“Dot’s herb garden is hardly a haunted realm,” she said.
“If I get Freddy Krueger’d out there, let it be on your head.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Despite his teasing, Wes didn’t mind stepping out for some fresh air. He took the flashlight, and they split up at the kitchen side door, a shortcut they’d found into the back garden. The backyard—no, the outdoor part of the estate—was a mix of vegetables for the kitchen, flowers in ornate beds with walkways, and a patio space with a firepit. Wes circled the house, looking for anything that could be an entrance. Nothing. No root cellars. No trapdoors.
There had to be one. Had to be something. He retraced his steps, mentally mapping out the interior of the house as he went. This would be Nadine’s room at the end of the east wing, mirroring where Dot’s was on the west. He lingered, comparing what he saw to what he recalled from inside. He could have sworn Nadine’s Marie Antoinette room was smaller than what the exterior of the house indicated.
Wes rushed back in to pass Nadine.
“I didn’t find anything,” she said. “Did you? You did. You’re running. Was it ghosts after all? Wes, wait for me.”
He slowed for her to catch up and led the way to the Marie Antoinette room. The en suite was to the south of the room, and the canopied bed, with two sleeping cats nestled in the multitude of pillows, was set against the wall to the north.
That was where the extra space would be.
“You think the basement door is in my room?” Nadine looked around in confusion.
“Let’s find out,” he said. “Give me a hand.”
To her credit, Nadine simply grabbed the end of the bed instead of peppering him with more questions. In seconds, they’d discovered the bed was on wheels, and once they pushed up the locks, it was easy to move away from the wall. The cats jumped off with offended trills.
Neither of them paid attention because they were looking at a door. A door in the wall behind the bed that had been hidden by the canopy.
“What the fuck.” Nadine’s voice was flat. “Isleephere.”
“Whoa, creepy. Have you heard sounds at night? Rustling? Voices? Chanting?”
“Wes.”
“Sorry, I got carried away.” He gave her an apologetic look. He wouldn’t have been thrilled to find a secret door behind his bed either. “Let’s look inside. I’m sure it’s nothing too disturbing.”
She grabbed the flashlight and lifted it as if to check the weight before settling into a boxing stance. “I’m ready.”
He supposed it didn’t hurt to be cautious. “Southpaw, huh?”
“With a wicked hook, so be ready to open that door on the count of three.”
Wes gave her a thumbs-up, and she counted down.
“One, two, three.”
He threw the door open and leapt out of the way of Nadine’s swinging arm, ready to jump in as backup. Nothing happened. Peeking in, he saw a lamp near the door and flicked the switch.
Wes wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. There was no cinder-block tunnel leading to the depths of the house. No stale air and torches. Instead, a sturdy leather armchair sat in the far corner, and the bare walls of the small room were painted a pleasant coral. A record player, still plugged in, sat near the chair with a rack filled with old albums. It was both a letdown and unbelievably confusing.
“This is weird,” he said.
“There must be something else here.”
“Like what?” He looked up to see a regular ceiling. It was simply a room. A secret room carpeted with ivory shag behind Nadine’s bed.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Nadine began knocking on every wall, searching for another way in or out, and Wes went to sort through the records. A thick layer of dust lay on the surfaces.
“Oh my God.” He snatched his hand away.
It only took Nadine three strides for her to cross the room, no doubt dying to see what he’d found so shocking. “Let me see.”
