Skeleton's Key (Delta Crossroads Trilogy, Book 2) (37 page)

“The additions are back here,” Dani said. “The porch. The balcony off CaryAnne’s room. The newer plans say they were added after the war.”

“Odd there isn’t a balcony off the master,” Cage said. “Most of these houses have them.”

Dani nodded, moving toward the opposite end of the house, and then stopped so abruptly Cage nearly tripped over her.

“That’s it.”

“What?”

“Look at the blueprints from the 1800s.” She held them up for Cage to see. “And then the ones you’ve got. At the upper floor.”

“They look the same.”

“Exactly. But they’re not.”

“I don’t follow.”

“These were drawn up taking both interior and exterior measurements,” Dani chattered. “In 1835, when the house was built, the upper floor was roughly 3000 square feet.

“And it’s the same in 1972, when the church had these done. The bottom changed because the screened in porch and servants’ addition were added.

“But look.” Dani pointed to the exterior measurements written on the outer edge of both sets of house plans. “In 1972, the overall exterior of the house is bigger–by about twenty feet.”

“That’s probably from the addition of the porch and servants’ quarters.”

“But the inside measurements are the
same
as in the 1800s, Cage. Don’t you see?” She shaded her eyes and gazed at Ironwood’s second floor. “The house is symmetrical. But according to the plans, the lower level would stick out twenty feet farther than the top.”

“Except it doesn’t.” Understanding dawned. “The house is a normal square.”

“Right. Now, this isn’t uncommon. A lot of times, with this style of home, a colonnade would have been added to keep the symmetry. But not with Ironwood.”

“Because there is an extra twenty feet upstairs.”

Dani bounced up and down. “That stretches across the back of the entire house. It’s not a room, Cage. It’s a passage!”

F
orget butterflies. Bulky
moths warred in her stomach for space as Dani and Cage sprinted into the house. So simple. Right in front of everyone all along.

“Be careful on the stairs,” she called over her shoulder. The dual staircase groaned with her weight, but she moved too fast to worry about collapse.

“Slow down.” Cage took the steps two at a time, easily keeping up with her. “Do you even know where to start?”

“The master bedroom–John James’s room. He built the passage after the war, same time he added the porch and CaryAnne’s balcony. Probably paranoid of the insurgent militia.” She breathed hard, trying to catch her breath. Her hair hung limp against her neck, her face flamed, and her damned pulse raced. Keep it together. Last thing she wanted to do was pass out again from the heat.

“Ben must have discovered it,” Cage said. “Or Martin Robertson did and wanted more money than he was promised.”

Dani had already forgotten about Ben. “Or Martin found something of major value that Ben wanted for himself. Either way, we’re getting into the passage if I have to tear a wall down.”

Blasphemous words in her line of work, but the answers were in that room. And she wasn’t accepting defeat.

The scent of floor polish still lingered in John James’s room. The cot and blanket beneath the western window had been removed for testing, leaving the room bare. She still didn’t understand why Ben–if he really was the killer–had put so much work into this room. What was the point?

She was too excited to think about that now.

The adrenaline rush heightened her senses. She stared at the window with new eyes.

“The window,” Dani said.

“Shit. So that theory is out. Can’t be a passage if there is a window.”

“You’re wrong.” She crossed the room until she reached the wooden window seat. “This is a big window seat. Not in length, but girth. It’s inset twice as much as any other I’ve seen.”

Cage’s eyes widened. “It’s compensating for the space between the walls.”

Dani couldn’t believe
she’d missed it before. Size aside, the window seat looked like any other. She’d been so intent on looking at the walk-in closet and thinking the connection could only be a set of stairs for someone to move secretly between floors, she’d completely missed the obvious. She ran her hand along the wall to the left of the window seat. The seat itself was wooden, but a decorative gold plating that ran up both sides of the connecting walls trimmed the outer edge.

She crawled onto the seat and peered down at the seam between the left edge and the wall. More gold trim, but a lot of it had worn off with age. And use.

“It’s a door. Or rather, a panel.” Her blood pounded hard in her ears until she thought her eardrums might burst. The moths in her stomach danced in victory.

“You can’t be serious.”

“See how this gold trim overlaps the side edge?” She ran her fingers down the vertical trim on the wall adjacent to the seat. “Almost as though it’s some sort of latch? And see how the golden trim goes all the way around, running along the seat and up beside the window?”

“It makes a rectangle,” Cage said. “And it’s on both sides. Just looks like a design to me.”

“Thus the simplicity.” She dug her fingers into the overlapping section midway down the wall and pulled. The hidden panel shuddered at first and then opened easily.

They both spoke at once. “Sonofa
bitch
.”

*     *     *

Cage couldn’t believe
what he was seeing. Flashlight in her shaking hand, Dani shined the beam into the dark space. He peered over the top of her head and caught a glimpse of brass, dark wood, and an oblong table. She gave a little squeal and started to crawl inside.

“Stop.” He caught her by the arm. “You don’t know what’s in there. Let me go first.”

Her face fell, but she nodded her agreement. Cage took the flashlight. The panel was barely four feet tall. Crouching down, he stuck one leg and then the other inside the room. He shined the light on the ceiling. It was high enough for him to stand straight.

