"Pa.s.sage?" said Jessie and Farrel.

Kathryn was nodding her head. "Of course! That's how Victoria got to her private studio. Not through the cemetery, through her own house!"

"If Nora's been taken hostage, I have to go after her now. There are miles of pa.s.sages and we're talking about someone who's killed three people already,"

"I'm going with you," said Kathryn, following me into the backyard.

"We don't have time to argue," I said firmly.

"Then don't. I got Nora into this and I feel responsible. I have to help you. And we're a team." She said the last part softly, but she meant it. It was a pivotal moment.

I turned to face her with the furious look of a warrior. She stepped back in surprise. Her eyes widened. She'd never seen me so much like a virago before. I reached out and held her shoulders at arms length. I said evenly but with a tone that was flint and steel, "We're up against someone who is desperate and armed, who might have one shot, or could have a dozen more magazines. I have a gun and a bulletproof vest. You won't be helping me if you're down there. There is no further discussion."

Kathryn nodded.

I said seriously, "Look, I need you to convince the police that a murderer is running around somewhere under the streets of Fenchester with a hostage. And I need you to try to figure out where they might surface."

She nodded again, fully understanding the situation. We hugged fiercely for less than a second, and she ran off.

Chapter 21.

I crouched through the dog door. The house was still. I ran upstairs, dragged the couch away from the wall, found my gun in a dark corner and came back downstairs.

The door to the bas.e.m.e.nt was wide open.

I held my gun in front of me in cop search fashion, snapped on the light switch, and moved slowly down the old cellar steps. They were steep and a little uneven. Each one was fastened securely to the oak handrail that was attached to a row of four floor-to-ceiling upright posts the size of telephone poles.

There was nothing down there but some empty stone shelves built into the wall, a straw broom leaning in one corner, and some clay flowerpots on the floor. One of the pots was broken.

A light film of white dust had been brushed into a small pile in one corner. The sweeping had obliterated any footprints.

I centered myself by chanting, Think fast. Think Fast. Think Fast.

I considered the scene as though it was a puzzle. Question: Why are the pots on the floor when there are empty shelves? I went over to the wall of slate shelves. They were inset in the whitewashed stone foundation. I tapped on the wall under the middle shelf. It felt like solid rock but it had to move back somehow.

If it was anything like the coffin that moved in the crypt, there would have to be some kind of heavy counterbalance.

I went back to the stairs and inspected the railing. One of the posts wasn't attached to it. I climbed halfway back up the stairs and pushed the post toward the middle of the room. It tipped, tilting a section of the stone floor underneath it. At the same time the whole inset of the shelves lurched back into the wall revealing a very narrow, dark pa.s.sage at one side. It opened much more quietly than the crypt. No wonder I didn't hear the killer use it after Gabe was shot. Of course Buster was also howling.

I had to push an oak lever out of the way to get into the s.p.a.ce, which closed the opening behind me. My pocket flashlight showed there were two sets of dusty footprints in the pa.s.sage. One had been made by st.u.r.dy work shoes, and they matched the prints I'd seen in the studio. The other set was irregular and scuffed, and in the shape of Nora's winter boots.

"It's showtime, folks," I said softly as I plunged into the pa.s.sage.

The narrow, thirty-foot pa.s.sage descended in a series of shallow steps. No one could have carried anything through it. I had to squeeze through by turning my body sideways, and even at that my front and back brushed both walls. Lucky claustrophobia wasn't one of my irrational fears.

The pa.s.sage ended in a narrow opening into the main tunnel. Its wood door was propped open with a bag marked plaster. The outside of the door had a faux stone texture. It was probably invisible when it was closed.

I swept light over the floor. There was an empty metal hand truck leaning against the wall and beyond it traces of white dust leading north. I followed the dust to Victoria's studio under the Majestic. The police lock on the studio stairs had been broken off. A length of pipe with the broken lock still hooked over it lay on the floor. The door was open and the lights were on.

I moved swiftly and quietly to the top of the stairs, crouching low. There was no one in the studio. I looked up to be sure the police had resealed the wall I'd broken down. A large sheet of plywood was secured over the hole. The light over the steps, where Kathryn and I had found Samson, was also on. I crept down them cautiously. Things were different down there. It was empty of people but the killer had been there recently. Dust was scuffed all over. The door to the clay storage area was open. Someone had pulled one of the bags marked clay to the bottom of the steps. I checked around quickly. No one had been knocked out and been left behind a crock or anything. No Nora anywhere. The whole search of the studio took less than four minutes.

Back out in the tunnel, I was keenly aware that the person dragging Nora along as insurance was a rat in a maze who was focused on getting out. If the murderer didn't know the crypt exit was sealed with the steel plate, I might be able to catch up.

I remembered what Samson Henshaw had said about waking up at the bottom of the steps. He'd thought he was blind until he saw the faint purple light from the sidewalk prisms when the sun rose the next day.

