Together they swept the concrete chamber with their flashlights. Broken lab equipment, overturned metal benches and scraps of paper gave mute testimony to the violence of whatever had occurred in the shelter twenty-two years earlier.
"This place is larger than I would have expected," Isabella said. "It's as big as a double-wide. There's even a second room off this one. I was expecting a tiny, cramped space."
"The folks who built bomb shelters planned to live in them for several months or even a year while they waited for the radiation levels to go down on the surface," Fallon said. "They wanted all the comforts of home."
She shuddered. "I can't imagine camping out down here while all of my friends and neighbors were dying of radiation poisoning on the surface."
"Guess you had to be there to get into the mind-set."
"Guess so. Well, safe to say that something chaotic certainly happened in here. But aside from the broken glass, there are no signs of a normal explosion. No fire damage. The papers and notebooks aren't even charred."
"There was a violent release of energy, but it all came from the paranormal end of the spectrum." Fallon broke off abruptly. "Huh."
Isabella glanced at him and saw that he was aiming his flashlight at the doorway that opened into the other chamber.
"What?" she asked.
But he was already heading toward the second room.
She started to hurry after him, but a faint scratching sound in one dark corner distracted her. She jumped and flicked the light beam in the direction of the noise. Something moved in the shadows.
"Crap," she whispered. "Rats."
"That's not a surprise," Fallon said. He did not look back. "We're underground and this space has been abandoned for years."
"I'm not interested in logical explanations, boss. We're talking about rats."
"They'll run from the light."
"Oh, yeah? I don't see any signs of this sucker running away."
"Wonder how he got in here," Fallon mused. "The place is supposed to be sealed."
"Rats can get into anything."
The scratchy noise got louder. An old-fashioned clockwork doll waddled stiffly out of the darkness. Isabella watched it with a sinking feeling. The doll stood almost three feet tall. It was dressed in what had once been an elaborately worked gown in the late-Victorian style of fashionable mourning. The dress was tattered and frayed, but it had obviously been made of expensive materials and trim.
The doll was mostly bald, but what was left of its hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into a tight chignon. A miniature crown, studied with small, ominous crystals, was perched on top of the porcelain skull.
"I think the Queen has arrived," Isabella whispered. "It's Victoria. She's dressed in black from head to foot. They say that after Prince Albert's death she wore mourning for the rest of her reign."
"It's motion-sensitive, like the clock," Fallon said. "That's a hallmark of Bridewell's work."
"How can it function after all these years?"
"We'll worry about that later."
Energy heightened abruptly in the atmosphere. The doll trundled toward Isabella with unnerving accuracy.
"Looks like she's got a fix on you," Fallon said.
"I can sense it. She's starting to generate some kind of energy. Reminds me of the psi that emanated from the clock just before everything went dark."
"Move," Fallon ordered. "Fast. Force her to get another fix."
Isabella tried to step out of the Queen's path, but her muscles refused to obey. She opened her mouth to tell Fallon that she could not move only to discover that she could not speak. Her mind began to grow cloudy. A terrifying numbness crept through her blood.
She concentrated fiercely on focusing her own talent. She knew how to disorient human psi but this was a doll, a clockwork robot. Nevertheless, the energy that had been infused into the thing originally was human in origin, she reminded herself.
She caught the telltale wavelengths of the paranormal energy emanating from the doll's cold glass eyes and sent out the counteracting currents. The sense of numbness eased. She took a deep breath and managed to step to the side.
There was an eerie clicking in the shadows. The eyes of the doll rattled in their sockets as the machine sought a new fix.
Fallon moved swiftly, coming up behind the Queen.
Sensing his movements, the doll turned, creaking in her high-button shoes, searching for the new target.
Fallon brought the heavy flashlight down on the robot's head in a sharp, savage blow. Porcelain cracked. The queen toppled backward and crashed to the floor, face turned toward the concrete ceiling. The glass eyes continued to skitter wildly in their sockets, seeking a target. The wooden limbs jerked and twitched, but the device could not right itself.
The light shifted at the entrance to the shelter.
"Everything okay down there?" Henry called. "We heard some loud noises."
"Just ran into the Queen," Fallon called back. "But things are under control."
Careful to keep out of range of the robot's eyes, Fallon flipped the clockwork figure facedown on the concrete. The energy pulsing through the eyes was spent harmlessly on the floor. The doll's head and limbs continued to twist and clatter and shiver.
Isabella watched Fallon open up the entire back of the doll, gown, miniature corset and wooden frame. In the beam of the flashlights the elaborate gears of the clockwork mechanism continued to move.
"There should be a lot more corrosion," Fallon said. "I can understand the paranormal energy in the glass eyes surviving all these years. Once infused into an object, a heavy dose of psi will emit radiation for centuries. But like Henry said, sooner or later, metal always corrodes, especially in a climate like this."
"Same story with the clock," Isabella said. "The killer told us that all he had to do was give it some oil and wind it up."
Fallon reached into the body of the doll and did something to one of the gears. The Queen went limp and still.
Isabella looked down at the lifeless robot. "We are not amused."
