Page 77 of Her Dark Lies
But rational thought reigns supreme. What is actually going on here? Henna is dead, the power is out, the storm is raging, my dress is ruined, and my mother is hammered. Someone has been spying on me, is clearly trying to derail my wedding, and I’m getting pissed off. Whoever Shane was working with, because he’s not smart enough to figure this out himself, that’s for sure, has to be behind this. It’s not just bad luck. And whoever it is, they will underestimate me. Everyone does.Oh, she’s such a lovely painter. Oh, she’s so sweet and kind. Claire Hunter? She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Lost her nerve after her father died.
Wanna bet? Bring it, bitch. I am fed the fuck up with this nonsense. I’m wearing as many disguises as you are.
Determined now, I head off again. The temperature in the hall is getting cooler, so I did go the wrong way. I should have turned right, instead of left. Okay then. I’ve eliminated this path. If I retrace my steps, I’ll be back at the kitchens.
I start to turn but see a wood and iron door ahead that is cracked open. I shine the light around the edges, then inside. There is a slate floor that looks like it leads downhill. What’s down there? I swear I hear water. I listen intently, yes, there’s the small roar of the sea against the rocks. I take a few steps inside, shining my flashlight. Indentations in the walls hold iron sconces, and wooden braces with iron fittings creep overhead. It feels very old. What would this look like if the lights were on? Illumination in the past would come from candles or oil lamps, but the Villa has been completely modernized. I flash my light on the wall to the door’s interior—there it is. A light switch.
No keypads, though. This area is controlled by a padlock only. It’s off the grid.
Where does this tunnel lead? To the water, most likely, with the downward slope and cool air. Is it a wine cellar? That makes sense, it being so quiet and cool, and close enough to the kitchens.
Okay, Nancy Drew. Time to get back to Jack, face the music.
I hear voices, and they’re coming from down the tunnel. My heart starts to kettledrum and my breath catches in my throat. I am not alone. Who is down here in the dark?
“Signorina?”
I jump and scream, dropping the flashlight to the ground. The voices stop.
A gray-haired head bends in front of me and picks up the flashlight.
“Signorina Claire? What’s happened? Why are you covered in blood?”
“Oh, Fatima.” I blow out a huge, shuddery breath. “You scared me. It’s Henna. She fell down the stairs. Then I—I got lost. I couldn’t find my way back to the stairwell after I took my mom to her room. I ended up here. I think someone’s down there.” I point down the tunnel. “I heard voices.”
In my shock, I’m babbling. Fatima’s face is ghoulishly pale in the flashlight’s xenon beam. She doesn’t seem alarmed.
“That is the path to the crypt, Signorina Claire. There are no voices there except those of the dead. Come, I’ll take you back to Signore Jack. Henna has been hurt?”
I nod. I’m not breaking the news that Henna’s dead.
“Then we must go help.” With a deft hand, she reaches for my arm and gently pulls me out of the tunnel, pushing the thick wooden door closed behind me. She resets the huge iron padlock, locks it with a snap.
“See? No one there to worry about. The dead can’t leave. Come with me.”
We begin walking, and soon the air grows warmer.
“Jack didn’t tell me there was a crypt.”
“This is quite typical of these old island Villas.”
“Is the...are there Compton family members buried there?”
“Not buried, interred. In the walls. Yes, there are Comptons, and there are previous owners’ families as well. I believe the oldest tomb in the crypt dates to the 1300s. That’s been found, that is. There was a cave-in many years ago and there are tunnels that have been blocked off. Of course, the paths to the grottos were closed as well. Signore Will wanted to keep the boys safe, so he had a number of areas blocked off many years ago.”
“I see.”
I am thoroughly freaked out at this point by the idea of the voices I heard belonging to the Villa’s previous residents who live in the walls of the crypt, but before I can quietly collapse into fits of hysterics, we are back on the main floor and at the staircase.
“Up the stairs and right at the landing. That will get you back to your rooms. I’m sure Signore Jack is missing you. And you need to shower and change—we must be getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. I’ll be along in a moment. I need to check why the generators have turned off.”
Because someone is screwing with us,I want to say, but I bite my tongue. Though I know I’m hardly being paranoid, I need Jack to take the lead with his family on the situation. And I do need to change. I’m covered in blood and I’m shaking with cold and anger.
I march up the stairs, trying to put the voices I heard in the crypt out of my mind. I can’t help it, though, the shadowy whispers consume me. Fatima brushed them off as my imagination, but I still don’t believe in ghosts. The voices I heard were entirely human.
I stop at the huge window overlooking the labyrinth. The rain sheets down, but it seems lighter. I suppose that means the first wave of storms is over, and we’ll have some peace for the evening’s events.
I jog the rest of the way up the stairs and head to our rooms. Jack will be worried by now.
