The Harrison: A Beautiful Place to Die (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 2) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty

Darkness

When she checked in at
the hotel, Alfred was just a few feet away from her. No one paid any particular attention to "Mrs. Sullivan" as she named herself. She passed several of the staff that knew her and Lady Mary. No one seemed to recognize her. She was pleased that the first part of her plan was working.

Jonathan was unaware of what she wanted to do, and when he opened his door, at first he did not recognize her. But when she spoke in a normal tone, he said, "Madeline? I see you have resorted to the days at Whitechapel, although I don't think I ever saw you in disguise there."

He laughed and invited her in.

"So what is all this?" he asked.

"The Falco's were generous in their payment to me. I have used some of that money to take a room near you. It is but one corridor down and then three doors to the left. I also have procured some skeleton keys from a locksmith and several other useful tools used in the opening of locks."

"If caught, they will prosecute you."

"I won't be, but I will catch whoever is taking these girls."

"I would offer to accompany you, but I will be in Joliet gone for two days. My editor has asked me to cover a business convention there. Hugh is welcome to stay here so that you may have someone nearby."

"No...I must be able to do this on my own. Of course, Father would be frantic if he knew you are not going to be here, but I must do this."

"I don't feel that good about it myself. There is a possible killer somewhere in this hotel."

"I'm sure I can survive for two days, or what worth could I have?"

"Here is an extra key to my room in the event you change your mind and ask Hugh to stay."

"Thank you and I hope you enjoy your trip. I'm sure we will have much to talk about when you return."

She returned to her room knowing that she was on her own now. She shivered a little as she crept along the second floor to the locked stairwell. The hall was empty for the most part, with a few people walking down the corridor.  She attempted entrance into the door. She had strewn several items from her satchel onto the floor, so if anyone saw her, she could use the excuse she had dropped her items and was trying to retrieve them.

She had practiced on her own and her neighbor's door in using the tools to pick the lock, it had been much easier than she imagined. She heard the click and opened the door. When she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed the wooden planks that once had once been stained― with what looked like blood―had now been replaced.

She entered the library first. Surprised the door had not been locked, she was somewhat apprehensive, believing it might be a trap they had set for her. However, she was too far into it now to turn back. She stepped quietly into the room. Transfixed on the skeleton, she went to examine it again. It was the same one the police had seen. She envisioned it was possible that yet another victim could be hanging there in full view. She looked for anything that might look like another entrance or exit into the room. If the Harrison's were so eccentric to create such a place like this, it could be likely there were other secret passageways within the rooms.

She pressed and pushed on the walls, and looked behind pictures that were hung on the walls. She thought there might be a trap door, but there were tables with books on them that would be difficult to move easily so she discounted that.

The one odd piece in the room was a pillar with a bust of Benjamin Franklin atop it. She ran her hands over every part of it, finding beneath the marble top a small lever. She moved it, but nothing happened. She then attempted moving the pillar and the bust itself. When she tried to move it clockwise, the bust remained solid, but when she moved it counterclockwise, the bust gave way and turned. She heard a noise and when she looked up, she saw two of the bookcases had moved apart to reveal a door behind. The space was narrow, and the door panel had to be pushed back for her to enter. Inside, the area was well lit and clean, unlike the other stairwells. There was a handle set upon the wall that she moved to close the bookshelves.

The stairwell descended at a steep incline. She moved cautiously not knowing what she would face. She could hear the stairs creaking beneath her feet no matter how quietly she tried to maneuver.

When she reached the bottom, an odor arose, the dank, musky smell that most cellars have. The room had the feel and look of an abandoned mine shaft. Strewn everywhere were what she believed to be antiquity of all sorts. Statues, furniture, paintings, and clothing were scattered in large crates and stacked against the walls. As she walked about, she could hear the scurrying of feet―presumably from rats or mice―but she did not see them. She had to cover her mouth to muffle her moans. As she continued to walk through this capacious area, she could see there were tunnel like halls that led to other places. She followed the one that was the least obscured.

She went on, marking the area in her mind so that she could find her way back. After she had walked for several minutes, she came upon an area that had kerosene lamps on either side of a door. This area was in harsh contrast to what she had just seen. It was swept clean and had candles, fruit baskets and a case of champagne outside the door.

The door was locked, so she took her assortment of tools and manipulated the door until it opened. She had become adept at picking locks, realizing she was able to gain entrance if a door was not secured further with some type of bolt. She walked for just a short distance when she thought she heard voices. She turned to go down another hall to follow the direction of those voices.  She listened closely. She could hear the chatter of female voices, and what she believed was a male voice. She stood deadly still, her heart beating with excitement. Behind that door might be one of the missing girls. She stood listening for almost an hour until she finally heard the man say he would return later to wish them good-night.

She moved the wooden bar from the door to release it and opened the door with great anticipation.

There inside were the faces of three girls who looked at her as if she had come from another world.

She put her finger to mouth, indicating to them to please be quiet.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" asked one of the girls in a whispered voice.

"I hope I've come to save your life," she said holding on to the girls hand. "You're Felicia Zugaj, aren't you?"

The girl's face showed the perplexed look Madeline had expected. The other girls huddled together around her.

"Yes, I am, but how could you know that? What is this all about, and how did you get through this door?" asked Felicia.