Fallon smiled briefly. "Couldn't resist, could you?"
"Sorry, no. How often do you get to use a line like that?"
"Rarely." He took a closer look at the guts of the device. "Most of the mechanism is late-nineteenth-century, but someone repaired it and installed some modern parts and fittings."
"Recently?"
"No. I'm thinking the repair work was done twenty-two years ago."
"Like the clock?" Isabella asked.
"Yes."
"That's what was going on here. Those three men brought some of Mrs. Bridewell's inventions here to the Cove and tried to get them functional again."
"Yes, but that's not the most interesting aspect of this situation," Fallon said. He looked down at his hand. In the light Isabella saw a faint sheen on his fingers.
"Freshly oiled?" she whispered.
"Yes." Fallon got to his feet and aimed the flashlight at the footprints on the concrete floor. "The guy who left those prints must be the maintenance man."
"But how is he coming and going? Unless Henry and Vera are lying to us about having kept the shelter locked all this time."
"I don't think so," Fallon said. "There's another, more likely possibility. I think I feel a slight draft coming from the other room. Let's take a look."
They walked through the doorway into the adjoining chamber. Isabella froze.
"Good grief," she whispered.
In the twin beams of the flashlights she could see a row of what looked like small coffins elevated on metal stands.
"Take a deep breath," Fallon said. "They aren't coffins."
She started breathing again. "Sure. I knew that. It's just that at first glance they looked pretty freaky."
"You expected freaky?" Fallon aimed the light at what appeared to be a mound of trash. "Does that qualify?"
She saw the skull first. It was human. The rest of the skeleton came into view amid tattered re
mnants of clothing and a pair of boots. A ring glinted on one finger bone.
"Crap," she said. "Another body."
Fallon went to the skeleton and crouched beside it. He reached into the scattered bones, plucked out a wallet and flipped it open.
"Gordon Lasher," he said. "Looks like we now know what happened to the Asshole."
"He told everyone he was leaving town and then he snuck back here. I'll bet he sensed the power in the clockwork gadgets and planned to steal them. Looks like the Queen got him. Serves him right."
"I don't think the Queen was responsible." Fallon aimed the flashlight at an object that lay on the floor next to the skull. "This wasn't death by paranormal means. Looks more like good old-fashioned blunt force trauma."
"He fell?"
"No." Fallon reached down and picked up a crowbar. "Someone whacked him on the back of the head with this."
"How can you tell all that?"
"Crack in the skull and the body fell facedown," Fallon said absently. "It's not rocket science."
"Oh, right. But that means that there was someone else down here with him."
"Yes," Fallon said. "It does indicate exactly that."
"Henry and Vera told us that Lasher ran off with a woman named Rachel Stewart. Both of them were able to tolerate the psi down here. I'll bet they came together to steal the curiosities. Rachel must have decided that Lasher really was an asshole after all and that she didn't need him anymore. She bashed him in the head with the crowbar."
"I'd say the probability of that scenario is about seventy-four percent."
"Only seventy-four?"
"Yes." Fallon swept the rest of the chamber with his flashlight. "Here we go, there's our second entrance."
Isabella studied the steel door built into the concrete wall. "It's a door but it doesn't go up to the surface."
Fallon went forward, gripped the handle and pulled on the door. It opened with only a few faint squeaks of the hinges. A great darkness lay beyond. Chilly, damp air flowed into the chamber. Isabella heard the muffled rumble of the ocean in the distance.
"A cave," Fallon said. "It leads out to a cove or a beach."
"That door opened fairly easily," Isabella said. "The salt air should have done a lot more damage by now."
"Whoever has been keeping the Queen in functioning order all these years uses this entrance," Fallon said.
"Why do you suppose the original owner built a second entrance?"
"Think about it. If you were down here waiting for the bombs to fall, not knowing what was happening on the surface, wouldn't you want a second escape route in case the first one got blocked?"
"Good point," she said.
He closed the cavern door, walked to the first elongated box and wiped off a layer of grime with one gloved hand.
"More bullet-resistant glass," he said. "They used these boxes to store the curiosities."
Isabella went to stand beside him. The glass box was empty.
"Looks about the right size for the Queen," she said. She glanced down the row of stands and cases. "There's no box on one of the stands. I'll bet that was the one that held the clock. The killer said that when he found the device in the tunnel beneath the Zander house basement, it was in a glass box."
They went to the third case in the row. Fallon wiped off more grime.
Isabella saw a wood-and-bronze clockwork dragon with eerie glass eyes. She moved to the next box. It contained an ornate miniature carriage and two small wooden horses. The glass windows of the vehicle glinted darkly. The third case held a toy-sized merry-go-round decorated with small mythical beasts. The last box held a Victorian-era camera.
"If we assume that the Queen was in the empty case and that the clock was stolen together with its glass box, all of the curiosities that were originally stored here are accounted for," Fallon said.
"You sound relieved."
"Trust me, I am," Fallon said.
"But who comes down here on a regular basis to keep the Queen in working order?"
"Someone who can handle the psi in this place and who also feels a duty to protect the artifacts."
