Page 21 of Hoodoo House
The cellar was large, damp and lined with shelves. There wasn’t much stored there, but what there was, Gramma Carol kept on the shelves near the foot of the stairs. She hated to go down to the basement. There were all sorts of bugs down there which freaked her out. Henry found this strange because nothing else seemed to frighten her. Henry liked insects. Whenever he heard Gramma Carol shriek in another room, he’d come running. Before she could get the broom to swat the insects to heaven, Henry would come to their rescue, scoop them up into his hands and rush them outside to safety. But today wasn’t about bugs—Henry was on a sleuthing mission.
First he examined the shelves to see if anything had been moved, but it all looked pretty much the same as usual.No computer here.
He made his way towards the wall of shelves farthest from the stairs. It had a gap beside and behind it wide enough for a person to slip through. No one would ever notice it unless they got up beside the shelf because the light from the single bulb in the ceiling didn’t reach to the far corner.
Henry aimed for the gap and rounded the corner. Behind the shelves there was an archway built into the stone wall of the basement which led to a hallway, though it was more of a tunnel with rough wooden walls and a packed dirt floor. Henry followed it to the end and came to a door made of slats of wood that he knew opened onto the coulee behind the house. There was still no sign of the computer.
As he retraced his steps, Henry thought back to the day before Mr Tull was found dead. Henry had planned on taking a shortcut through the tunnel out to the coulee. At the top of the stairs to the cellar, he’d heard two voices. One of them had been Mr Tull’s and the other one certainly hadn’t been Gramma Carol. Her voice wasn’t that deep. Henry didn’t remember anyone else coming in through the front door, so the other person must have come in through the tunnel.
As Henry had stopped at the top of the stairs to listen that afternoon, the voices had started to fade away. Henry had been curious, so he’d gone down the stairs and slipped into the gap behind the shelves. He’d heard a faint beeping sound. By the time he’d gotten to the tunnel, Mr Tull and the other person had been nowhere in sight. Maybe Mr Tull and his guest had left through the coulee door. Henry had decided to confirm his hunch, but about halfway towards the door, he’d heard a sound coming from behind a section of the wall. One of the vertical boards that separated the wall into sections had been loosened and jutted out at a slight angle. He had reached towards the board, but at that exact moment, Henry had heard a sharp sound, followed by a muffled scream from behind the wall. He’d run back upstairs to his second-floor bedroom and closed his door. He hadn’t been back since.
Today, with no Malcolm Tull or friend around, and Gramma Carol sound asleep in her room, Henry felt no fear. He located the vertical board he was looking for and tugged at it. The board came away. It was hinged and when opened revealed a new-looking keypad. Henry knew there must be a room behind the wall. Maybe that was where Mr Tull had left his computer. He punched in as many codes as he could think of, but none of them seemed to work. After ten minutes, Henry gave up and headed back to the kitchen. He decided he wouldn’t tell Gramma Carol about this yet. He’d wait until the detective came then reveal what he knew, just like the hero always did in his comic books.
Chapter Eight
It was just after noon when Declan left his office and headed into the main reception area. Charlie was diligently working at his computer.
“Ready to head to Hoodoo House?” Declan asked.
“Sure,” Charlie said without looking up. He collected his jacket and put a fistful of notes into his bag. His lips were firmly set in a frown and Declan could see that for some reason, Charlie was avoiding eye contact.
“I think we need something before we start.”
Declan led the way downstairs and straight into Gwen’s shop. “Two coffees to go, Gwen. And maybe some of those,” he said, pointing to the pastries.
That should put a smile on his face.
It didn’t.
Once Declan had paid, they made their way to the parking lot and Charlie walked directly to Declan’s van. Declan stopped him. “I thought we could take the Beast this time. I haven’t had a chance to drive your car yet, and this way you can read me your notes on the way out…if that’s okay with you?”
“Sure. No problem,” Charlie said, handing him the keys.
Declan sat in the driver’s seat and looked for the cup holder. It became clear that cars of this age were not equipped with such luxuries. He passed his coffee cup to Charlie. “Apparently you and your fellow muscle car maniacs don’t drink and drive.”
Charlie didn’t even crack a smile.
They drove in silence through the streets of Calgary and out onto the highway. As they reached the outskirts of town, where city turned to prairie, Charlie finally spoke.
“Who’s Michael?”
Declan felt like he’d been caught with his pants down.
“How do you know about Michael?” Declan asked.
“When you went to the washroom at the bar yesterday, you left your phone on the table. A text came in and I glanced over at it. It was from Michael. The text preview said ‘Thanks for this afternoon.’ I didn’t open the text. I wasn’t spying on you.”
Declan glanced over at him. Charlie was staring forward. His face was tense. Declan wished he could tell him now, tell him everything, but…he wasn’t ready.
“Michael’s just a friend. That’s all.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. “What kind of friend?”
Charlie was staring at him now.
“It’s…just some personal shit. I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s focus on Hoodoo House. What can you tell me?”
“Fine…strictly business,” Charlie said, gritting his teeth, as he reached down and pulled a few pages of notes out of his messenger bag. He riffled through them and stared at his notes as he spoke. “Technically Hoodoo House is owned by the novelist Marjorie Ellis, who wrote the famous novelThe Ragtag Crew. It was a huge hit. They did a film of the book that was nominated for an Oscar.The Ragtag Crewmade Marjorie Ellis and her publisher Mount Temple Press millions of dollars.”