I switched off my flashlight and closed my eyes tight for a few seconds to get them used to the dark. I could see dots of light in the tunnel ceiling where the ends of the gla.s.s shafts poked between the fitted stones. I started off at a careful trot, touching the tunnel wall as a guide.

I was almost to the intersection of the tunnel under Fen Street. Just a little way beyond would be the side tunnel to the crypt. I heard someone shout a single word, "Nae!"

Suddenly a flashlight beam appeared, coming toward me along the side tunnel. I flattened myself against the wall. The beam didn't even sweep in my direction. It turned left and went west under Fen Street. The sidewalk prisms helped me speed to the tunnel intersection. I stopped and peered around the corner. Far ahead was the bobbing beam. Adrenaline coursed through me as I followed the light, breaking into a jog. Luckily the noise of trucks and buses rumbling along Fen Street above me covered my echoing footsteps.

I was closing on the light, so I slowed. With each bounce the flashlight took, I heard the distinct jingle of pieces of metal and an occasional grunt of protest from Nora.

Where are they going? I counted the blocks in my mind. Two more and we'd be under the Irwin College campus. As far as I could tell in the dark, we hadn't pa.s.sed any doors or branch tunnels.

The tunnel got wider and the flashlight beam began to rise. I heard the sound of shoes going up a metal staircase. At the top of the stairs were two illuminated yellow door signs that said Danger Radioactive between black triangles. This was the lowest level of the Irwin Library Archives. The bogus warning signs were to keep people away. Inside those doors were miles of stacks and people who could be causalities. Either the killer was going to keep Nora as a hostage or toss her down the stairs. I ran for the steps.

When I clanged onto the staircase, the flashlight whirled on me from a few steps above. My quarry pushed Nora toward me, dropped the flashlight on the landing, and reached in a shoulder bag.

A shot rang from the .25. I swung Nora around so she was behind me, but the unaimed bullet missed us both.

There in the dim light from the signs I saw the gun pointing more carefully in our direction. The trigger clicked but there was no shot. Now the gun was out of bullets.

"Hide," I said to Nora as I raced up the stairs.

"She only had one bullet? Crikey!" said Nora incredulously.

"She might have another magazine. Get going."

I made it to the top landing as the person who'd just shot at me got to the first door. I grabbed for an arm but a swing of the heavy bag knocked me back.

The first door flew open, flooding the scene with nearly blinding light. The killer screamed, because Samson Henshaw stood in the door with blood running down his face. The killer had thought Samson was dead.

The light from the open door illuminated everything. The killer stumbled, staring at Samson with mouth agape, then tripped back along the walkway toward the next door, grasped the handle, and pulled it open.

A cloudy white light seemed to seep out. The killer screamed like a squawking crow at what was in the doorway, then staggered backwards, hit the metal railing and teetered over the three story drop.

"No!" I shouted as she toppled over in slow motion. She caught onto the railing with one hand, dangling over the dark s.p.a.ce.

"Let go of the bag!" I shouted when I got to her.

She shook her head, her hand slipped, and she dropped the bag. Silver coins pinged and jingled all over the floor of the tunnel. Her free hand s.n.a.t.c.hed at the railing. Her flailing legs swung wildly.

I reached over and grabbed her coat collar, twisting to lever her back over the rail. When I turned, I saw what had frightened her in the doorway. The cloudy white light made the figure blurry, but I was sure it was Suzanne Carbondale and the red stain on her shoulder didn't just look like blood. It was blood. The light got blindingly bright again and morphed Suzanne into Evangeline Fen. I distinctly smelled lavender. I was shocked into immobility for a second and wondered if everything that was happening was just another one of my dreams.

I tried to shake it out of my head. I fought to keep the struggling figure from falling to her death. Her weight, along with the extra weight of my bulletproof vest, made my feet leave the floor. She was pulling me over the edge with her, and there wasn't much I could do about it other than drop her. I felt a flare of panic.

Suddenly somebody grabbed my belt and heaved me back. I was balanced again. I dragged the killer over the railing and onto the walkway floor. I flipped her over and kneeled on her back.

I swiveled around to look back at the door. There was no one in the doorway, but at my side was Kathryn. She'd saved me from going over the rail.

Kathryn whispered in my ear, "I saw her! Just now, at the door."

"You saw her, too? Was it Suzanne or was it Evangeline?"

Kathryn shook her head in surprise. "No, no... I saw... Isabella Santiago!"

Down in the tunnel the bright lanterns of the slightly late cavalry lit up everything. A puffing Ed O'Brien and an agile Marc Freligh joined me on the platform. Nora was with them.

"You daft, barmy..." said Nora addressing the killer who'd kidnapped her and dragged her through the tunnels as a hostage. "Really Maggie, she's crazy, totally lost the plot. Be careful with her; she'll kill you if she gets the..." Nora's voice caught in her throat and she began to cry softly. She said, "Oh, my, I'm a wee bit jeeked."

