Aside from the jewels on her clothing, the blond woman also wore a heavy necklace that covered her throat and the upper part of her chest with an array of sapphires, including an apricot-sized one that settled just above the beginning of her cleavage. It had been cut in the shape of a six-pointed star. The woman’s dangling earrings were also star-shaped gems—sapphires aswell.
“That’s amazing.” Declan was also staring at the painting. “It must weight two hundredpounds.”
“I wonder if that’s Red Eye Sal’s wife or his mistress,” Leslie said, picking her way across the room carefully to avoid scuttling rodents, their droppings, or any other unsavory items. “Or someone else’s. She’s wearing clothes from the right era. I wonder if those are the jewels from the so-called hiddencache.”
“A hidden jewel cache? Oh, here’s another one.” Declan aimed his phone light at a secondportrait.
This one was much smaller and of a different beautiful woman holding a small, fluffy brown dog on her similarly glittering lap. She was older than the other subject, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties. She too dripped with gemstones—these were rubies and garnets of all shades of crimson and rose. And like those in the other painting, star-shaped stones were featured on her necklace, bracelet, and a brooch pinned to hergown.
“This is unbelievable,” Leslie murmured, staring at the paintings, then once again turning in a slow circle around the space. She couldn’t contain her grin. “I’ll need to get some more lights down here, clean it up a bit… What a great conversation piece this’ll be for the inn. I’ll have to create a more accessible way to get down here, of course…maybe there’s an escape route or exit that’ll be easier touse.”
Declan had begun to ascend the stairs, and he paused halfway up. “There’s no connection to the section under the stair railing.” His voice was muffled, and she heard him rapping on the wall and ceiling. “It’s completely separate, as far as I cantell.”
Leslie had almost forgotten about the reason they’d actually found this secret entrance. She peered up past him, unable to see much. “The implication being that whoever hid the wrap and glove in the base of the railing didn’t know about thisplace?”
“Or weren’t trying to hide it down here, anyway, whether they knew of it or not. You coming up, or are you going to stay down and bask for a while?” His voice was teasingagain.
“I’m coming up fornow.”
Leslie followed him up the stairs, and once at the top watched as he set the piece of wall back in place. “So the mice don’t come upexploring.”
The sound of Van Morrison’s tune “Brown-Eyed Girl” suddenly filled the air, and Declan clapped a hand to hispocket.
“My daughter’s ringtone,” he said with a layer of exasperation as he fished out the singing phone. “I thought it was fine with a normal ring, but— Hey, Steph, what’s up? Everything okay? I thought you had a ride home tonight—” He listened, then nodded and said, “Right. Sure, give me about fifteen minutes… Well, no, I’m not at home. I have to go back and pick up the car… I’m at Le— Ms. Nakano’s… Yes, we did talk about the job…no, I— Look, Steph, we can discuss this later.” His voice became firmer, and Leslie was almost certain his cheeks had gone a littlered.
“Do you want me to come pick you up or not? All right, great. Yes, tell Mrs. Delton I appreciate her driving you tomorrow. Yes—Stephanie,” he said from between clenched teeth. His cheeks flushed darker and he turned slightly away from Leslie. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll have the chance to thank her myself too. See you in abit.”
He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Teenaged girls. I’ll never understand them.” His voice was easy, but that flush remained and Leslie fought to hide hersmile.
“Thanks again for your help,Declan.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be interested in seeing the speakeasy once you have better lighting down there.” He paused for a moment, then offered her his hand in a sort of awkward farewell. “I’ll be intouch.”
“Thanks.”
Leslie closed the door behind him just as her cell phone pinged. It was a text from Aunt Cherry, wondering where she was. Leslie gasped when she saw the time—she was twenty minutes late and she’d never texted to change plans—and quickly replied that she was on herway.
Five minutes later (Leslie prided herself on being someone who could put herself together at a moment’s notice), she was driving down the dark, curving drive. Her headlights cut into the heavy growth on either side, and it occurred to her that it was going to be hell getting out of here in the winter when there were heavy snowfalls…which there always were, due to lake effectsnow.
“Going to have to hire a good snow-removal service,” she said aloud. Yet another thing to add toher—
An odd movement among the trees brought her up short, and Leslie slammed on the brakes. Her tires ground sharply on the stony drive and she jerked a little behind the seatbelt. What wasthat?
Her heart thudded and she peered into the darkness, but the trees and brush were too thick, growing halfway over the opening so that they almost made a canopy and cutting out the moon and stars above. She could hardly make out anything but dark shapes among more darkshapes.
Leslie frowned, watching for a long while, then finally began to make her way down the hill. Whatever she’d seen could just as easily have been a deer as anything else. A shifting of a sapling, even. A dog. Aperson.
Then she let out a sigh of relief. It was probably Declan. He said he’d walked. It was a lot more of a direct route, cutting through the woods rather than going down the curving driveway. Maybe he’d gotten another phone call and didn’t leave rightaway.
Or maybe it had just been an animal. There were lots of deer around here. Most likely of all, it had been a trick of the eye—for she’d seen the movement in her peripheralvision.
Leslie put the thought out of her mind. She had news—big news—to share with Aunt Cherry, and she couldn’twait.
* * *
The best eateryin town was called Trib’s, and it was packed with locals on this Thursday night. Delicious smells along with the sound of live acoustic guitar, underscored by conversation, burst through the door as soon as Leslie openedit.
Though Trib’s was considered a pub, its ambience was about as far from the quintessential English public house as Wicks Hollow was from Philadelphia. Inside, the walls were exposed brick behind artfully “torn” wallpapered plasterboard, the ceiling was high, and it was lined with industrial pipes and tiny hanging crystal lights. The art was loud, colorful, and exclusively AndyWarhol.
