stood at the foot of the stairs. She heard quiet noises from him, as though he’d bent and picked up something from the floor. She wondered what it was. Something he could use for a weapon if the men came down the stairs?
She heard footsteps over their heads, and when she heard voices she listened so hard her ears hurt, but all she heard was that one of them said something about a “jolly good time.” They’re English, she thought.
When the men moved away, Eden felt the full thrust of her fear. Who were these people? What did they want? Were they just more aggressive jewelry hunters? Twice while she’d lived with Mrs. Farrington they’d awakened on Saturday mornings to find people digging in the gardens, looking for those blasted jewels. Both times Mrs. Farrington had fired a shotgun over their heads, and they’d run away cursing her.
But why would they be here now? she wondered. What always triggered the jewel hunters was the publication of a new book that included the story of the stolen necklace. But there’d been no new book published recently. There was the Internet, though, and the Farrington story was always there for treasure seekers to find.
When she heard the unmistakable sound of the lock on the door overhead being latched, Eden drew in her breath sharply. They were locked inside the cellar!
She looked across the blackness and tried to see McBride. Why wasn’t he upset that they’d just been locked in a cellar? But she heard nothing from him. He was silent. Eden was sure that she heard laughter as the people upstairs moved away.
McBride said nothing until there was no sound from upstairs, then he opened his cell phone and pushed a few buttons. In the silence, Eden heard the ringing on the other end, but he put the phone to his ear so she couldn’t hear what was said and by whom. “Come get us,” he said into the phone. “Now. We’re in a room off the kitchen. Look on the floor for a door. We’re locked in.”
He held the phone open so she could use the light from it to relight the candles, and when they were lit, she looked at him. He didn’t seem as angry as he had been, but maybe he was good at concealing it. “Turn ’round,” she said to him, and he turned to face the wall while Eden pulled on her jeans, T-shirt, and sweater. She wished she had socks, as her feet were cold.
“Someone should be here in about an hour,” he said softly, his back to her, then he held out his phone. “You could call someone else if you want. The sheriff or Granville.”
As she dressed, Eden thought about what he was saying. No, she didn’t want to call either of them. For all that she’d known him for years, the sheriff had a big mouth, and that deputy of his, Clint, would be sure to tell everyone in town what had happened. “Found her locked inside with that guy she beat up,” she could hear Clint saying. “If you ask me, there’s somethin’ goin’ on with those two.” No, Eden didn’t want Brad to hear that.
“Okay,” she said, “you can turn around.”
Leaning against the wall, his long legs out before him, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m part of a spy ring, remember? I have information to give to the enemy, and they came to get it. By the way, who is the enemy now? It’s not still Russia, is it?”
McBride seemed unperturbed by her sarcasm. He moved away from the wall and picked up a big quart jar full of pickled beets.
“I wouldn’t eat them if I were you. They’re over twenty years old, and they’ll probably explode if you open them.”
“Do you mean that you canned them?”
“Not exactly rocket science.”
He said nothing, just kept looking at the jar in wonder. “I never met a woman who could make pickles. That is what they are, aren’t they?”
Eden squinted at him. “Why do I get the impression that you’re glad that the two of us are locked in here together? I can’t imagine that you did it for some sex-thing, so what is it that you want?”
He kept looking at the jar of beets, but Eden could see a tiny smile play at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know who those men up there are. I heard them and I got you out. I knew about the cellar, but I didn’t know about that skinny staircase. That thing is a danger! I almost got stuck twice.”