The Dead Room

“She’s gone crazy, but am I going to stop her? Not in this lifetime,” Melissa said.

 

Joe stared at her blankly. She’d thrown open the door when he’d rung the bell, and those were the first words out of her mouth at the sight of him.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Leslie. She’s down in the basement with a pickax!”

 

“Did you ask her why?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And?”

 

“She says that there’s a body in the wall.”

 

Joe frowned and hurried inside, along the hallway and straight to the back. When he entered the servants’ pantry, he immediately shivered and realized he’d entered the dead room, then wondered where that thought had come from.

 

The braided rug that usually covered the floor had been pulled away, and the trapdoor to the basement was open. He could see light from a work lantern rising up the stairs going down to the basement, strong wooden steps added recently to cover the dangerous brick stairway that had been there originally.

 

He hurried down.

 

The vertical line of fireplaces throughout the house was in evidence here, as well. A brick fireplace and hearth were set into one wall, and Leslie was standing to the left. She had apparently finished with the pickax and was digging away at the brick with her hands. She scared him a little. Her beautiful face was intent, her movements almost frantic.

 

“Leslie?”

 

“Joe. Hey. Come help me.”

 

“Leslie, what are you doing?”

 

“I…uh…found some old records. I think there’s a body back here. Well, a skeleton, anyway. Come on.”

 

He went to her side. One of the bricks was stuck. He had a Swiss Army knife in his pocket, so he pulled it out and chipped at the mortar to free the brick. She stepped back and took a deep breath.

 

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” he asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Leslie, this property is owned by the Historical Society.”

 

“If anyone is angry, I’ll pay for repairs,” she said. “Please, Joe?”

 

The brick fell away in his hand. He stepped back, stunned. Even in the weak light and through the grime and dust of the ages, he could see bone.

 

Shit!

 

He almost swore aloud.

 

Leslie didn’t look surprised in any way.

 

“Well, there…all right. We can stop now. They’re still shoring up the crypt at the site, I imagine. Laymon will be there, but Brad can come over and help me. Except,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ll have to get into the crypt…no, St. Paul’s has been there since 1766, and the crypt we just discovered wouldn’t have been completed then. Hmm. I need to find more records. Maybe the library…Hey.” She stared at him with a sudden smile. “Did you check your basement wall yet?”

 

“Am I going to find bones, too?” he asked.

 

“I told you, you’ll find music.”

 

“And I guess I will,” he murmured.

 

“I’d better start looking for those records,” she said, suddenly decisive. She walked over to him and gave him a fierce hug and big kiss on the cheek. “Drop me off at the main library. I’m going to start there.”

 

“Sure,” he said, and then he couldn’t help himself: He yawned.

 

She frowned. “You didn’t go home last night, did you? I bet you just made sure you had a clean shirt in the car.” She smiled. “You can’t keep worrying about me, you know.”

 

“Apparently, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. I simply do.”

 

She started toward the stairs, then turned around, her eyes carefully assessing the basement. It correlated in size exactly to the servants’ pantry—the dead room, he thought again—above it.

 

“What is it?” he asked her.

 

“Everything is uneven down here, have you noticed?”

 

“It’s hundreds of years old. What would you expect?”

 

She was still studying the walls. Then she shivered suddenly, hugging her arms around herself. “The subway runs near here, right?”

 

He shrugged. “I guess. Probably much deeper, though.”

 

“Right. But still, there are all kinds of shafts and tunnels.”

 

“Want me to find an old subway map?” he teased.

 

“That would be great,” she told him, completely serious. “Okay, I really have to get to work. What’s your plan for the day?”

 

“I’m going to go back over the last-known movements of every prostitute who disappeared and see if I can find any connection to Genevieve O’Brien,” he told her.

 

“That’s a busy agenda. You’ll still be able to find me some old maps?”

 

“You want maps? I’ll get you maps,” he assured her.

 

“Will you drop me at the library?”

 

“Sure. But you might want to shower and change again first. You’re wearing a little too much brick dust to be fashionable.”

 

She looked down at herself and laughed. “Okay. I’ll hurry.”

 

She was humming as she ran up the stairs.

 

 

 

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