Cobwebs and stale air should have already assaulted them, but just like the master bedroom, the space smelled clean. “He cleaned up in here, too.”

“Let me in!” Dani shoved at him.

“Wait a second. Stay right there.” The beam of his flashlight reached at least ten feet, which meant the corridor likely ran the entire back end of the house, bypassing the rooms between John James’s and CaryAnne’s bedrooms. “Does CaryAnne’s room have a similar window seat?”

“Yep.”

A soft, dreary looking light suddenly filled the space. Cage caught a glimpse of more furniture and stacked boxes before turning around to see that Dani had entered the room and turned on a large camping light.

“Thought I told you to stay put.”

“Damned Yankee. Sorry.” She set the flashlight on a desk that set up against the back wall of the house. “This is really old. Like early 1800s old. It’s a roll top, too.”

“These boxes are fruit packing crates,” Cage said. “And some are dress boxes.”

“Personal belongings.” Dani swiveled around. “I don’t see John James’s guns, though. Ben’s probably already sold them.” Contempt dripped from her voice.

The passage was deep enough that Cage and another tall man could have laid head to foot across it, but boxes and furniture took up more than half of it. Cage examined a bureau tarnished with age but still in good condition. “CaryAnne didn’t bring all of this up here.”

“No. Most likely her father or some of the servants. They would have kept quiet about it.” Dani moved from piece to piece, eyes glistening and a smile so wide he thought her face had to hurt. “This iron bed is early nineteenth century. So is this rocking chair.”

The oblong shape Cage assumed was a table was instead a couch carefully covered with heavy blankets. They were rotting and moth-eaten, but the overall integrity of the piece had been protected.

“It’s French, too,” Dani said. “Pre-Civil War.”

“So John James and maybe his own father stored their expensive stuff in here to protect it. Just like the legends said. Except they didn’t have to sell everything.”

“That would be my guess. They likely sold jewelry and silver–easily portable.”

“Why didn’t they bring this stuff out of hiding then? Or why didn’t CaryAnne when she controlled the house?”

“Maybe they bought new. Considered these family heirlooms. Remember, Reconstruction went on for a long time. Insurgents caused unrest and fear for years.” Farther down the passage, near CaryAnne’s room, Dani reached an armoire. She opened it, and her startled cry echoed in the space.

“What is it?”

“CaryAnne. Her things. Her life.”

*     *     *

Dani’s tears made
no sense, but she couldn’t help them. She sank to her knees in front of the armoire. Inside were CaryAnne Laurent’s treasured possessions. No amount of elbow grease could completely obliterate the scent of history, and the beautiful piece of furniture was ripe with it. Dani breathed deeply, soaking in the moment.

Faded pictures were pasted to the inside of the wood. Bits of dried and rotting flowers sat on the shelves. A child’s size china teacup with pink and blue designs had a spot of honor on an inner shelf. Boxes were stacked on the bottom, coordinated by size, and Dani was certain the lower boxes were more dress boxes. With any luck, some of the gowns would be salvageable.

At the top of the organized pile was a hatbox. Dani opened it with unsteady fingers, expecting to see something feathery and fashionable.

“Letters,” she said. This was probably where the letter she’d received came from. Fingertips shaking, she carefully thumbed through the collection. “From John James to his family while he was in the war. Letters to Grayson Laurent from other family members. From John James to his wife before her death. CaryAnne kept everything she loved.”

She tucked the flashlight underneath her chin and forced herself to handle the letters with care. One by one, she skimmed through them until she saw the one that had been Xeroxed. “I was right. She kept the original for safekeeping.”

CaryAnne had kept jewelry, too. Sitting on an upper shelf was an ornate antique jewelry box worth a good amount of money, and it contained no less than three sets of diamond earrings, four cameo brooches, and an exquisite diamond and emerald teardrop necklace.

“I can’t believe Ben didn’t take any of this stuff,” Cage said. “It’s more valuable than the house.”

“Martin Robertson had the brooch in his pocket. Maybe he discovered this place but wanted more money to tell Ben its location,” Dani said. “Maybe that’s what got him killed.”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t sound convinced, but she was too enthralled with the room’s secrets to question him. “This is what CaryAnne wanted Grace’s father to find. She tried to direct him to the blueprints and hoped he’d figure it out.”

“Why didn’t she just tell him where the room was?”

“I don’t know,” Dani said. “She probably wasn’t fully in her right mind.” Dani studied the armoire again, recalling Grace’s words. “But she promised Grace answers. Was she talking about the location of the room? There is certainly enough for Grace’s father to have saved Ironwood from the bank. But she told Grace to tell her father not to hate CaryAnne when he heard the truth. That she did it to save him.”

“Did what?” Cage walked over to the roll top desk and started to examine it.

“That would be murdering my great-great-grandmother and burying her in the basement.” A quiet voice cut through the dank passage.

Dani staggered to her knees just in time to see Cage drop to his, blood seeping through his light blue shirt.

She stared at the man blocking the hidden entrance and holding an old Civil War dagger.

“
You
?”

*     *     *