"Walker," she said softly. "But that means he knows about the second entrance. Why didn't he mention it?"
"Walker operates in his own universe and employs his own kind of logic," Fallon said. "It's our fault. We didn't ask the right question."
"I think that, in his mind, he has turned over the responsibility of protecting the inventions to J&J. He probably assumes that you know everything he knows."
"Yes."
Isabella looked at the skeleton. "What do we do with the body?"
"Nothing until we get the inventions out of here. Gordon Lasher has been here for twenty-two years. He can wait a while longer."
14
They emerged from the shelter a short time later, closing the hatch to cut off the disturbing psi wind. Isabella fondled the dogs while Fallon told Henry and Vera what they had found and explained his plans to bring in an Arcane team to remove the remaining curiosities.
Henry squinted at Walker. "Let me get this straight. Vera and I have been guarding the front door of that shelter for twenty-two years while you've been coming and going through the back door?"
Walker was bewildered by the question. "Have to k-keep the Queen working. Takes oil."
"Why didn't you tell us there was another entrance to the shelter?" Vera asked calmly.
Walker looked confused. "No one knew about it."
"Except you and Rachel and the Asshole," Henry said, disgusted.
"J-just me, now," Walker said earnestly. "Gordon Lasher is dead. Rachel never came back. I kept the secret."
Henry grimaced. "Wonder how many other people discovered the second entrance during the past twenty-two years."
"I don't think that anyone else knows it exists," Fallon said. "As far as we could tell, all of the devices are accounted for. Walker's footprints are the only new ones down there."
Walker rocked. "No one knows about the tunnel d-door. Except me. And Rachel. But Rachel never came back."
"Where does the door lead?" Isabella asked gently.
Walker concentrated. "Comes out in the h-hot springs cave."
"Which is out at the Point," Vera said. "Well, that explains it. The only people who know about the springs are those of us who live in the Cove."
"I've been inside the hot springs cavern a few times," Fallon said. "There's a vast network of tunnels leading off of it that have never been explored. Obviously one of them leads to the shelter."
"Walker, Lasher and Rachel saw the second door when they went down into the shelter," Isabella said. "But how did they find the entrance from the hot springs cavern? They would have had to map that maze of tunnels. It would have taken weeks, at the very least. But from the looks of things, Lasher was back inside the shelter shortly after he left town with Rachel."
"Rachel," Walker said suddenly. "Rachel f-found the tunnel that leads to the shelter. She showed it to Lasher."
Fallon looked at Isabella. "Sounds like Rachel Stewart had some serious talent."
WALKER CHOSE TO WALK back into town. Isabella grabbed the handhold just inside the door of the big SUV and did a little hop to get up into the cab. Fallon put the remains of the Queen, together with the clock, into the cargo bay of the vehicle and got behind the wheel.
Isabella's phone rang just as Fallon drove out of the Sea Breeze parking lot. The number looked familiar.
"Norma Spaulding," Isabella said. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
"Clients are always trouble," Fallon said. "In a perfect world J&J wouldn't need any."
"That would certainly be an interesting business model." She opened the phone. "Hello, Norma," she said, going for her most professional tones.
"The buyer I had lined up for the Zander house just called," Norma said tightly. "He heard the news about the so-called Haunted House murders. He is no longer interested."
Isabella winced. "I'm sorry about that."<
br />
"Damn it, I didn't hire Jones & Jones to kill the deal."
"I assure you, it was an accident."
"Finding three bodies in the basement is an accident?" Norma's voice rose. "A serial killer dropping dead in the house is an accident ? The property is a crime scene now. The press is having a field day with the story."
"I realize it may take some time for the media to lose interest, but I'm sure that in a few months everyone will forget about what happened at the Zander house," Isabella said soothingly.
"Not a chance. That property is never going to be marketable. The only reason I called is to tell you not to bother to send me a bill for your services. I didn't get what I paid for and I'm not about to write a check to your agency."
Outrage splashed through Isabella. "But J&J solved the case."
"There was no case," Norma said. She sounded like she was speaking through set teeth. "I hired you to help me get rid of those silly rumors about the property being haunted. I thought if a psychic detective agency declared the place ghost-free, I could sell it. But instead you killed the deal."
"It isn't J&J's fault that the property was a dumping ground for a serial killer."
"Maybe not, but I'm holding your firm responsible for killing the sale, so do not bother to send me your bill."
The connection went dead. Isabella closed the phone.
"Bad news," she said. "Norma Spaulding says she won't pay our bill. She blames J&J for making the Zander house unmarketable."
"Told you the case was a waste of time," Fallon said. "That's why we don't like to encourage that kind of work."
"It's not our fault that there were bodies in the house."
"Clients always blame the investigator when they don't get the answer they want," Fallon said. "Hell, most of the time they blame the investigator even when they do get the answer they say they want or even the one they expect. It's the nature of the business, Isabella."
She slumped in the seat and gazed morosely out the window. "It's not fair."
"Here's a little tip going forward."
"What?"
"Always get a nonrefundable retainer up front."
She drummed her fingers on the armrest. "Good idea. I'll make sure to do that next time."