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Authors: Elizabeth C. Main

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Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 02 - No Rest for the Wicked (28 page)

BOOK: Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 02 - No Rest for the Wicked
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Sorry.
I thought you were Velda coming back.
At least I didn’t hit you with the hammer.

Unwilling to hurt her feelings again, I didn’t mention that she was spared that blow only because she was twice Velda’s size.

Do you
know about—
?


Hunter Blackburn? Yes, I
still
don’t quite understand why she killed him, but once we got the gun thing settled, she told me that she had. I think she knew that hearing about it would keep me from arguing with her. She was right about that.

Minnie fell silent, no doubt thinking the same thing I was. Velda didn’t plan
to give
Minnie
the opportunity
to tell anyone else what she had learned.

I reached out in the darkness
and gathered
the older woman to me in as much of a hug as I could manage, given Minnie’s stout frame.

Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.

No response.


Minnie, are you okay?

I gave the
plump shoulders a little shake.


Of course I’m okay. Stop rattling my teeth. I was thinking of something else—


What else is there to think about right now?


You just work on your little escape plan and leave me to think whatever I want since
my ideas aren’t useful anyway.

I stifled the urge to tell her to give it a rest.
Instead, I took a deep breath and apologized once more.

I’m sorry I hurt your feelings about Operation Hollow Feather. You have some excellent ideas and I’d be very interested to hear any suggestions you have.

Being kind to a friend seemed more important than a strict adherence to the truth at the moment. After all, Minnie had tried to grab a loaded gun in her effort to help me. I threw
reason
to the wind and expanded.

That business with Phil and Eileen could have … could have … happened to anyone.


You’re not just saying that?

The lilt in Minnie’s voice told me I’d struck the right note.


Look, Minnie. I really need help.

That much was true enough.

I’ve looked all over and I can’t find a way out of this cellar. It’s going to be bad for us when Velda gets back.


B
less your heart!
L
et’s get to work,

Minnie exclaimed.

What’s your plan so far?


H
ide behind the door and bash her when she
comes
in. You just about got a hammer planted right on your head.


It was bad enough to be wrestled to this dirty floor like a prize steer.
Worse
.
N
ow Velda will expect that move the next time she opens the door.

Minnie as military strategist was an entirely new concept, but she was obviously thinking furiously.

Probably won’t come that close, likely start shooting from outside.


Minnie!


Well, that’s what I’d do. ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ as the Bible says. You know, I’ve never exactly understood what that meant.


Neither have I
. B
ut it’s Shakespeare, not the Bible.


Are you sure? Sounds like it should come from the Bible. Anyway, if I were Velda, I’d come in blazing away. No sense letting the prisoners get a chance to hack away at you.

I couldn’t help laughing.

Minnie, you are something else. I’d definitely vote you
T
he
M
ost
E
ntertaining
P
erson
T
o
B
e
L
ocked
I
n
A
R
oot
C
ellar
W
ith. And if you know a way to get us out of here, that would be a nice bonus. You don’t happen to have a stick of dynamite on you
?


No, but remember when I said I was thinking of something else? It was my grandparents’ farm up in Milton Freewater. The swish of sprinklers in the apple orchard at sunset, the smell of ripening fruit. It was wonderful.


Must have been.

I tried to keep the impatience out of my voice.


But that’s not the point. One summer they were building a root cellar
,
and I used to balance on the brick walls, you know, like a ballerina.


That should’ve been easy. These walls must be eighteen inches thick, and solid.


That’s just it. Maybe they aren’t solid.


What are you talking about? Brick on the outside and wood on the inside—


And in between my grandparents dumped whatever was handy, like hay bales and rubble and—

“You mean …
?


Exactly!

I was already feeling along the wall, mindful of splinters this time.

Help me look for a gap where we can pry these boards apart. Never mind. Got it!

I inserted the blade of the screwdriver in the space, braced myself, and
pulled. The plank didn’t budge.


I can’t move it. Not enough leverage.


Maybe the hammer?

Minnie suggested from over my shoulder.


See? You have good ideas.

I pulled the forgotten hammer from my belt and lined it up against the wall.

Maybe if we both pull.