"Nora," said Kathryn. "Come in here." Kathryn reached out her hand to lead Nora into the library. I'd noticed once Kathryn was done rescuing me, her discomfort with heights had caused her to move away from the edge of the high platform.

I realized I was a little jeeked as well. I took a deep breath. Then I dragged the quivering figure through the archives door.

The killer turned from her fetal position and saw Samson Henshaw wiping ketchup off his head. The killer was shocked. She looked wildly around and then shouted at me, "Is Suzanne alive, too?"

Samson lunged, but I held him back.

Sgts. O'Brien and Freligh came through the door.

"Sorry we're late. It took a while to figure out how to open that pa.s.sage at Fen House," said Freligh.

O'Brien took one look at the woman on the floor. "Who is it?" he asked.

I hoisted her to her feet and pulling off her scarf I said, "It's Piper Staplehurst, from the museum."

Chapter 22.

"It smells like Turkey Day," said Sara as she hung up her coat.

It was Sunday morning at Farrel and Jessie's. Buster lolled at Amanda Knightbridge's feet. Cora Martin and Judith Levi were in their usual places. Nora were there too. The air was heavy with the aroma of wonderful food.

"We felt like we had a lot to be thankful for," said Farrell. "Where's Emma?"

"My dedicated law partner is meeting a client," said Sara.

"Pretty?" Farrel asked.

"No that wouldn't be enough to miss a brunch like this. It's a serious case. Pro bono. And she's going to have to clean up a lot of the mistakes the previous lawyer made," said Sara.

Jessie brought a squash filled with cornbread and pecan stuffing to the table, while the rest of us helped carry in a ca.s.serole of praline-topped sweet potatoes, a basket of homemade rolls with Jessie's special honey b.u.t.ter, a huge salad, and a big platter of roasted vegetables.

Cora couldn't contain herself. "Tell us everything, Maggie. Everyone is asking me, dahling. From the TV news, I couldn't tell anything."

"In Jane Austen's time, this would have been a story all of you could have dined out on," said Judith Levi. "You as well, Amanda."

"I was merely in the right place at the right time. Yes, do tell us, Maggie, has Piper Staplehurst confessed?"

"My police contacts say Piper's made a deal. She'll get life in prison rather than the death penalty," I said. "She's confirmed all the details. I don't think the Fenchester police have ever dealt with anyone like her before. She has a criminal history that's as staggering as her list of aliases. She's had a dozen different hair colors in as many years and her heavy make-up was far more disguise than fashion statement."

"Explain how you knew it was Piper Staplehurst all along. And why she was the steel drummer," said Kathryn.

"Well, ever since Farrel told that subway story about the steel drummer, the drunk, and Larry Storch, everything kept reminding me of it."

"Yes, I felt that somehow that story held the key," said Amanda.

I nodded. "Then Kathryn gave me that animation cel of Cool Cat and Colonel Rimfire for my birthday."

"What did all that have to do with anything?" asked Sara.

"Because Larry Storch did the voices for Cool Cat and Rimfire. Larry Storch was doing all the voices. That's the point. He did all the voices. As Mickey said, he did the good guys and the bad guys. Get it?"

Everyone looked confused except Amanda Knightbridge, who was nodding at me contentedly.

"See, the cel was just a reminder that the steel drummer and the drunk were working a cla.s.sic scam together. People might be ambivalent about loud steel drum music on its own, but if it's chasing away a threatening drunk, it's suddenly worth a lot of tips," I explained. "And Kathryn, when you told me about Bolton Winpenny arranging that other professor's hysterical fit so that Bolton could suggest you all end the retreat. Well, it was the same kind of plan. You even called Bolton the steel drummer."

"The steel drummer suggested the wrought iron gates," explained Amanda.

"Yes, exactly. There was real concern about gangs in the cemetery but Gabe's reactionary idea of cementing up the crypts was offensive to nearly everyone. Then Piper Staplehurst shows up with the wrought iron gates plan. People might have balked at the gates if they'd been just presented on their own, but in contrast to Gabe's ugly cement idea the period gates were brilliant. Of course Gabe and Piper were working together. The hero and the villain were the same team, kind of like Larry Storch doing the voices for all the characters," I explained.

"The drunk was a fake?" Farrel laughed shaking her head. "And he went right on into the next car and then the steel drummer followed him. They must have made a fortune that day!"

"But what happened with Suzanne?" asked Jessie.

"Suzanne was working on a book about Victoria and Evangeline. She found Victoria's archived papers in the library. There was information about Victoria's studio and the money. Suzanne had also found the pa.s.sage under Fen House too. After all, Suzanne lived in Victoria's house and it wasn't hard for me to find the pa.s.sage, once I began looking for it."

"But then Suzanne made her fatal mistake. She consulted the wrong expert," said Farrell sadly.