We scurried down a narrow passage to an iron gate. Through the bars we could see an ancient stone staircase disappearing into darkness. A dank musty smell wafted up from below.
"The cellars must be down there," I said.
The gate rattled and squeaked as it opened. We slipped through, leaving it wide, fearful more noise might sound an alarm.
Testing with our feet, we slowly worked our way down the stairs. Blind. Even flaring, I needed a few light pixels to see.
The staircase seemed impossibly long. By the time I reached bottom, my hand was ice from sliding along the wall. And I was shivering.
Utter blackness. I drank in the odors of damp stone, ancient dust, and rusty iron. Inhaling deeply, I searched for the distinct scent of death. Came up empty.
Ben handed me a flashlight. I thumbed it on. The others did the same.
Four pale shafts arced and bobbed in the darkness.
We stood at the edge of an enormous stone cavern supported by concrete pillars. At dead center were a half dozen high-backed chairs snugged under a round oak table. Flanking sideboards held crystal glassware and bottle-opening implements. Beyond the table, large wooden barrels marched in two rows down the center of the room.
Slowly, I probed the chamber with my light.
Wine racks stood in rows to our left and right, with passages between, like aisles in a library. Thousands of dusty bottles filled the shelves.
I shined my light down an aisle. The beam petered out before reaching a wall. I checked another. Same deal.
"The whole world could get drunk down here," Hi said. "There must be ten thousand bottles, at least."
"Focus," Ben said. "We need to find Heaton's remains, then get the hell gone."
"Spread out," I said. "The bones have to be down here. Ben, you and Hi check the right-hand aisles. Shelton and I will go left."
"My flashlight died." Shelton sounded panicky.
"Use your phone," I said. "It provides enough light if you're flaring."
I stepped left, testing the air like a hound, determined to pick up the scent of bones.
"This is crazy." Shelton was just inches behind me. "I'm sniffing around for a skeleton in Hollis Claybourne's wine cellar. Two weeks ago, my biggest concern was my fantasy baseball team."
Shelton was right. Things had gotten insane. For a moment, I wondered if life would ever be normal again.
No. We'd been changed at some fundamental level. There was no going back.
"Pay attention," I said. "Let's alternate rows. You check this one; I'll check the next. We'll work our way toward the rear of the cellar."
"Fine," Shelton said. "But when we get back, I'm lodging a formal complaint about flashlight distribution."
Row after row, I found nothing.
Was I wrong?
No. And I wasn't leaving Claybourne Manor without Katherine's bones.
"Guys! Over here!"
I hustled toward the sound of Hi's voice.
Hi stood by the table, flashlight pointed at a lone cask beside him. "I walked by it twice before I caught the smell."
My beam picked out a crowbar leaning against a pillar. Ben grabbed it and pried off the top of the cask.
I almost gagged on the sudden smell of death.
Inside the barrel lay a jumble of human bones. Nestled among them was a skull with a small round hole in the forehead.
"Katherine's skeleton!"
I was totally pumped. Hollis Claybourne was going down!
Creak.
The tiny hairs on my neck and arms went upright.
As my head whipped toward the staircase, every bulb in the cellar blazed to life.
I blinked, but the sudden blast of light forced my lids shut.
My flare slipped away.
When opened my eyes, Chance stood at the bottom of the steps. He wore gym shorts and a white tee, and his hair was sleep tousled. It was obvious he'd just awakened.
And armed himself.
"Bastards!" The gun shook in his hand, a Sig Sauer 9mm. Sleek. Deadly. "You just couldn't leave it alone."
My heart stopped. Chance's eyes looked wild.
"Everyone over there." Flicking the Sig toward the table. "Now!"
We did as instructed, hands raised, careful to avoid sudden moves.
"Cell phones. On the floor."
Again we complied. Chance kicked them all against a wall.
I stole a glance at the others. No golden irises. We were sitting ducks.
"I can shoot all of you! No one knows you're here. No one would ever find your bodies."
Chance pointed the gun at me.
"You shouldn't have come back, Tory. I thought you were smart enough to know when you're beaten. I was wrong."
"Chance--"
"Shut up! Just shut up!" His pupils jittered like a tweaker on meth. Sweat dampened his face. "I won't repeat my mistake. I won't prove my father right."
Chance stepped toward me, fingers so tight on the Sig's handle his knuckles bulged white. Despite his death grip, the barrel trembled.
My heart thudded.
What to do? Run? Try to talk him down? Try to take him out?
Chance drew air through his nostrils, steeling for the kill.
This was it.