I stood to one side so Minnie could slip in beside me.



My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure,


Minnie recited.

Now that quote must be from the Bible.


Sorry. Tennyson writing about Sir Galahad,

I answered.

Anyway, let’s hope our hear
ts are pure. One, two, three!

We pulled in unison. The nails holding the board in place gave way with a shriek, the wood so dry that the board split as we tugged it from the wall. Removing the boards above and below it took only
seconds.

I reached into the dark hole, my hand at first encountering nothing but air.

You were right. The wall’s not solid.

As I wiggled through the enlarged opening, the odor of moldy hay told me what I would find before my searching fingers confirmed it.

In fact, it’s better than we’d hoped. Some hay bales have come apart over the years.

I sneezed violently several times at the dust my movements had stirred up.


God bless you
.

Minnie’s muffled words floating from the cellar made me smile. Even in this situation, automatic habits of reassurance remained strong. Automatic or not, I’d take whatever
blessings
I could get.

How much time had passed since Minnie’s arrival? Probably not more than fifteen minutes, more
than
enough time to move a car. Of course
,
Velda had to hide Minnie’s car, too. That would give us a little
longer
.

I dug my way through the prickly hay with a swimming motion, muttering,

Any minute, any minute
. .
.

to myself. At last my outstretched fingers encountered brick. Twisting around in the cramped space, I called out,

Get me that hammer. I’ve reached the ou
tside wall.

The bricks were at least as old as the hay bales, but
,
unfortunately
,
they hadn’t disintegrated. I smashed at the wall without success.


Minnie, could you find me that screwdriver again? Maybe I can use it as a chisel.


Here you go.

Minnie leaned into the hole to touch my arm with the cold metal of the screwdriver.

This would be a lot easier if we could see.


It sure would.

I positioned the blade of the screwdriver against the wall and lined up the hammer behind it. Several preliminary taps gave me the right angle before I reached back and swung the hammer with the force of desperation, knowing that freedom was on the other side of that wall. A shower of caulking material erupted.


It’s working!

I swung three more times. Each time, the pile of debris increased. I attacked the other side of the brick with the same result. Elated, I changed the angle and aimed for the top of the brick, but this time the hammer head glanced off the handle and smashed my right thumb. I smothered an exclamation as I rocked back and forth in pain, literally seeing bright lights before me in the darkness. It was several minutes before Minnie’s frantic voice penetrated my misery.


Are you all right?


I’m fine, Minnie. I just … banged my thumb.

An understatement if there ever was one. Cradling my hand close, I waited for the pain to subside, but it didn’t.


Oh, you poor thing. Can I … uh . .
.


—bring me chicken soup?

I gritted my teeth as I tried to joke.

Isn’t that what you do when someone is sick?


Actually, yes …
and I do have those pot pies.


T
hen, let’s go get them.

Minnie’s voice dropped to a near whisper.

Oh, Jane, are you close yet? She’s had plenty of
time
.

I rested my cheek against the scratchy bricks for a moment before attempting to grip the screwdriver again. No way. Pain knifed through my thumb. Something must be broken in there.

No point in trying to keep the truth from Minnie.

I know, but we have a problem. My hand is … well, I can’t use it. Maybe I can tie something—


You’ll do no such thing. Come right out of there
,
and let me have a turn.

Minnie emphasized her order by pulling on the back of my now crumpled and sweaty blouse.

I hesitated. Minnie was twenty years older, and easily fifty pounds heavier.
What coul
d she do in this cramped space?


How about if you come in here with me? We can each—


There’s not enough room for both of us
,
and you know it. Now
,
come out of there right this minute. Snap it up.


Yes, ma’am.

I crawled back out of the wall, protecting my injured hand as well as I could.

Maybe if I rest—


That’s a good idea. Just let me do my fair share, for once.

For the first time I was glad it was dark. If Minnie saw the condition of my thumb, she’d realize how far my usefulness had plummeted. Come to think of it, I was probably better off not being able to witness her struggle to get through the hole in the wall
,
either. Her grunts and groans provided enough of a picture.

BOOK: Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 02 - No Rest for the Wicked
13.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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