Clock and Dagger (21 page)

I
thought about making a run for it even though my legs were still cramped. I remembered reading that most people are terrible shots when they were surprised. It was dark out. But as if he could read my mind, he grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged me toward the open kitchen door, tossing me into the room. I didn't fall, but I did hit the kitchen table with my left hip, hard. I made an effort not to wince, and I turned to look at him. I avoided staring at the gun, but it was tough. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. What had he done to her?

“Zane, surely we can—”

“You can cut the ‘Zane' crap, Ruth. You wouldn't be sneaking around the house, peeking in windows, if you didn't know the truth.”

“Okay, Wallace Struggs. You've got me,” I said. I clenched my jaw tight, trying to keep the rising bile at bay.

A terrifying, joyless laugh erupted from the middle of Struggs's chest. “You got it in one. I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner.”

“I'm sorry I didn't,” I said. Wallace Struggs. I needed to start trusting my gut more. Caroline's affection for her caring friend Zane Phillips and the uneasy feeling I had about the man whom I had met never quite fit. My gut was right. Wallace Struggs was a creep. And he had a gun.

“Where's Caroline?” I demanded.

“She's fine, just fine. You'll see her soon enough. Let's us catch up, shall we? We're practically family, after all.”

Family. Was he kidding? I looked at Wallace. The scars I'd noticed before seemed so fake now. As if he could read my mind, he brushed the bottom of his face with his free hand. He wasn't wearing a hat now. His dark glasses were sitting on top of his head. I could see his entire face. His looks were compelling, but the blue eyes that stared at me weren't human. His mask was literally slipping as a fake scar peeled off into his hand. He had been wearing Halloween makeup and I had fallen for it.

“Let me see Caroline,” I said.

“I told you I wanted to talk!” he shouted suddenly, smacking his free hand down on the countertop. “I make the rules here. Me. Don't you want to ask me about Zane?”

“What happened to Zane?” I whispered.

“Caroline asked the same thing. He's fine. I'm sure someone will find him soon. It must be difficult for him, since I have his phone with me, but still. One would hope that his absence from society will be noticed sooner rather than later.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose you might as well know. I left him locked in his basement,” he said with a little chuckle. “With food and drink. Provided he survived the fall, I'm sure he's fine.”

“So you didn't kill him.” I looked around the kitchen, hoping to be able to grab a knife or a rolling pin. Something. No such luck. There wasn't even a pan out on a counter.

“Of course I didn't kill him. I merely taught him a lesson. As I will with Caroline. A valuable lesson.” His eyes twinkled.

I shivered. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You don't remember me, do you?”

I shook my head. “No, should I?”

“Years ago, you were about eight, visiting Thom and Mae for the summer. I came by to visit. You obviously don't remember me. Your grandmother hustled you out of the room pretty fast.”

“Why?”

“Why indeed? Thom was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. But you knew that.” He waited for a response, but I wasn't going to give him one, even though he was right, in a way. Grandpa Thom had a very strict moral code. If Wallace Struggs went against his code, G.T. would have shielded me from him.

“What happened?” I asked, after a pause. Wallace wanted, demanded, a conversation. I had to buy some time so that the police could arrive. I needed him to keep talking.

“I tried to sell him some merchandise, but he questioned the provenance. Can you imagine that?” Wallace cackled at the memory.

“He was always meticulous about record keeping.”

“He couldn't prove anything. He never could. I was careful.”

“Sounds like he had you figured out, though.”

“Thom Clagan had trust issues. Or maybe he didn't like my style.”

“So this was what, twenty-two years ago, if I was eight. That's right around the time you moved to Europe and opened your business there. Tell me, is my timing right?”

“Just about, yes.”

“Huh.” Where was Jeff? I glanced over at the clock and was horrified that it had only been ten minutes since I'd left my voice mail. Even if he left right away, it was a twenty-minute ride to the cottage.

“Did you blame my grandfather for your having to leave? Is that why you are targeting me?”

“He had nothing to do with me having to leave. He was a little man who noticed a slight flaw in my product and called me on it. It made me better. If anything, he helped me create my business model.”

“Business model?”

“We all have a business model, Ruth,” he said, absently peeling another scar from his face. “My first business model was to hone my craft and provide people with what they wanted. Private collectors are amazingly narcissistic. They can easily be encouraged to think that their taste, their expertise, has helped them make an amazing find. They are willing to pay for their brilliance.”

The frightening thing was, I followed his logic completely. It didn't give him the right to con people, of course. But he had tapped into the human fallibility of hubris. Of course, I needed to remember that it wasn't just the clocks that had put Wallace Struggs in jail. He'd broken more laws than that.

“Now, wasn't that nice? We had a chance to get to know one another. It could have happened earlier, but Caroline was very difficult to pin down, and I had other business here that prevented me from waiting around. Honestly, is she ever alone? Now, be a good girl and give me your cell phone, and your car keys.”

I slid my phone and keys out of my pocket. Wallace leaned toward me, reaching for them both. I tossed them at him, aiming for his head. He ducked, and they missed. I tried to jog to one side, but he anticipated my move. He grabbed me by my arm and twisted it behind me. I screamed with pain, which only made him twist harder. He propelled me forward, and I stumbled a couple of times. He held me up.

“No you don't,” he chided. “You're a handful, aren't you? Time to join Caroline down in the basement. She'll be glad to see you.” He opened the cellar door and tossed me down the stairs, hard.

I grabbed the banister and kept from tumbling into the dark abyss.

