A bundled series of color-coded wires ran along the wall. On this end, they spread out, terminating at the backs of the powerful computers. The other ends disappeared through a small hole in the bricks, near the door.
I stepped toward the row of tall cabinets. A series of black cords emerged from the side, plugged into several wall sockets behind them. As I cupped my hands to peer through one of the frosted glass doors, I felt a hum, then a click and hiss as pressure from my hands caused a magnetic latch to release. The door swung open.
What. The. Frick?
Going down the row, I pushed on each door, until they all gaped open. Until I could see that inside each and every one hung a variation of the same thing.
Costumes. Very expensive, very authentic costumes. Organized by era and size, each lot labeled with three-by-five cards pinned to one sleeve.
LATE EIGHTEENTH. FR. COURT GOWN. W-SZ 6
300 B.C. SENATORIAL CLASS MATRON. W-SZ 14
EARLY TUDOR. MERCHANT CLASS. M-SZ 40L
Pull-out bins of matching hats and shoes lay beneath each set, along with stacks of coins from the corresponding era.
There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of stuff here, I marveled as I thumbed a pile of ancient gold coins.
My fingertips traced the ivory lace of a frothy gown more ruffles than dress. A cowgirl getup with red leather boots. A scratchy wool cape trimmed in white fur. A starched white apron covering a severe black dress labeled LATE SEVENTEENTH. AMERICAN QUAKER. W-SZ 12.
The last cabinet held shelves of wigs secured to dummies’ heads, the hair colors ranging from ebony to auburn to a silvery blond, their strands bundled in neat mesh nets.
I nipped at a ragged cuticle until I tasted blood. Okay. Costumes. Hidden staircases. Underground computers.
The puzzle pieces rattled around in my head. No matter which way I turned them, nothing would click into place.
Cursing under my breath, I started shutting cabinets, hiding the evidence of my snooping. Just as the last one closed, a vibration pulsed up from the floor beneath my feet. It rolled up through my body.
Earthquake? Here? Oh God. Gotta get out. Gotta run. Move!
I couldn’t. My body froze up as the files in my mind whipped through everything I’d ever read about earthquakes in the British Isles.
Uncommon. Little damage. The largest on record was a 6.1 on the Richter scale, back in 1931, and . . .
The colorful wires trembled as the vibration increased. A dozen of the lines on the monitor flashed to red. The airport board flipped by so fast, it made my eyes water. I opened my mouth to scream.
Then, abruptly, it all stopped. Everything went blessedly quiet, but oh, I was so done with this.
Whatever little scheme they had going on here, they could keep it. All I wanted was some answers about my mom, then I was outta here.
Peeking out into the wide, empty cellar, I rushed toward the stairs. The instant my foot hit the bottom step, I paused, trying hard to hear over the blood careening through my veins.
Oh. No.
Above my head, moving inexorably toward the hidden closet, came the clomp of heavy footsteps, and the unmistakable sound of whistling.
Chapter 7
THE CHEERY TUNE DREW CLOSER. Adrenaline sparked on my tongue with a metallic tang.
I didn’t know these people. But I had a strong hunch they wouldn’t like it if they knew I’d been rummaging around in their bizarre secret . . . lair or whatever this was.
Breathless, I glanced back toward the long cellar that arced off into shadow.
Hide.
It was my only thought when I flew toward the far end, tripping as my slippers slapped the rough stone. I rounded the bend and skidded to a stumbling halt. Huge and round, blocking my retreat, stood the metal door of an enormous vault.
I had no time to analyze why there was a bank-size vault hidden beneath my aunt’s home.
The rattling of brooms echoed toward me down the empty space. Frantic, I began punching random numbers on a back-lit keypad. When nothing happened, I slapped desperately at the small dark display panel rooted in the stone above it.
Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. How am I gonna explain—
A red light sprang to life beneath my palm. I jerked my hand back just as the panel turned green. Words scrolled across the panel. HOPE D. WALTON. IDENTITY ACCEPTED.
A metallic click sounded deep within the vault. I had to leap back to avoid getting smacked as the heavy door swung open on greased, noiseless hinges.
My jaw dropped. No time to wonder why the security system recognized me. A heavy tread now stomped down the wooden stairs at the other end of the cellar. I had no idea if they could see this far into the cellar or not. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I bolted inside and grabbed the metal bar on the door’s interior. I pulled. At first, it wouldn’t budge. I jerked and heaved until finally the heavy steel swung back toward me.