Page 39 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

He would leave tomorrow night if he could get away. Annabeth and her brats would have to fend for themselves.

Suddenly, he felt exhausted. After replacing the money in the sack, he knotted the top and shoved his treasure back under the pile, where it would be waiting for him tomorrow night.

Dragging his feet, he tossed the flashlight into the car and shuffled across the yard into the house. Annabeth was still in bed. If she’d heard or seen anything, she would know better than to ask. For now, what he craved most was sleep.

Lola sat at a table in the speakeasy, sipping a glass of homemade burgundy and waiting for the sound of Silas’s truck. The boy had cleaned up the room and gone to his bed in the storage room off the kitchen. She was alone in the basement now.

Tonight she was tired. Her head ached. Her feet were swollen in their new, red pumps.

Worse, she was almost out of moonshine whiskey for tomorrow night.

Business was booming. But she couldn’t keep her customers happy if she didn’t have anything to serve them.

If Silas didn’t come through with a shipment tonight, there was going to be trouble.

Her spirits rose as she heard the familiar rumble of the truck backing up to the door. She stood on her swollen feet, tottered to the door, and raised the bar on the inside. The door swung open.

Two strangers in suits stood before her. They weren’t pointing guns at her, but she could see the bulge of holstered pistols beneath their jackets.

Lola was quaking inside. But she stood her ground, knowing she couldn’t show fear. “Who the hell are you two?” she demanded.

The shorter of the pair, a pudgy fellow with a mean-looking face, grinned. “We’re your new partners, Miss De Marco. Would you be so kind as to invite us in?”

Not having a choice, she stepped out of the way. The two men strolled inside, surveying the tables and the makeshift bar.

Through the open doorway, Lola could see the canvas-covered truck outside—the same truck Silas had used for his deliveries. With her sister’s prospect of a Calder marriage gone, this restaurant and the speakeasy were all the prospects she had. If she wanted to keep them, she needed to take a stand.

“What’s going on? Where’s my driver? How did you get my truck?” Lola expected to be shot any minute, but the pudgy stranger smiled again.

“Your old partners are out of business. Oh, they’re alive. Don’t worry your pretty head about that. But they won’t be making any more product for you to sell. You’ll be buying from us. The first truckload is outside. Once we’ve made a new contract, I’ll have our driver unload it.”

Lola gave him a bold look and bluffed for all she was worth.

“I had a good deal going with those partners,” she said.

“Fifty percent discount on the product and a one-third share of the net. And the truck is mine. If you want my business, mister, sit down and make me an offer. If it sounds fair, I’ll think about it. ”

Lucas was never allowed to go into the potato cellar. But this morning, his father was snoring behind the closed bedroom door. His mother was on the front porch, doing her mending in the rocker, with Ellie and the dog for company. He was alone in the backyard.

And for the first time in his young memory, he saw that the heavy cellar door had been left open.

His first thought was that the situation could be dangerous and he should run and tell his mother. She was strong enough to pick the door up by its edge and swing it safely shut. But the shadowy space beyond the opening beckoned him like a treasure cave in an explorer’s dream.

Lucas took a few steps closer, imagining what the forbidden place might hold.

Could it be a treasure? A dangerous animal?

A skeleton? Edging forward now, he could see partway inside.

What he saw was mostly potatoes sprouting hairy, white roots that reached up like ghostly fingers into the dim light.

But there was nothing scary about potatoes.

Lucas had watched his mother peel off their brown skins.

He ate them almost every day. Emboldened, he stepped through the doorway and into the pit.

As the shadows closed around him, the odors of rot and damp earth penetrated his senses.

His eyes, adjusting to the dim light, could make out a pile of empty sacks in the darkness at the back of the pit.

Aside from that, there was just potatoes. No surprise at all.

Mildly disappointed, Lucas turned to leave. He had taken a few steps when he heard an ominous-sounding buzz at his feet. He jumped back in time to avoid the rattlesnake that had been coiled where he was about to step.

Lucas’s mother had taught him about rattlesnakes, and he knew enough to stay clear of them.

But this one was in a dangerous place. He had heard the warning and jumped away.

