She rose as an idea occurred to her. He had left behind one message, perhaps he had left another.
Clarisse started searching through the crates, but then another thought struck her. It would make sense, after all. In a classic manner at least.
There were only five bottles down here. Four were empty and cracked; one was intact but empty of any wine. Well, that was intriguing in and of itself. Why have a corked bottle with nothing in it?
Or was there something inside?
She used a rusty wine opener lying on one of the crates to uncork the bottle.
Nothing.
“Shit,” she muttered.
Was she just wrong about all of this? Was it just a wine cellar only with no wine?
But the one constant in Clarisse’s life was attention to detail. Her hundreds of notebooks compiled over the years would attest to that. So she examined the cork closely in case something was embedded in it. She hit the glass with her light to see if there was any writing or clue on it.
And then her attention turned to the wine label. It was not entirely affixed to the glass. One edge was curled up. She slowly and carefully removed it. The folded-up slip of paper secreted behind it fell out.
A message outside a bottle. How quaint, Harry.
However, the message was anything but quaint.
This is the twenty-first century. Act like it, you idiot.
She stared at the paper for a few moments before slipping it into her pocket.
Twenty-first century?
Okay, that could mean a number of different things, some apparent, others not. She had just started pondering a few of the more obvious ones when she heard a noise from above.
As she listened, it was repeated.
It seemed she was not the only person at Stormfield tonight.
Chapter 61
Clarisse’s hand closed around the pepper spray as she quietly left the wine cellar and made her way slowly upward. She didn’t want to be trapped in the bowels of the place with no way out.
She felt her breath quicken as she reached the main level and cautiously peered around. Clarisse didn’t dare use her flashlight. She listened for additional sounds, but the quiet remained unbroken.
Did they hear me? Are they waiting for me to show myself?
Who could it be? she wondered. The ones who had come here and killed Langhorne? She shuddered at encountering her again. Was it the police? But why would they come in the middle of the night? Was it Nathan Trask’s men, looking for the treasure, too? And if they found her here?
That would likely be the end of me.
She kept moving forward, growing ever closer to the front door.
What she would give to be back in her safe quarters surrounded by her notebooks with their comforting details.
She heard another noise; it sounded like one person. Then it all depended on who that one person was. She put the message she had found in the bottle into her mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed the gummy remains. If the person found her, they would not find what she had.
Next, the assertive steps she had heard up to now turned to stealth.
Maybe she had left wet footprints in the entrance hall. Or had they noticed her car parked along the road?
She screamed when the hand clenched her shoulder.
She looked up into the face of the tall, strongly built man.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?”
The pepper spray hit him right in the face, causing him to drop his flashlight, clutch his face, and stagger backward. He slammed into the wall.
“God damn it!” he cried out in pain.
She ran down the passage and hurtled through the open doorway, her gloved hand reaching in her pocket for her car keys. She passed the sedan parked in front and ran flat-out away from Stormfield, and reached her car. She drove pell-mell to the main road, turned left, and gunned the motor. When she got to a highway Clarisse finally slowed down. She drove to the car rental place, where she dropped off the vehicle and left the keys in the overnight box.
She had recognized the man. Clarisse had just pepper-sprayed Wilson Sullivan!
It was three in the morning and she wasn’t quite sure what to do.
Then something occurred to her. Something that, for her, was truly outlandish.
Clarisse made the call, desperate to hear the other woman’s voice for some reason. She was breathing so fast her body temperature had cooled, making her teeth chatter.
“Hello?” the voice said sleepily.
“Mickey, it’s me.”
“I know it’s you since it’s the phone you left me. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Can... can I come to see you? Right now? Something’s happened.”
Gibson said nothing for several long and, to Clarisse, disquieting moments.
“Mickey?”
“I’m... I’m here. You... want to come and see me?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I... I was at Stormfield tonight.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for the treasure.”
“Did you find anything?”
“I... can’t we do this in person?”
“What else happened?”
“Someone else showed up while I was there. He grabbed me.”
“Who grabbed you!”
“Wilson Sullivan.”
Gibson did not say anything for several seconds. Then: “Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“Did he identify himself to you?”
“No. But I knew it was him.”
“How do you even know what he looks like?”
“It’s in my best interests to know as much as possible about things that could affect me. It was him. He grabbed me and got a face full of pepper spray for his troubles.”
“You pepper-sprayed a cop?”
“He didn’t announce himself as a cop. And I pepper-sprayed him before I realized who it was. And what was he doing at Stormfield in the middle of the night?”
“It’s a crime scene.”
“He was by himself. And haven’t they long since released the property as a crime scene? And what was so important that he showed up at this time of night?”
“I... he... where are you?”
“I can be there in twenty minutes. And Mickey?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t tell you everything, maybe not much at all.”
“Can you at least tell me your real name?”
“I’ve developed the habit of not trusting anyone.”
“Then why are you coming to see me?”
“Because of all the people I know you’re by far the closest to the person I believe I can trust.”
“Your sudden change of heart is perplexing.”
“I would say the same if the positions were reversed.”
“I’m not doing anything illegal to help you.”
“I wouldn’t ask it.”
“Do you prefer tea or coffee? Or something stronger?”
“Coffee will be fine.”
“See you in twenty.”
Chapter 62
Gibson stared at her front door and then her gaze shifted to the upstairs where her kids were sleeping. Part of her couldn’t believe she was inviting a stranger — no, not exactly a stranger, but perhaps a psychopath — into her home in the middle of the night. The only thing standing between this visitor and her kids?
Me. Should I call the police and have them waiting to arrest her? But for what, exactly?
And Gibson figured the woman would be savvy enough to thoroughly check out the neighborhood for signs of police before exposing herself.