Page 64
Story: Death at the Deep Dive
He ran up the staircase, greeting the painters on the second level. On impulse he asked the head guy to paint the little sitting room at the end of the hall.
“Sure. What color?”
“I don’t care. Something bright and cheerful.”
The man scratched his chin. “Okay. Like what? You mostly picked cool-toned greens and blues and ivories.”
“I don’t care. Anything.”
One of the other painters leaned over and whispered something. The head guy brightened. “We’ve got some yellow ochre left over from another job. Will that do?”
“Perfect.” Ellery continued on his way to the master bedroom. He stepped inside, locked the door behind him—it’s just the normal noises in here!—and rolled aside the faded carpet.
The trap door was about the size of a coffin (now there was a cheery thought). Ellery pulled it open and, after a moment’s hesitation—hereallydid not like spiders—dropped down to the tiny hidey-hole beneath.
The hiding space was not tall enough to stand upright in once the door was closed. But he had no intention of closing that door. Hand on the ledge, he squatted down—this was actually a terrific storage space; why didn’t he clean it out and utilize it?—and studied the narrow shelves at the far end. Dust blanketed everything.
Everything and nothing.
Ellery’s eyes watered, he sneezed, mopped his face on his sleeve, and took a closer look.
Nope. Nothing.
Damn. Well, really, what had he expected?
Or maybe…
He squatted down, peering. He should have brought a flashlight…
Hey…
He let go of the ledge, crawled forward.
“Eudora, you old fox…”
Below the shelves was a short space, and pressed flat against the wall, so that its binding wouldn’t show, was a brown leather book.
Ellery carefully withdrew the journal and straightened. He gripped the ledge, vaulted out of the space, and sat down on the bare floor. He opened the journal about halfway and glanced at the date at the top of the page. In the shaft of fitful sunshine streaming through the window, he could see the clearly printed wordsJune 1963.
His heart jumped. He hadn’t really believed he was going to find it. Didn’t believe the journal still existed.
He scanned the first sentence.
I can’t believe I’m going to be a navy wife.
When I said so to Vernon last night, he laughed, showed me the license again, and said, “There’s no getting out of it now.”
I don’t want to get out of it. That’s the truth.
Ellery sucked in a sharp breath, murmured, “Oh no.”
Oh no, because whatever had happened, it wasn’t good. Eudora had not ended up a navy wife, and Vernon had disappeared off the face of the planet.
“Please don’t be a murderess.”
A little waft of paint-scented breeze—and roses?—from beneath the closed door stirred the pages.
Ellery glanced at his watch. He had left Nora alone at the bookshop for far too long. She’d be starving by now. He snapped shut the book, jumped to his feet, and went to the door.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78