Chapter 8
The basement door stood half open.
A cold draft climbed the stairs.
Brandon stepped down first.
Arthur followed.
I stayed at the top with Holly behind me.
Then Brandon shouted, “Call 911!”
I ran down.
An elderly woman sat tied to a chair near the furnace.
Her hair was white.
Her lips were cracked.
She was shaking so badly the chair legs tapped the floor.
Melissa gasped.
“Clara?”
The woman lifted her head.
Her eyes found Arthur.
“My God,” Arthur whispered. “Aunt Clara?”
Gene had told everyone Clara died years ago.
A stroke.
A quiet funeral out of state.
No one questioned it because Gene handled everything.
But Clara was alive.
Locked in Edward’s cabin basement.
Brandon cut the ropes.
Clara grabbed his sleeve.
“Did she hurt the little girl?”
Holly peeked from behind me.
Clara saw her and began crying.
“Edward said she would.”
Police arrived within twenty minutes.
An ambulance followed.
Clara refused to leave until she spoke.
“Gene kept me here because Edward gave me copies.”
“What copies?” Melissa asked.
Clara pointed toward the furnace.
“Not there. Too obvious.”
Brandon searched the basement while paramedics wrapped Clara in blankets.
Holly suddenly said, “What about under the stairs?”
Everyone looked at her.
She shrugged.
“That’s where I’d hide treasure.”
Brandon pulled loose a board beneath the staircase.
Inside was a metal lockbox.
Clara smiled weakly.
“Smart girl.”
Gene arrived as officers carried Clara up.
She saw the lockbox.
Then she screamed.
Not angry.
Terrified.
“Do not open that!”
May you like
Arthur looked at her.
“What did you do?”
