Chapter 25 - hollow walls
The words struck me like a physical blow, sending a wave of nausea through my stomach. I lowered the shotgun an inch, my mind racing through a maze of impossible questions.
"You're lying," I yelled back, my voice echoing off the high plaster ceilings.
"Ask your housekeeper where she was three nights ago," the voice sneered from the darkness of the foyer. "Ask her who paid her rent for three years while she lived in that dump on 4th Street. You think she came here to protect your brother's kid? She came here to find the second half of the key before we did!"
Before the man could take another step, a sharp, shattering sound exploded from the rear of the house. The glass doors of the conservatory caved inward with a deafening crash, followed by the muffled pops of suppressed gunfire echoing through the kitchen corridor.
I didn't wait to see who was shooting. I turned and ran down the basement stairs, taking them three at a time in the pitch darkness.
The air in the basement was freezing cold, smelling of old damp limestone and wine corks. I reached the far end of the cellar where the heavy wooden wine racks lined the foundation wall. The hidden iron door behind the third rack was standing wide open, swinging gently on its rusted hinges in the draft.
"Nora!" I called out into the dark concrete tunnel beyond the door.
May you like
No answer came back. Only the faint, hollow dripping of water against the concrete floor echoed from the tunnel depths.
I pulled a small flashlight from my pocket and stepped through the iron doorway, illuminating the narrow arched passage that ran beneath the estate lawn toward the old carriage house. On the dusty concrete floor, leading straight into the darkness, were two distinct sets of footprints: the small imprint of Nora's shoes, and beside them, the large, heavy tread of a man's combat boot.
