Lost Legacy (11 page)

They scurried along the deserted hallway without speaking, giving Victor time to think. Why had he touched her? Why had the feel of her satin cheek given him a warm sensation in the place where his heart used to be?

He quickened his pace until they reached the staircase and they jogged up into the dark second floor. They were greeted by a labyrinth of shelves covered in plastic with boxes of books stacked on top. Above them catwalks spanned the space and drew the eye up to the glass skylight, which revealed the swirling fog outside.

A faint light shone from the back, almost obliterated by the dark shadows cast by the bookshelves.

“This way,” Victor said, taking her hand.

They started down a narrow aisle. He stopped, again thinking he had heard a noise.

Brooke opened her mouth to respond when something scuffled over their heads. Victor had only a split second to react. He yanked her toward him as a stack of loaded boxes crashed down into the space where Brooke had been standing only a moment before.

Her body fell on his and he wrapped his arms around her as the contents of the boxes, massive leather-bound tomes, burst from the containers, slamming into Brooke’s back in spite of his sheltering embrace. He could feel the impact push the air out of her. She cried out as he tried to fend off the falling books.

In another second, Stephanie was there, pulling books away, helping them both to their feet. “I saw someone, a man I think, but he was running for the stairs. You okay?”

Much to Victor’s relief Brooke made it to her feet, a dazed look on her face. “I think so.” They both turned their attention to Victor as he sat up.

“I’m okay, too, just banged up a little. What did the guy look like?”

“I don’t know,” Stephanie said. “I only saw a shadow, really, which I assumed was a man. Could have been a woman, I suppose.”

“We should get out of here,” Victor said.

Brooke shook her head. “No. This just proves that we’re on the right track.”

“It also proves you’re not safe.”

“I’m fine.” She shook herself and rubbed at one shoulder. “It was just some old books.”

Victor picked up one of the hefty volumes. “Old and heavy. Could have delivered a significant injury. The safest idea is to get out of here. Come back with some cops, maybe, if we can get any of them to believe us.”

“No one is leaving here,” Stephanie said, her eyes gleaming, “until you see what I found.”

* * *

In spite of her bravado, Brooke’s legs were still shaky as she followed Stephanie into the darkness. Her shoulder throbbed from the impact of a book slamming into it. She could still feel Victor’s arms around her, holding him to her chest, shielding her body with his.

He’s just here to convict your father,
she reminded herself.
Don’t paint his motives in any other way.

She tried to make sense of the whole situation as they followed Stephanie. Was Colda missing or not? Why had he dodged a meeting with her father? And missed his flight? Who didn’t want them to find the answers? The confusion in her mind worried her more than the circumstances. Was her father’s devastating genetic legacy playing out in her, too? Both her father’s illness and her brother’s were caused by a mutation of the same gene, though with completely different results. Tad’s full mutation left him a child, mentally. Her father’s permutation of the same gene gave him a normal life until recently. Was there a ticking time bomb in her genes, too? She knew female symptoms of FXTAS were milder, but she couldn’t help wondering.

She shuddered, and Victor put a hand on her shoulder.

“Okay?”

She straightened, willing her body to stop trembling. Tall and straight like the dancer she used to be. “Yes,” she said as they turned into a room that was no bigger than the small dorm where she and Stephanie bunked. It was crowded with cardboard boxes, crates of yellowed papers and old framed photographs.

“It’s a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends,” Stephanie said, “but look at this.”

She picked up one of the long cardboard tubes and slid out the contents, using the top of a box as a makeshift table. The papers were old and brittle, faded in some places and water-stained in others.

Brooke peered at the document. “Blueprints of…”

“The tunnel system,” Victor finished, his voice jubilant. “It dates back to 1932.”

Stephanie nodded. “Much of it is probably not relevant anymore after the fire and all the remodeling over the years, but it does show one important thing.” She pointed to a tiny detailed image. “It’s the library.”

“And there’s a tunnel entrance from the basement.” Brooke had to stop herself from squealing. “I can’t believe it. I don’t even think the dean knows about this.”