He slammed the door and threw the locks. My breath came in short pants, so I tried to slow them down. My head felt fuzzy, but passing out would be a disaster. I looked around. Trying to break through the door was just a waste of energy. It was steel. Most people didn't lock basement doors, but my grandmother had insisted dead bolts be installed. No, I wasn't getting out the way I came in. I'd figure out another way.

First I had to find Caroline.

M
y perch on the cellar stairs was darker than the inside of a pocket, as my grandmother used to say. I stood still for a minute, hoping that my eyes would adjust, but without much luck. Dark was dark.

“Caroline?” I whispered. No reply. No sound, for that matter. I tried to tamp down the panic as I struggled to acclimate myself and feel my way up the stairs to find the light switch.

“Caroline?” I called again, this time louder.

I tried to figure out where the light switch was, and felt along the wall. The plaster was more of a stucco finish, very rough. I had to lighten up my sweeping motions so I wouldn't cut my hands. After a dozen swipes I found it and flipped it on. Ugly fluorescents flooded the space. I blinked in the bright light. Caroline was crumpled motionless on the landing below.

I ran down, stumbling. I grabbed the banister to steady
myself. Years ago my grandfather had installed a bumper wall at the bottom of the stairs, foam padding that helped protect large pieces as they turned the corner. The padded wall wasn't pretty, but hopefully it had done its job one more time.

I climbed over her and knelt down, feeling for a pulse. I found it. Thank heaven. I didn't dare to try and move her, since she was lying at an odd angle. I bent down, putting my hand on top of her head. “Caroline, it's me, Ruth. I'm here. Jeff is on his way. Hang in there.” Caroline's eyes fluttered, and she stared up at me.

“Levi . . .”

“Is he down here with you?” I asked, looking around. I had assumed that the car with the Vermont plates was Wallace's.

“No. Wallace . . .” Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, opened them, and looked up at me again. She was looking more awake, but her color was still terrible.

“Wallace what?” I asked.

“Wallace might not know who he is. He's desperate. I don't think he'd hurt Levi, but maybe? Wallace wasn't done looking yet.”

“Looking for what?”

“For the notebooks I brought to you. If only I'd kept them here he'd be gone now. Levi would be safe,” she said, grimacing in pain.

“Did you tell Wallace where they were?” I said, crouching beside her and carefully smoothing her hair away from her face.

“I told him I wouldn't tell him anything until he promised to leave us alone. We were fighting about it when you drove in.”

“So you called me? How?”

“You're on my speed dial. I took out the phone and hit the button. I wish I could have called Levi and warned him to stay away. I never should have invited you out here for dinner. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be here, trying to help me. It's all my fault. Everything's my fault.”

I blinked back my tears and did my best to hold my face in a neutral position. Pity wouldn't serve Caroline, and she wasn't looking for sympathy.

Caroline tried to sit up, but I held her back. “Don't move, Caroline. Something could be broken. So after you called me, what happened?”

“Wallace grabbed my phone and hit me.” I winced. “It wasn't the first time, of course. He saw you get out of your car, so he threw me down the stairs.”

“I wonder why he didn't kill me when he had a chance?” I said.

“He doesn't know you.”

“Gee, Caroline, thanks. To know me is to want to kill me?”

“No, of course not.” At least I got her to smile a little. “Wallace has a terrible temper, but his wrath is saved for those who have done him wrong. Besides, he needs you alive. He'll figure out that you have the books soon enough.”

“Do you think he'll try and kill you? Or Levi?”

“Not Levi. Never Levi. Believe it or not, he loved his son. He may not recognize him though.”

I didn't argue with Caroline, not then. But I had to wonder if telling Levi that his father was dead had really been the kindest thing. Surely now Levi would have to learn what the truth was. There would be time to talk to Caroline about that later. First we needed to get out of this basement.

“I wonder where Jeff is?” I asked. “I know the state police are a ways away, but they were supposed to call him. He should be here by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I texted him and left him a voice mail. He may be ignoring my messages until he is less busy.”

“Busy?”

“Oh, Caroline. There's no easy way to say this. Tuck Powers was attacked tonight.”

“Is he—” She shifted her weight and groaned.

“He's not dead. Just stay still, Caroline. He's at the hospital.” Caroline began to cry softly. I put my hand on her arm and rubbed it slowly.

“We've got to get out of here,” I said. “Wallace will kill us. First he killed Mark, then he tried to kill Tuck. And right now he's getting angrier and angrier looking in vain for books that are in my shop . . . I really hope Jeff got my message. I'm sure he did. But just in case he doesn't get here for a while, we need to make a move.”

“How? That is a solid steel door. There's no other way out.”

“No other way out that you know of, you mean. Of course there's another way out. Two, in fact. One is the window over there. But I haven't tried that since I was about twelve. I don't think I'd fit. You could probably fit.”

Caroline tried to sit up again. I tried to stop her, but she shook me off. When she attempted to move her arm she cried out in pain.

“All right, stop. You're hurt. I guess we'll need to use the secret passage.”

“Secret passage?”

“When my grandparents built the porch off the living room, it meant that they had to get rid of the bulkhead that led to the cellar.”

“That one, over there?” Caroline asked. “I always thought it was stairs to nowhere.”

“G.T. was obsessed with safety. He hated the idea of only one way out of here, so he actually built a trapdoor in the porch.”

“Really? Your family is fond of trapdoors and secret hideaways, aren't they?”

“We are,” I said. “I'm still finding more and more hideaways in the shop. Pat and I found a new one last week. I'll show it to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Caroline said. She sounded doubtful.

“Are you going to be all right here for a few minutes?” I asked.

“I'll be fine. Go get help. Before Levi arrives.”