opportunities that dated back to her childhood. She could have written a dozen novels in this house and raised a dozen kids. She could have had a happy and fulfilling life without ever leaving the place she was born.
Laughter wafted up the stairs and down the hallway. Cass no doubt had Nancy and Heidi in stitches again. It was probably time to rejoin them and make those big plans for the Cattle Club. Michelle laughed to herself.
Whiskey shots. Good grief! What have I gotten myself into?
As she moved toward the open door and the hall, she saw a closed door in a corner of the spacious room. Shut and no doubt locked, the door appeared to lead directly to an adjacent room. Plain, smooth, and brown, it seemed out of place in a chamber designed for a mover and shaker of the Gilded Age.
Michelle walked to the door and placed a hand on the modern knob. She tried to turn the knob but couldn't. The door, for all practical purposes, was an extension of the wall. But when she pulled on the knob the door flew open, revealing a narrow stairway that appeared to lead down to the first floor and beyond. Seeing no light source in the dark chamber, she shook the flashlight for a minute and pondered the insanity of descending the stairs. She laughed again. What the hell was she afraid of? Mice? Spiders? Was Michelle Richardson, grown woman, no better than Shelly Preston, high school girl? Was the itty-bitty gymnast afraid of the dark?
Michelle reminded herself that her friends, including the big, brave local caretaker of this magnificent mansion, were just a few feet away. They weren't going to the reunion, or anywhere else, without her. Of that she was sure. Michelle shook the flashlight a few more times, smiled, and descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom about twenty steps down, she directed the light to a far wall and saw black shelves and other metalwork, including what appeared to be a partially loaded wine rack. She laughed as she thought about sharing a nineteenth-century Madeira with the crowd at the Little Red Caboose.
Then she had another thought.
What if the Franklins are down here?
Michelle retrieved her stomach from the floor and turned to race up the stairs. She reached the top step when the door shut and her flashlight blinked out.
CHAPTER 4: MICHELLE
The shock and terror, the initial shock and terror, lasted thirty seconds.
Michelle pounded on the door and screamed for help in fifty different languages before the seemingly impregnable barrier gave way and the five-foot-four, 105-pound widow fell forward and landed face first on the parquet floor.
She sat up, caught her breath, and placed her head between her knees. She wanted to collect herself and allow her heart rate to return to double digits before rejoining her friends and continuing what she hoped would be a pleasant evening.
But the moment she stood up and glanced out the river-view window, the fear returned. The sky was brighter and the town, or what she could see of it, looked different. The train station looked more like a depot than a brewpub and the bike path had disappeared.
Michelle closed her eyes, said a quick prayer, and started for the exit. The hallway was much as she remembered it. The wallpaper was as vibrant as ever and the light fixture was still AWOL. But even before she descended the steps she knew something was wrong. There were no sounds from below. No familiar voices. No familiar anything.
"Cass, are you down there? Nancy? Heidi?"
Michelle rushed into the living room and turned in every direction but did not see her friends. Nor did she see a flashlight box on the wall or her purse on the table. What she did see were two opened cans of Billy Beer and a half-dozen cigarette butts scattered on the floor.
She peered through windows front and back but saw no one on the lawn or the driveway. She ran upstairs and checked each of the rooms but found all of them empty. The kitchen, laundry area, and guest room on the main
Laughter wafted up the stairs and down the hallway. Cass no doubt had Nancy and Heidi in stitches again. It was probably time to rejoin them and make those big plans for the Cattle Club. Michelle laughed to herself.
Whiskey shots. Good grief! What have I gotten myself into?
As she moved toward the open door and the hall, she saw a closed door in a corner of the spacious room. Shut and no doubt locked, the door appeared to lead directly to an adjacent room. Plain, smooth, and brown, it seemed out of place in a chamber designed for a mover and shaker of the Gilded Age.
Michelle walked to the door and placed a hand on the modern knob. She tried to turn the knob but couldn't. The door, for all practical purposes, was an extension of the wall. But when she pulled on the knob the door flew open, revealing a narrow stairway that appeared to lead down to the first floor and beyond. Seeing no light source in the dark chamber, she shook the flashlight for a minute and pondered the insanity of descending the stairs. She laughed again. What the hell was she afraid of? Mice? Spiders? Was Michelle Richardson, grown woman, no better than Shelly Preston, high school girl? Was the itty-bitty gymnast afraid of the dark?
Michelle reminded herself that her friends, including the big, brave local caretaker of this magnificent mansion, were just a few feet away. They weren't going to the reunion, or anywhere else, without her. Of that she was sure. Michelle shook the flashlight a few more times, smiled, and descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom about twenty steps down, she directed the light to a far wall and saw black shelves and other metalwork, including what appeared to be a partially loaded wine rack. She laughed as she thought about sharing a nineteenth-century Madeira with the crowd at the Little Red Caboose.
Then she had another thought.
What if the Franklins are down here?
Michelle retrieved her stomach from the floor and turned to race up the stairs. She reached the top step when the door shut and her flashlight blinked out.
CHAPTER 4: MICHELLE
The shock and terror, the initial shock and terror, lasted thirty seconds.
Michelle pounded on the door and screamed for help in fifty different languages before the seemingly impregnable barrier gave way and the five-foot-four, 105-pound widow fell forward and landed face first on the parquet floor.
She sat up, caught her breath, and placed her head between her knees. She wanted to collect herself and allow her heart rate to return to double digits before rejoining her friends and continuing what she hoped would be a pleasant evening.
But the moment she stood up and glanced out the river-view window, the fear returned. The sky was brighter and the town, or what she could see of it, looked different. The train station looked more like a depot than a brewpub and the bike path had disappeared.
Michelle closed her eyes, said a quick prayer, and started for the exit. The hallway was much as she remembered it. The wallpaper was as vibrant as ever and the light fixture was still AWOL. But even before she descended the steps she knew something was wrong. There were no sounds from below. No familiar voices. No familiar anything.
"Cass, are you down there? Nancy? Heidi?"
Michelle rushed into the living room and turned in every direction but did not see her friends. Nor did she see a flashlight box on the wall or her purse on the table. What she did see were two opened cans of Billy Beer and a half-dozen cigarette butts scattered on the floor.
She peered through windows front and back but saw no one on the lawn or the driveway. She ran upstairs and checked each of the rooms but found all of them empty. The kitchen, laundry area, and guest room on the main
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