“So tell me, sis,” Victor said, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know to look in that tube? With all this junk around, why that one?”

She smiled, a cat-got-the-canary grin. “It was missing a top and there were greasy fingerprints on the side.”

“Disgusting,” Victor said.

“But effective,” Brooke added. “We might as well check it out while we’re here.”

The elevators were not operational so they took the stairs, arriving in a massive space, bisected by neatly wrapped paintings and long rows of filing drawers.

“According to this map, there’s an entrance on the northwestern wall.”

The electric lights did not fully illuminate the space, which smelled of mold and disuse. Brooke’s heart beat fast with an excitement she had not felt since she was a part of a dance company. Could they really be inches away from a tunnel that hid her father’s priceless Tarkenton?

She moved ahead of the others, straining against the darkness to find the outline of a door, or some rusted sign that might point the way. Try as she might, she saw no sign of any such thing, only a solid row of file cabinets standing like soldiers against the walls. Pushing into the darkness, she stopped so suddenly Victor plowed into her from behind.

“What is it?”

“Feel.”

She took his hand and moved it to the level of her face.

“Cool air.”

“Yes.”

Victor moved closer to the wall, feeling for the draft. “It’s coming from behind these file cabinets. Move back and I’ll ease one out.”

Brooke pulled back into the darkness, the thrill of discovery pushing away her earlier worries. Stephanie held up a flashlight to help Victor maneuver. The drawers must have been filled because Victor strained, arms tensed as he wrestled the awkward bundle.

She moved back another few steps to give him more room when a hand came out of the darkness and clamped onto her shoulder.

She screamed.

Stephanie whirled the flashlight around and Victor let go of the filing cabinet so abruptly it toppled forward with a crash.

Tuney stared at them, wide-eyed. “Care to explain why you’re burgling university property?”

“You first,” Victor said, breathing hard. “Where have you been?”

“Just like I texted. Looking into some things. That’s what I’m paid to do. Took me a while to find you. So?” He pointed to the file cabinet. “Explanations?”

“Help me move it and you’ll see for yourself.”

Brooke exchanged a look with Stephanie as the two men heaved the file cabinet out of the way.

“Bring the light closer, Steph.”

Stephanie shone her flashlight directly on the wall previously covered by the file drawers.

“There,” Brooke said, excitement swelling inside. “You can see the outline. It’s a door.”

“No lock that I can see,” Victor said, pulling a penknife from his pocket and wedging it in the crack. It didn’t budge. Brooke noticed a small depression in the bottom edge, almost at floor level. “It’s meant to roll up.”

Victor stuck his fingers in the slot and heaved. Slowly, with a sound like a groan of pain, the door inched upward until Tuney had enough room to grab the bottom and add his strength. The door crept up and the four of them peered inside.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Stephanie said.

“Me, neither.” Victor wiped his hands. “It goes straight down.” He beamed his flashlight into the pitch-black shaft.

Brooke could just make out the shape of a rusty ladder, the lower parts lost in the darkness. “Does it go down to the tunnels?”

Tuney snorted. “Probably just leads to another collapsed passage. That ladder looks like it hasn’t been used for a couple of decades. It’s gonna collapse, and whoever is on it is going straight to the bottom.”

Stephanie leaned into the space and Victor grabbed her waist as she played the light closely over the ladder. “Looks sound enough. The rust is rubbed away in some places, maybe from a person’s feet.”

“Conjecture,” Tuney said.

“What’s the matter?” Stephanie said as she straightened. “Afraid of ladders?”

“No.” Tuney rolled his shoulders and Brooke saw the bead of sweat on his face. “Not so keen about closed-in places. This basement is bad enough.”

Brooke felt sorry for him, but she knew there was no way she would be discouraged from going down that ladder. “Why don’t you stay here?” she suggested. “You can call for help if we get into trouble.”

Tuney’s face was grim. “I’m coming. Might as well die falling off a ladder as any other way.”

Victor caught Brooke’s arm as she started to move past him. “Not a bad idea, about someone staying behind.”

