Whiskey Beach Part 80

He moved off, into the gable, thinking of his first wandering through the day he'd arrived.

Yeah, he could work up here, he thought again. It wouldn't take much to fix it up a little. He didn't need much. Move a desk up, some files, shelves-and yeah, update this bathroom, too.

"What writer doesn't want a garret? Yeah, maybe. Maybe I'll do that once Gran's back home. I'll think about that."

Which wasn't addressing the purpose, Eli admitted, and did a second walk-through. He imagined housemaids climbing out of iron beds at dawn, bare toes curling against the cold floor. A butler putting on his starched white shirt, the head housekeeper checking off her list of duties for the day.

A whole world had existed here. One the family had probably known little about. But what hadn't existed, as far as he could see, was anything worth the breaking and entering, or breaking the bones of an old woman.

He circled back into the wide hall, studied the old armoire against the-to him-unfortunate floral wallpaper. On close examination he saw no signs it had been moved in the past decade or more.

Curious, he attempted to do so now, putting his back into it. And didn't budge it more than an inch. He tried reaching into the narrow s.p.a.ce behind it, then maneuvering his arm from underneath.

Not only would no mischievous little boy be able to shove it clear, but neither could a grown man. Not alone, Eli thought.

On impulse, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts Abra had keyed in. He hit Mike O'Malley's number.

"Hi, Mike, it's Eli Landon... . Yeah, good, thanks." He leaned back on the armoire, thought it as solid and intimidating as a redwood.

"Look, have you got a few minutes anytime today? ... Really? If you've got the day off, I don't want to interrupt any plans... . In that case, I could use a hand with something. A little muscle?" He laughed at Mike's question about which muscle. "All of them ... Appreciate it."

He hung up, looked at Barbie. "It's probably stupid, huh? But who can resist a secret panel?"

He trooped downstairs, detoured into his office for a minute to imagine moving his work s.p.a.ce to the third floor. Not a completely crazy idea, he decided. More ... eccentric.

The wallpaper would have to go, and there would probably be some issues with heat and AC, plumbing. Eventually he'd have to figure out what, if anything, to do with the rest of the s.p.a.ce up there.

But it was good to think about it.

Barbie's head lifted. She let out a trio of barks seconds before the doorbell rang.

"Some ears you've got there," Eli told her, and headed downstairs in her wake.

"Hey. You were quick."

"You got me out of doing yard work-temporarily. Hey there." Mike gave Barbie a rub as she sniffed his pants. "I heard you got a dog. What's his name?"

"Her." Eli struggled with a wince. "Barbie."

"Dude." Pain and sympathy covered Mike's face. "Seriously?"

"She came with it."

"You can use that unless you get her a buddy and call him Ken. I haven't been in here for a while," Mike added as he wandered the foyer. "h.e.l.l of a place. Maureen said your family came up for Easter. How's Mrs. Landon doing?"

"Better. A lot better. I'm hoping she'll be back in Bluff House by the end of summer."

"It'll be great having her back. Not that we want to kick you out of Whiskey Beach."

"I'm staying."

"No s.h.i.t?" Mike's grin stretched as he gave Eli a punch on the shoulder. "Man, glad to hear it. We could use some fresh meat in our monthly poker games. And we'd cla.s.s it up holding it here when you're up."

"What's the buy in?"

"Fifty. We're small-time."

"Let me know next time you're setting up. The thing's upstairs," Eli said, gesturing and turning for the steps. "Third floor."

"Cool. I've never been up there."

"It hasn't been used since I was a kid. We would play up there in bad weather, and once or twice we got to bunk up there, tell ghost stories. Just storage now, really."

"So, we're hauling something down?"

"No. Just moving a piece. Big-a.s.s armoire. Double armoire," he added as they topped the stairs. "In here."

"Nice s.p.a.ce, bad wallpaper."

"Tell me."

Mike scanned the room, landed on the armoire. "Big mother." He crossed to it, ran his fingers over the carved front. "A beauty. Mahogany, right?"

"I think."

"I've got a cousin who brokers antiques. He'd p.i.s.s his pants at a chance on this. Where are we moving it?"

"Just out a few feet." At Mike's blank look, Eli shrugged. "So ... there's a panel behind it."

"A panel?"

"A pa.s.sageway."

"f.u.c.king A!" As he punched a fist in the air, Mike's face lit up. "Like a secret pa.s.sage? Where does it go?"

"All the way down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, from what I'm told. Just told. I had no idea. They were servants' pa.s.sages," Eli explained. "They made my grandmother nervous, so she closed them up, but she just blocked off this one, and the one in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"This is very cool." Mike rubbed his hands together. "Let's move this sucker."

Easier said, they discovered. Since they couldn't lift it, and trying to shove it from either side proved impossible, they realigned, both on one end, then both on the other, walking it out a couple inches at a time.

"Next time we get a crane." Straightening, Mike rolled his aching shoulders.

"How the h.e.l.l did they get it up here?"

"Ten men, and one woman telling them it might look better on the other wall. And if you tell Maureen I said that, I'll swear you're a dirty liar."

"You just helped me move a ten-ton armoire. My loyalty is yours. See here? You can just see the edge of the panel. The ugly wallpaper mostly camouflages it, but when you know it's there ..."