Part 28 (1/2)
I studied Flax. ”You're telling me that if we go downstairs, into this bas.e.m.e.nt, we can go through a tunnel and end up in your Grandma Hazel's bas.e.m.e.nt. From there, we could walk up a flight of stairs and end up in her pantry?”
”Right next to the kitchen. Want to see?”
”Maybe. But if I go, you better wait here. Your Grandma Nell specifically said to keep you out of the bas.e.m.e.nt tonight.”
”She thinks there's an evil room down there, because of some seance. But me and my dad don't believe her.”
”Shh,” I said, alarmed at the volume of his voice. ”She told you about that?”
He leaned closer. ”Only ten million times. Let's go. She'll never find out. Don't tell them,” he said, indicating Fran and Ca.s.s. ”I don't want them to see my dungeon.”
”I don't know...”I said, wanting to honor my promise to Nell Schwartz but not thrilled at the prospect of a lone descent.
”You'll never find the door to the tunnel,” he said petulantly. ”I'm the only one who knows where it is.”
”You could tell me.”
”Let me go.” He sulked. ”This is so boring.”
”All right,” I acquiesced, ”but you have to promise you won't tell either of your grandmas.”
He sat upright and hugged himself. ”I won't. I swear!”
”And we can't do it tonight.”
”You're just scared of the dark,” he said gloomily, lying back down with a scowl.
”We'll do it in a few days.”
”When?”
”Wednesday morning,” I said, choosing a day at random. ”Early in the morning.”
That seemed to satisfy him, and within minutes, he too had nodded off.
In the next five hours, I enjoyed a total of thirty minutes of sleep, thanks to Fran's snoring, Ca.s.s's periodic equipment checks and Flax's tossing and turning.
I couldn't blame my insomnia on those three, though.
Something else disturbed me all night, something that could never be measured with a Geiger counter.
Try naked images of Carolyn O'Keefe and Destiny Greaves.
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, no more ghosts appeared at the Fielder mansion, and at first light, we packed up the equipment.
I drove Flax to his Grandma Nell's house and practically had to push him out of the car, only managing to detach by reiterating my promise that we'd visit his secret bas.e.m.e.nt hideout on Wednesday.
I spent the rest of Sunday in bed, alone, catching up from Sat.u.r.days sleep deprivation.
Destiny had kissed me in the morning and again late in the evening when she returned from the office, but that was the extent of the days contact.
Monday morning, I felt listless from the weekend's excitement, and Fran's buoyancy was like a bracing tonic... thrown in my face.
”Wearing myself out with all this s.e.x,” she said when I shuffled through the door at eleven.
I dropped into my chair and ma.s.saged my temples. ”Tess or Roberta?”
”Both.”
”You haven't chosen?”
”No need. Pros and cons with both, but I can't keep up with that woman. Went walking with her this a.m. Took a full sprint to keep up with her power stride.”
”Tess?”
”Bert. Had to catch my breath at the workout stations, those mini-torture stops on the perimeter of Wash Park. When Bert did her regimen of sit-ups and pull-ups, I lay flat on my back. Ever tried to grab air from the sky? Never mind, never again. Faked a groin pull halfway through and took a shortcut to the car. That injury ought to buy me a few weeks' rest.
”You'd deceive Roberta like that?”
”You bet! Not proud of it, but have my health to consider. No sense trying to talk her out of athletic pursuits. Walks everywhere, even to work. Can't stop walking, except when she's horseback riding.”
”Roberta rides?”
”Every week. Used to be a professional jockey and trick-rider.”
”I would have imagined her with more intellectual pursuits-books, art, crossword puzzles.”
”No shortage of those either. Devours the Wall Street Journal every day. Wrote six books on business law. Coauthoring a seventh. Hardly time for s.e.x between deadlines. Gotta do it after yachting and before aerobics.”
”Yachting? In a landlocked state?”
”Bert's Sunday tradition. Radio-controlled, at Lollipop Lake. Have to admit, it's a gas. Reading the wind, cornering the buoys, cruising the open water. Couldn't tear myself away.”
”It sounds like you two are hitting it off. Are you getting serious?”
”Could be, but we have our differences. Take last night. Bert makes a run to Choices and grabs a spread. Grilled veggies, yams, turkey breast.”
”Sounds good.”
Fran c.o.c.ked her head. ”You tasted the takeout from that health food store?”
I nodded. ”It's pretty bland.”
”My point exactly. Vegetables tasted like they'd been marinated in dirt. Yams were whipped, nothing in 'em, no half-stick of b.u.t.ter or cup of brown sugar. Turkey, dry and dull, no gravy, no cranberries, no life. h.e.l.l, Kris, why bother eating that c.r.a.p?”
”Did Roberta know you didn't like the meal?”