He felt around the chair rail, sliding his fingers over, under until they hit the release. When he heard the faint click, he looked at Mike.

"You game?"

"Are you kidding? Game is my middle name. Open her up."

Eli pressed on the panel, felt it give slightly, then open an inch in his direction. "Swings out," he murmured, and pulled it fully open.

He saw a narrow landing, then the drop of steep steps into the dark. Automatically, he felt the inside wall for a switch, and was surprised to find one.

But when he flipped it, nothing happened.

"Either there's no electricity in there, or no light. I'll get a couple of flashlights."

"And maybe a loaf of bread. For the crumbs," Mike explained. "And a big stick, in case of rats. Just the flashlights then," he said to Eli's stony stare.

"Be right back."

He grabbed a couple of beers while he was at it. The least he could do.

"Better than a loaf of bread." Mike took the beer and a flashlight, shone the light upward in the pa.s.sage. "No lightbulb."

"I'll get some next time." Armed with the flashlight, Eli stepped into the pa.s.sage. "Pretty narrow, but wider than I figured. I guess they'd need the s.p.a.ce for carrying trays and whatever. The steps feel sound, but watch it."

"Snakes, very dangerous. You go first."

Snorting out a laugh, Eli started down. "I doubt we'll find a detested butler's skeletal remains or the dying words of a f.e.c.kless housemaid carved into the wall."

"Maybe a ghost. It's spooky enough."

And dusty and dank. The steps creaked underfoot, but at least no rats gleamed out with red eyes.

Eli paused when his light played over another panel. "Let me think." And orient himself. "This should come out on the second-floor landing. See how it forks here? That one should come out in my grandmother's bedroom. That's always been the master, as far as I know. G.o.d, we'd have killed to have these open when we were kids. I could've snuck around, jumped out and scared the s.h.i.t out of my sister."

"Which is exactly why your grandmother sealed up the doors."

"Yeah."

"Thinking of opening them again?"

"Yeah. No reason to, but yeah."

"Cool is its own reason."

They followed the pa.s.sage, going down or taking a turn. From the blueprint in his head, Eli judged the panels had once opened in strategic places throughout the house, into parlors, the kitchen, a sitting room, a hallway and down to the depths of the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"h.e.l.l. Should've moved the shelves barricading the other side first." But he found the lever, drew the door to him so he and Mike peered through old pots and rusted tools and into the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"You've got to unseal this, man. Think of the Halloween parties."

But he was thinking of something else. "I could set him up," he murmured.

"Huh?"

"The a.s.shole breaking in here, digging down here. I've got to think about this."

"Stake yourself out in here, lure him in. Cla.s.sic ambush," Mike agreed. "Then what?"

"I'm thinking about it." He closed the door, vowing to move the shelves, formulate a plan.

"Let me know. I wouldn't mind being in on catching that guy. Maureen's still pretty freaked," Mike said as they started back up. "I don't know if she'll really relax until they catch the guy, especially when most of us figure he's the same one who plugged the PI. Stands to reason."

"Yeah, it does."

"And when she found out he planted that gun in Abra's place, she super freaked."

"Can't blame her for- What? What gun? What are you talking about?"

"The gun Abra found in her ... Oh." After a pained wince, Mike stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Well, s.h.i.t, she didn't tell you."

"No, she d.a.m.n well didn't tell me. But you're going to."

"Get me another beer and my guts are spilled."

CHAPTER Twenty-one

AT THE END OF A LONG DAY-TWO CLa.s.sES, A Ma.s.sIVE cleaning job and a pair of ma.s.sages-Abra pulled up to her cottage.

And just sat.

She didn't want to go in. She hated knowing she didn't want to go inside her own home, tend to her own things, use her own shower.

She loved Laughing Gull, and had from the first instant she'd seen it. She wanted that feeling back, the pride, the comfort, the rightness of it, and all she felt was dread.

He'd spoiled it, whoever the h.e.l.l he was, coming into her home, leaving his violence and death behind. A monster in the closet, in the form of a gun.

It left her two choices, she told herself. Let the monster win-give up, sit and brood. Or fight back and fix it.

Put that way, she decided, there wasn't a choice at all.

She shoved out of the car, muscled out her table, her bag, carted them both to the door. Inside, she leaned her table against the wall before carrying her bag into the living room.

Driving nearly twenty miles up the coast to buy the smudge stick had added onto her already crowded day, but when she took it out of her bag it felt like a positive action.