“Would you?” she asked.

Face sober, eyes inscrutable in the weak light, he shook his head. “No, but I’m not always known for practicing restraint either.”

“My father’s only chance might be down there,” she said. “So right now I’m not worrying about restraint.”

Was it her imagination or did his hand linger on hers before he nodded and stepped away? Brooke saw Stephanie eyeing her with an odd expression.

Maybe it hadn’t been her imagination after all.

Ignoring the tickle in her spine, she took the headlamp Victor held out to her and made her way to the edge.

TEN

V
ictor snapped on his headlamp and lowered himself onto the rungs, ignoring the discontented sigh from his sister. “I’m heavier,” he explained again. “If the ladder is going to give way, we might as well find out about it sooner rather than later.”

The steel was cold under his fingers and slightly damp. It was what Victor imagined a sewer tunnel was like, only there was no bad smell, only the slight funk of moisture and a tang of metal. When he made it down fifteen or so rungs, he heard Brooke start down, then Stephanie, who had finished explaining to an incredulous Tuney a few select details about the clues in the doctored painting.

The scuffling of their feet echoed wildly in the long tube.

“Can’t see Colda poking around in the dark,” Tuney called, and Victor thought he caught suppressed tension in the man’s voice.

“Why not?” Stephanie said. “His students said he was perpetually curious, more interested in the campus and art history than his teaching duties.”

Victor called them to a stop. “Listen.”

They clung there, headlamps throwing the light around as they strained to see.

“Sounds like something moving,” Brooke whispered. “Down below.”

They listened for another moment until the sound stopped.

“An animal?” Stephanie suggested.

Victor didn’t reply. It wasn’t an animal that worried him. It was the man on the motorcycle, the one who might have killed a woman in the lobby or toppled the box of books from the catwalk. He didn’t even bother to try to discourage the others from continuing. The only one who might listen was Tuney, judging from his panicky breathing, but his stubborn streak was wide enough to keep him on the ladder.

Instead he continued on, holding each damp rung securely. Another four feet, and the temperature began to climb. It warmed to the point where he found himself stopping to unzip his jacket with one hand. The smell changed, too—now a hint of fetid stink tainted the air.

Without much warning the ladder ended and Victor dismounted onto a dry floor. He could not see the dimensions of the room at first as he assisted the others off the ladder.

Brooke flipped on a handheld flashlight. They were in a circular cement room with three openings leading out. None of them bore any kind of signage or a hint that they had been traveled anytime in the last hundred years.

Stephanie unrolled the map and peered at it with a penlight. “Map shows three tunnels, all right, but it’s unclear where they emerge.”

Brooke peered into each one. “Can’t see a thing.”

Tuney wiped a hand across his brow. “This is crazy. I’m not going into any of those. Leads to nothing but broken-down equipment. Colda never would have left a painting down here. Guy was an art nut. Putting it in this place would be like setting a match to it.”

Brooke sighed. “He’s probably right. Without temperature controls and the proper protection, it would be ruined quickly.”

“Unless he didn’t intend to keep it here long,” Victor mused.

Brooke caught his eye. “As in he might have meant to come back for it?”

Victor nodded. “He was spooked by something, too spooked to meet with your father and aunt. He might have stashed it down here and figured on getting it that night or soon thereafter but…”

She finished slowly. “He never got the chance?”

Stephanie said, “If the police really do have a lead about his whereabouts, they can get the whole story.”

“But as it stands,” Tuney snapped, “we have no proof at all that Colda even set foot in this tunnel.”

Victor turned a slow circle, beaming his own light carefully on each of the passageways. Something caught his eye and he stopped, moved closer. Then he laughed.

All three looked at him as though he had lost his mind. “I think that we do have proof that Colda was here.”

“You’re crazy,” Tuney said. “What kind of proof could there be?”

Victor pointed to a small figure, no more than three inches high, drawn in permanent marker on the cement next to the farthest-right passage.

They crowded close to see.

“I don’t believe it,” Stephanie said. “The old professor is really something.”