Chapter 2 - The Cellar Door.
Emma raised the flashlight with both hands, even though she knew perfectly well it would not protect her from anyone determined to hurt her.
The beam trembled across old brick walls, rusted shelving, and a row of empty wooden racks.
Nothing moved again.
"Who's there?"
Her question vanished into the cold basement.
The phone in her other hand vibrated a third time.
Mason was calling.
Emma stared at his name.
Part of her wanted to answer just to scream at him.
The stronger part declined the call.
If he knew she should not be inside, then he knew something he had chosen not to tell her.
She was finished rewarding secrets with trust.
Emma reached the bottom step.
The wine cellar door stood at the far end of the basement.
It was made of thick oak reinforced with black iron straps, and Mason had complained that the swollen wood made it difficult to open.
Now it was standing wide open.
A yellow envelope lay on the floor inside.
Emma walked toward it slowly.
The cellar smelled of damp stone and cedar.
She crouched and picked up the envelope.
This time there was no name on the front.
Inside she found a brass key, a Polaroid photograph, and a handwritten note.
The photograph showed Briarstone Manor when it was still beautiful.
Fresh limestone walls shone under summer sun, rose gardens bordered the front drive, and a dark-haired little boy stood near the fountain holding the hand of an older man.
Emma recognized the boy before her mind could explain how.
It was Mason.
He could not have been more than six years old.
Emma turned the photograph over.
A date was written on the back.
JUNE 14, 1999.
Beneath it were four words.
THOMAS AND MASON COLE.
Thomas had been Mason's father.
Emma had met him only twice before he died in what Mason always described as a construction accident.
Mason had never once told her he had been to Briarstone as a child.
The handwritten note was worse.
ASK HIM WHY HIS FATHER HAD KEYS.
Emma sat back on her heels.
Every sound in the cellar suddenly seemed louder.
Water ticked somewhere behind the stone.
A mouse scratched inside a wall.
Her pulse beat in her ears.
She picked up the brass key.
It was old and heavy, with a small number three stamped near the teeth.
Emma searched the cellar until she saw three narrow storage cages built beneath the stairs.
The third was locked with a brass padlock.
The key fit.
She turned it.
The lock opened.
Inside the cage was a metal document box covered in dust.
Emma dragged it into the light.
The lid was not locked.
She lifted it.
Most of the contents were land surveys, tax records, and photographs of the property from different decades.
One folder had Mason's name written on the tab.
Her fingers went cold.
She opened it.
The first page was a photocopy of a contract dated six months earlier.
It named Mason Cole as a consultant for Hale Development Group.
The fee was five hundred thousand dollars.
The project description contained only three words.
BRIARSTONE LAND ACQUISITION.
Emma read the amount again.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
Mason's contracting business had been months behind on two equipment loans.
He had borrowed money from Emma's small savings account more than once.
They had argued over grocery bills, credit cards, and rent.
Yet a contract suggested he had been promised half a million dollars to help someone acquire the property she had just inherited.
The signature at the bottom looked exactly like his.
Emma's stomach turned.
Her phone rang again.
This time she answered.
"What did you do?"
Mason went silent.
That silence told her more than any denial could have.
"Emma, where are you?"
"In the cellar."
She heard him curse under his breath.
"Get upstairs and leave the property."
"Why?"
"Because you are not safe there."
Emma looked down at the contract.
"Were you paid five hundred thousand dollars to help Hale Development take Briarstone?"
The line went dead quiet.
"Mason."
"Put the papers back."
Emma laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
"That is your answer?"
"You don't understand what you're looking at."
"Then explain it."
"Not on the phone."
"You left me here."
Her voice broke despite her effort to keep it steady.
"You looked at me like I was something you had finally decided to throw away, and now you want me to obey you because you're suddenly worried about my safety?"
"Emma, please."
It was the first time she had heard fear in his voice.
"Please what?"
"Get out of that cellar."
A sharp metallic click sounded behind her.
Emma turned.
The wine cellar door had swung shut.
She ran to it and grabbed the handle.
It would not move.
"Mason."
"What happened?"
"The door locked."
His voice changed instantly.
"Listen to me carefully."
Emma pulled harder.
The door did not give.
"There is a second exit."
"How do you know that?"
"Because my father built it."
Emma stopped pulling.
Mason continued before she could speak.
"Third rack from the east wall."
She swung the flashlight around.
"Move the bottom crate."
Emma found the rack and kicked aside an empty wooden box.
Behind it was a narrow iron ring set into the floor.
She pulled.
A rectangular stone panel lifted two inches.
Cold air rushed through the gap.
"There should be steps," Mason said.
Emma stared into a black passage beneath the cellar floor.
"Where does it go?"
"Outside the east garden wall."
"And how do you know all of this?"
Mason did not answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was almost too quiet to hear.
"Because Briarstone was my home before it was yours."
Emma's grip tightened on the phone.
"You told me you grew up in Ohio."
"I lied."
The word struck harder because he did not soften it.
Before Emma could respond, someone knocked once on the cellar door from the other side.
Not a random bump.
Not settling wood.
Three slow knocks followed.
Mason heard them through the phone.
"Get into the tunnel now."
Emma grabbed the folder and the photograph.
"Emma, move."
The cellar handle began to turn.
She dropped into the passage, pulled the stone hatch over her head, and descended into darkness.
Above her, the cellar door opened.
May you like
A man's voice spoke into the empty room.
"She found the box."
