Part 25 (2/2)

”Scared,” she accused. ”Scared of a woman you're going to kill. What a loser.”

Risky, like teasing a wild animal ... but if he left, it was all over. Soon this room would fill with water, and that would be that. So, she had to keep him engaged, keep him- Anger whitened the scars around his eyes and tightened his artificially plump lips. Glancing around, he spotted a loose rock on the floor under one of the window openings, and crossed to it.

Now all she needed was to actually have an idea of what to do next before he picked that stone up and bashed her with it.

”Now, now,” she temporized. ”Let's not be ...”

Hasty, she'd have finished; getting knocked unconscious with a rock before drowning might ease the latter predicament.

But neither of them was on her wish list. Before she could figure out just what was on it, though, two more events occurred swiftly, one after the other: First, Randy Dodd bent to pick the rock up, turning his back on the doorway to do so.

And second, Randy's brother, Roger Dodd, appeared suddenly and without warning, slipping expertly and silently down the ladder with a huge iron skillet in his hand. His raised hand ...

Without a word he crossed the room in two long strides and swung the skillet down hard onto Randy's head. Randy collapsed, sinking first onto his knees, then falling face forward into the rivulet crossing the floor.

Jake let her breath out. So she'd been wrong about him... .

”Thank you, Roger. You had me very worried, there. Now get me out of this so I can ...”

She held up her bound wrists. But Roger wasn't looking at them, or turning to Ellie. He wasn't doing anything helpful.

”Roger?” she ventured. ”Are you ...?”

At last he turned, dropping the skillet. ”I know you aren't going to believe me,” he said. ”But I'm sorry about all this.”

Oh, h.e.l.l. ”Roger, I want you to listen very carefully,” she began. ”You're upset. I understand that. But-”

The rivulet on the floor grew to a stream. The sound of the waves outside grew louder.

Nearer. And still Roger wasn't doing anything. ”Roger?”

He returned to the ladder, scrambled up it with the ease of long practice. He hauled the ladder up behind him. The trapdoor thudded shut. She heard the bolt in it slide home.

Trapped ... ”Roger!” she shouted. ”d.a.m.n it, Roger, you-”

Come back here. But the only reply was the distant sound of his footsteps going up the stairs; after that, only the crash of waves and the gurgle of water sounded in the stone chamber.

Water coming in. The lantern flickered yellow, reflecting a pool spreading across the floor. Ellie had pa.s.sed out again; her breathing sounded harsh, like a person deeply under the influence of some strong sedative.

Jake wondered what Randy had forced down Ellie's throat, but it probably didn't matter. ”Roger!”

No answer. Ellie took a deep, sighing breath. She'd have expected to get home again before George did, most likely. So she probably hadn't left a note.

Me either, Jake recalled bleakly. The only one who knew they were down here was Roger.

And he wasn't telling.

The kerosene lantern flickered and went out.

IN THE DODD HOUSE CELLAR, BELLA DIAMOND FOUND A light switch, then began scanning the packed-earth floor for the earring she'd lost. Around the furnace, near the opening of the tunnel leading downhill to the old wharf ... That's where she'd been, earlier.

That was where the earring must be. But when she searched the floor there, it wasn't. So she proceeded to the awful little corner chamber where Randy Dodd had been bunking.

Perhaps the earring had fallen in here. In a corner, or possibly under the makes.h.i.+ft bed. Cringing, she lifted an edge of the tattered blanket in case the earring had rolled underneath.

When she did, a curled photograph fell from it. Hesitantly she picked it up, then nearly dropped it in reflexive horror at what it showed: a dead girl. A color shot, in hideous close-up, of half-open eyes, slack lips, and fingers vulnerably curled.

Her stomach rolled. Her mouth felt dry, and her breath came in uncontrolled gasps. She had to get out of here, had to-Cross the cellar. Climb the stairs, then down the hall to the door. All right, now, one foot in front of the other, Bella told herself mechanically.

But at the foot of the stairs, she heard a voice raised in anger or fear, distantly but unmistakably. Jake's voice. From ...

Not upstairs. Right down here somewhere. Right over ...

There.

It came from across the cellar, past the furnace in the far corner of the foundation where the tunnel opened. An instant later Bella stood at the tunnel's mouth, peering across the stop block made of an old railroad tie.

Probably there was a block at the other end of the tunnel, too. But that wasn't her big worry now. What worried her was what might lie between the two stop blocks. Down there in the dark ...

”Help!” The cry came again from the darkness that smelled of sea salt, damp earth, and rotting wood.

Bella tried shouting back, but no sound would come from her throat. The tunnel looked ready to swallow her. But then Jake's cry for help came again, and Bella knew she had no choice.

None at all. Which was why, standing there in the old Dodd House cellar, lip trembling and hands shaking, fear twisting like a cramp in her stomach, Bella Diamond squared her shoulders and lifted her head.

She settled herself firmly on her feet, bit her lip, and clenched her hands into tight fists, the better to punch somebody in the nose if she had to. Then she closed her eyes and ran at the tunnel, keeping her hurrying feet close to the center as best she could so as not to trip on the iron rails the old cart once ran on.

Just a minute or so, she told herself as she sprinted along in the gloom. Then I'll come out into the light and find Jake and be able to- Help her, Bella would have finished, but instead she smacked suddenly into something unyielding, exactly at knee level, and flew headlong onto it. Clinging on in terror, she felt whatever it was lurch forward, slowly at first and then faster.

Much faster ... the smooth thrum of rails vibrated beneath her, and dank, chilly air rushed past her head. The cart, she realized as the slope she was traveling on angled sharply downhill.

It was the old tin-can cart, freewheeling down the tunnel's tracks. ”Oh,” she moaned, feeling the walls zoom by.

There was nothing to hang on to, nothing to try to stop with, and she didn't dare raise her head or put her hands out for fear they'd be knocked off. Faster and faster ...

That other stop block, she thought suddenly. There would be one at each end of the tunnel, so the cart wouldn't roll right out onto the floor ... .

Gasping with the unwelcome realization of what was about to happen, she yanked in her arms and legs, ducked her head into her arms, and in general squinched her whole self into as tiny a ball of tender, vulnerable body parts as she could.

Then she waited. The cart went on freewheeling beneath her. Astonis.h.i.+ngly fast ...

Flying in the dark.

THINK, JAKE TOLD HERSELF FIRMLY WHEN SHED GIVEN UP yelling, her throat sore. But as soon as she'd begun thinking, she wished heartily that she hadn't, because the result was so discouraging.

Twenty feet in six hours was the rate at which Pa.s.samaquoddy Bay filled with salt water as the tide rose. And once it rose up past the windows in that old door, she realized grimly ...

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