What must have been only a few hours later, I jerked awake. The blast of a train sounded in the distance. The rumble must have woken me.
I looked around the room, bathed in light from the street lamps.
I could see my breath. The temperature in the house had dropped into the danger zone. I tucked my nose into the nylon covers, in hopes of avoiding the icy air.
Then I remembered my dream.
Grandma, again. She lay in bed, dying. In her hand was a red foil envelope. She turned it over and over.
“Let it lie, Tish, let it lie,” she whispered.
I remember a feeling of helpless rage washing over me in my dream as Grandma stopped breathing. Then she was sinking into the cistern. Her features turned to stone as she plunged into the concrete. I was kneeling next to her, clawing at the cement, trying to bring her back. But all I did was break off my artificial nails, one by one, until they looked like pale pink rose petals sprinkled on a grave.
Safe on my cot, I almost laughed out loud at the image. That just went to show how foolish dreams could be. There was nothing pale about my fake nails. They were as neon as a color could get.
I fanned out my fingers, just to confirm that my nail color was really as obnoxious as I’d remembered. The Flamingo Pink almost glowed in the dark.
One of my fake nails was missing. I wondered if I’d lost it at the restaurant, David’s place, my house, or somewhere in between.
I curled my hands into balls and tucked them back under the covers. A girl could get frostbite if she wasn’t careful.
By now, I had launched into an uncontrollable shiver that started at my toes and worked its way up to the muscles in my neck. I lay shaking for a few minutes before admitting defeat. There was no way I would get back to sleep in this freezer. As much as I wanted to avoid it, I had to go check the furnace, if only to give it a good kick. I threw back the covers and put my stocking feet on the carpet.
I put on my ski parka and shoes, then flicked on every light along the way to the kitchen to face the cellar door.
I stopped on the linoleum in the alcove between the kitchen and the bathroom. I stared at the oak-paneled door in front of me, suddenly hot under my layers of clothes.
I slid back the bolt.
I reached for the doorknob and gripped it. The freezing metal burned against my skin. I half hoped I would be stuck there, my sweaty hand frozen to the knob like a tongue stuck to the monkey bars, rather than having to go downstairs.
I listened.
Just the steady hum of the refrigerator and howl of the wind outside.
I turned the knob.
24
The door creaked open into the stairwell, then thumped and stopped against the wall.
I looked down. The steps dissolved into blackness.
The stove clock clicked and rotated. 4:00 a.m.
Night was mostly over.
Another five hours and it would be bright as day down there.
I turned toward the kitchen sink. I could almost see pipes bulging, ready to burst from the ice inside them.
Another five hours might be too late.
I turned on the basement light.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, then stepped down.
My foot took forever to touch the wooden riser. I stepped again. An eternity passed.
I listened as the stove clock made another rotation.
No other sounds.
I swallowed, gathering up the minuscule crumbs of courage scattered through my veins.
Then I bounded down the steps. My bad leg hit the cement first, sending an extra oomph of pain shooting through my body from the memory of the last time I’d been down here. I squinted in the direction of the cistern.
The semicircle of rocks looked pretty much the same as the last time I’d gotten a peek at it.
Except tonight, the collage of colored stone seemed somewhat attractive. The light from the bare bulb hit one of the pinkish-toned rocks and brought out a shimmer like diamonds, and for a moment I could almost see the stone wall integrated into a classy entertainment center of some sort, complete with a mounted plasma TV.
Hmm. Plan C.
With Plan C in action, I could have my rec room and not mess with demolishing the cistern or walling it in.
Not that I was worried there was a body behind those lovely stones, of course. Simply because Plan C made my life easier than if I decided to take on Martin Dietz and his board of Nazis. I could turn the original historic detail of the home into a major selling point.
There. Dietz wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
I bent to look at the furnace, no longer afraid to be alone in the basement on a cold, dark night. A couple wires, some dials, a few knobs. It all looked Greek to me. I tapped and twisted, hoping for a fiery resurrection.
I knelt down and looked in the tiny glass window close to the floor.
Yep. The pilot was still lit.
I held my fingers close to the flickering flame, soaking up its precious warmth as I considered my next course of action.
If I had any friends, I could call one of them and finish the night out at their place.
I thought of the not-so-long list of people I’d met in Rawlings. The first name that came to mind was the too-hot-to-keep-my-hands-off computer geek, David. Calling David for help in the middle of the night was absolutely out of the question.
Then there was the everything-by-the-book Officer Brad.
I shook my head at the appalling thought. I’d have to be mostly dead before I accepted help from a man in blue.
Dorothy Fitch across the street presented a decent possibility. But then I’d be under the same roof as Jack the Ripper. No, thank you.
Tammy at the Beauty Boutique came to mind. I’d figured out she wasn’t hounding after David. That made Tammy, with her welcoming smile, the most logical choice of those to call. Sure, it was four in the morning. But she was a gracious, giving person. She wouldn’t mind a middle-of-the-night jingle from a desperate customer.
I sighed, feeling all alone in the empty basement. I couldn’t call Tammy. She’d just lost Coffee Girl, which meant she was probably emotionally exhausted and didn’t need the extra stress right now.
There had to be someone else.
I thought of Verna, my old cellmate. She’d be there for me. Too bad she was still serving time.
I stared into the tiny flame, remembering my first day with her.
“So how’d you land yourself behind bars?” My new roomy was a large woman, with arms as big around as my thighs. She sat in the corner, slouched down, legs sprawling.
“Um,” I said, “I’m kind of here by accident.”
“Me too. I accidentally got caught.” She gave a throaty guffaw. “At least that lying, scheming, no-good man of mine is dead. That wasn’t no accident.” She laughed again.
“You killed your husband?” My voice had a mousy squeak to it.
“If you’d have been me, you’d have done it too. Don’t kid yourself. If you’re here, you have it in you.”
I shook my head, horrified at the thought of this woman shooting or knifing or beating a man to death, and accusing me of being able to do the same. “No. It’s not in me.”
Her features looked small in her rotund face. She leaned forward, squinting. “Deny it and it’ll poison your mind like a viper. You’ll end up in the loony wing.” She rocked her head back and forth and made a funny face. Her tongue slithered out like a snake’s.
I stood at the cell gate and stared at the chunky cross-eyed convict. First I smiled. Then I laughed.
“We’ll get along just fine,” she said. “You just tell me what you need. Verna will take care of you.”
The pilot light on the furnace came back into focus. My hands were toasty, but my knees had frozen from crouching on the cold basement floor. I worked them back and forth, then attempted to stand up. I grabbed the edge of the furnace and made it to my feet.