Page 70 of Threads of Kindness
Jeff walked toward the still, his boots crunching on loose gravel. “It feels like a slight incline. Perhaps that explains why this area stayed dry.”
“Do you think the false wall helped?”
“Possibly,” Jeff replied. “Somebody built this to last.”
The young man stumbled over a rusted metal lunchbox. It landed with a hollow clang. “Holy cow,” he breathed. “I feel like I’ve walked into the past.”
Jeff turned to him. “Would you get Sam? And bring us more flashlights.”
The young man nodded and disappeared up the stairs.
Jeff crossed to the rolltop desk and shifted the wobbly chair. The tambour door was stuck. He didn’t force it, suspecting it to be a valuable antique. He opened the lap drawer instead. Inside was a fountain pen, a half-full bottle of ink, a tarnished ring of skeleton keys, and a cellophane-wrapped package of dusty peppermint candies. The scent of old ink mingled with the faint sweetness of aging sugar.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Sam and the young man ducked through the opening.
“We knew they had to be making the stuff somewhere,” Sam said, sweeping his flashlight. “I should’ve realized the size of the basement didn’t match the footprint of the first floor.”
“There’d be no reason to suspect it,” Jeff said. “Buildings often have smaller basements.”
Sam trained his light on the lunchbox. “It feels like they walked out yesterday.”
“Whoever ran this was tidy,” Jeff murmured.
The young man had ventured to a far corner. “This doesn’t match the rest of the room,” he said, kneeling beside a bucket, a pickaxe, and a trowel. A square of deteriorating carpet, the color of dried blood, sat nearby. He peeled the carpet back.
The room went silent except for their breathing. Beneath the carpet, the dirt was uneven and loose. A rounded, dark brown object jutted from the soil.
He brushed it gently. The surface was smooth. “Looks like a tree root,” he offered uncertainly. “But it’s huge. And there aren’t any trees on this side of the street.”
Jeff crouched beside him, running his hand across the exposed object. The surface was cold, unyielding.
Sam did the same. Then both men stood, locking eyes.
“You’d better call Anita,” Jeff said.
Sam nodded.
“Want me to keep digging?” the young man asked, eyes wide.
“No,” Jeff and Sam said in unison.
“We leave everything where it is,” Jeff added firmly. “Don’t touch another thing.”
“What about removing the rest of the boards?”
“Make a wider opening for access,” Jeff said. “But after that? Nothing. Construction stops. That stack of planks is the last thing leaving this basement—until we know exactly what we’ve found.”
Anita answered Sam’s call.
“You’re on speaker in my car,” she said. “I’m taking Gordon to the airport.”
“Hey, Gordon,” Sam said. “Sorry you’re leaving town. There’s something at the museum I’d like you both to see.”
“Hi, Sam,” Gordon replied. “That sounds mysterious. What’s up?”
Anita and Gordon glanced at each other. She shrugged.
“You sound like you’ve got news,” Anita said. “Are the repairs from the broken pipe going to cost more than we thought?”