But the snake could still bite anyone who came into the pit—his father, his mother, or Ellie if she happened to wander in.

Even Freckles could get curious and be bitten.

The snake, of medium size, was still coiled where he’d found it. He could go and tell his mother, but he’d likely get a scolding, and meanwhile, the snake could go back into hiding. Maybe he could kill the snake himself. The more he thought about that idea, the more adventurous it sounded.

He looked around for a weapon, something like a shovel or even a big stick. There was nothing within reach but potatoes. Lucas selected the biggest potato in sight, took aim, and lobbed it at the snake.

The throw missed, but it startled the snake enough to send it slithering toward the dark end of the pit. Lucas had raised his arm to throw another potato when the reptile vanished beneath the pile of gunny sacks.

Lucas lowered his arm and let the potato drop to the ground.

For a long moment, he stood at a safe distance, thinking.

The snake was as dangerous as ever, but moving the sacks could get him bitten.

Telling his mother would only get him into trouble.

But he couldn’t just leave the creature to crawl out and bite somebody.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

Breaking into a sprint, he raced out of the pit and into the kitchen.

His mother was still outside on the porch, but he knew where she kept the box of matches she used to light the stove.

With a chair slid against the counter, he climbed up, opened the cupboard, and took several matches out of the box.

Clutching the matches and a stick of kindling from the woodpile, he ran back to the potato pit.

Was the snake still there? Lucas tossed a small potato at the pile of sacks and saw a slight movement.

Still keeping his distance, he struck a match on a rock and held it to the kindling as he’d seen his parents do.

It took several tries to get the fire to catch, but finally, the end of the stick began to smolder, then to burn.

His plan was a daring one. Either the snake would die in the fire or it would be driven out where he could kill it.

With the burning stick held in front of him, he walked closer to the pile, reached out, and touched the flame to one of the sacks.

The dry, frayed burlap caught fire at once and began to blaze.

Lucas glimpsed a flicker of movement as the snake streaked out from under the pile and disappeared among the potatoes.

The creature was too fast for him. And now the fire was getting bigger.

He backed off as sparks popped and flew from the burning fabric. Too late, Lucas realized that he should have given his plan more thought. Now he was in big trouble.

With the crackling blaze growing by the second, he wheeled and ran for his life.

Annabeth had finished darning two of Silas’s socks and had started on a third when she smelled smoke. Standing, she could see a dark trail billowing skyward from the far corner of the yard. Her first thought was of Lucas. He’d gone around there to play.

“Get in the house, Ellie!” She shooed the little girl inside. “Sit down and stay put till I come back.”

With the dog at her heels, she raced around the house and came to a dead stop. Her knees went liquid, threatening to give way beneath her.

Clouds of smoke poured from the opening of the potato cellar. Through the sooty haze, Annabeth glimpsed tongues of leaping flame.

There was no sign of Lucas.

“Lucas!” The name ripped from her throat. With no thought for herself, she raced toward the cellar. If her boy was in there, she would fight through walls of fire to reach him.

Smoke swam around her as she neared the entrance, stinging her eyes and throat. A spark fell on her dress, burning a small hole. Another spark fell on her arm. Ignoring the pain and the heat that singed her hair, she pushed forward.

Now, through the roiling smoke, she could see the blaze at the far end of the pit where the empty sacks had been piled.

The potatoes wouldn’t burn much, but the fire had climbed partway up the timbers that braced the low roof.

If it burned far enough, the supports would weaken.

The whole structure would cave in. It could happen anytime.

An expanse of dirt floor lay between Annabeth and the fire.

That was where Lucas would likely be. Maybe he’d been overcome by smoke.

Covering her nose and mouth with her apron, she crouched low, where the air was safest. Now she could see the floor, all the way to the fire.

She could see small footprints in the soft dirt.

She could even see several dropped, burnt matches.

Her heart sank as she guessed what the boy might have done.

But she couldn’t see Lucas anywhere. Maybe he’d gotten out.

She coughed hard, feeling the smoke burn all the way to her lungs. She had to get out now or she would die in there. But if there was any chance that she’d be leaving her son, she would never forgive herself.