"We must be quick. I will have to explain most of this later, but I believe you are all in great danger. I must get you out of here, and before anyone is aware of it."

"What do you mean? We are not in danger at all. We are happy and treated well. Yes, we are in a way captives, but by choice. Our month is almost up. We will be paid handsomely for it," said another girl.

"We all sent word to our families through Wanda Gapinski, a friend of mine, that we were safe and would return within the month," said Felicia.

Madeline shook her head and said, "Wanda Gapinski is dead. She was found floating in the Chicago River. There is no evidence that it was murder, but it is suspected. And the three of you, your pictures are on the pages of every newspaper as missing persons," said Madeline.

"I believe there are other girls here. Sometimes I thought I heard them coming from another room," said Felicia, now with a look of fright on her face.

"I'm sure they are also in danger," said Madeline. "There are many girls who have gone missing. We believe one of the brothers of the Harrison Hotel may be responsible. That's where you are right now―in the cellar of the hotel."

"We never knew where we are. As you can see, we have lived in luxury and wanted for nothing. You cannot mean the sweet man who comes to talk to us is responsible for harming Wanda?" asked Felicia.

"I don't know, but I wouldn't want to confront him in the case that he, or one of his brothers, might mean you harm," said Madeline.

"Oh no―he is returning. I hear his footsteps. He wasn't due to come back for another hour," said one of the girls.

"He cannot find me here. I will come back for you, but not alone. I will bring the authorities. Until then, do not let on that anything has changed. Your very lives may depend on it," said Madeline as she slipped through the door and placed the plank of wood back to secure it.

She thought it would be unwise to confront whoever it was, even knowing there were four of them to mount a defense. But the unknown factor of not knowing how many people might be involved made her believe this was the safest route to take. She had a knife in her boot, and had brought a derringer that had once belonged to her mother, but wanted to avoid using either if it was at all possible. She would return and bring the police with her.

She felt relief when she saw the antiques and knew she was within a short distance of the exit that would bring her safely back to her room and the authorities. But then, something gripped her heart, and she began to quiver. There―against the wall―alongside one of the statues, was a walking stick. Not just any walking stick, but one with a horn as the handle, the shape of the figure on Jonathan's back. She was certain it had not been there when she entered the area, as the statue was one of the markings she had used to find her way back. It stood right outside the hall she had entered. 

The murderer was there, and looking for her. She pulled her gun from her satchel and steadied herself.

She moved in silent steps, looking around her, walking closely to the antique furniture so that it would give her some coverage. She heard the feet of the rodents again, as she looked around to watch for any movement. She knew she was within a few yards of the door to the staircase, and continued walking toward it. Her feet felt numb as she walked as if they had betrayed her and could barely move. She tried to shake off her fear, telling herself the weapon in her hand would protect her. She reached the door, and for a moment, panic set in―the door had been bolted with a rusted lock.

Her way out was gone. Whoever was there had her trapped and knew it. They were playing with her, perhaps watching her right now.

She would now have to keep her wits about her. There had to be another way out; the area she was in was expansive. She thought about going back to the door into the room the girls were in. The person might be watching, but she had to at least try.

She did not dare to turn on her torch light and walked slowly back to where the girls were. When she was in sight of the door, the fruit and various items had been removed and the door now had a similar bolt attached to it.

She returned into the darkness, now traveling down a different corridor. She looked for an adequate place to hide, believing if she had her back to the wall, she would have an advantage. She placed herself between two stacks of boxes and thought it would give her some protection. For the moment, she would wait, and listen.

She had a pocket watch and two pieces of fruit with her. She had thought she might walk to the park later, so she included the snack in her satchel.

Almost an hour had passed, and except for the rats, there was only disconcerting silence. She had hoped the perpetrator would confront her while she had her back against the wall and her gun in her hand. Now she stopped to take a few bites of her pear just to provide herself with some liquid on her tongue.

She knew she would have to leave that place and continue her search for an exit. She prayed the girls were safe.

She moved along the wall to another corridor, and seeing a door, acted quickly to see if it might allow her out of that dungeon. It was open but was just a closet filled with rags and  miscellaneous garbage. She now saw two more doors, but they were both secured. She had her lock-picking tools with her but hesitated to turn her back and put herself in a vulnerable position of not seeing if anyone was coming toward her.

It was still quiet, so she began maneuvering the pick in the lock. She somehow felt like a bird in a cage, and that the murderer was just toying with her and would appear at any second. She finally opened the first door. It also was a storage area, but filled with lovely clothes. It had a scent of cologne and looked as if it had recently been cleaned. She tried the second door, and when she opened it―there was what she had always dreaded.

There lay the skeletal remains of two bodies.

She bit her lip so hard to stop from screaming that she could feel the trickle of blood rolling down her chin. She wiped it away with her white glove and saw the crimson color stain it. Seeing the red slashed across the white, she imagined the fate of the two people who now were locked in a closet, without even a decent burial. She wondered if they had suffered, and if the killer had tortured or defiled them.

She closed the door, walking away with a new determination to try to escape the dungeon and the craven person who did that deed. Then she heard the laughing―a cruel laugh, the kind one remembers in their sleep and wakes them screaming. She froze, standing behind one of the large statues. Then she heard a thump of a walking stick hitting the floor, the footsteps that accompanied them so quiet, that the stick hitting the floor became louder and louder in her ear.