Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,96
one of the bedrooms?”
“Nope.” The ginger-haired man stepped down, balancing the upper end of the dresser. “Everyone’s out back. You can ask someone out there.”
When the men and the dresser reached the foyer, Addie ran her hand over the smooth marble top. “This is a beautiful piece. Is it going to the auction house in Boston?”
Ginger pulled a shipping slip from under his rolled T-shirt sleeve. “Nope, some antique store in Concord. All the bedroom furniture’s going there.”
“And you didn’t see a lamp about yea-high”—Addie measured in the air to her chin—“heavy marble base, wine-colored, fringed lamp shade up there? Maybe you already took it out to the truck?”
“Nah, would have remembered that ’cause everything else left upstairs is big, heavy—”
“Yeah, we’re going to be asking double for this job.” Ginger grunted as he picked up the back end of the dresser.
The dark-haired man followed his lead. “Can ya hold the door open for us? Thanks.” He nodded as they slipped past Addie and out the door.
The movers had said everyone was out back, probably busy packing up the tents and tables, and what, if anything, was left over from the weekend sale. She could ask about her lamp, or she could go searching for it herself. She sucked air between her front teeth as she grappled with the decision in her mind. There was still the matter of the hidden staircase leading up to the third floor. The one she hadn’t had time to explore yesterday. If her hunch was right about it, there was more than likely the only access to the windowed room she’d seen from the backyard, because there was no evidence of an entry from the attic side.
She bit on her lip and glanced down the hall toward the kitchen, and then back up to the top of the stairs. Oh, what the heck. She raced up the stairs and into the bedroom with the sliding wall panel she’d stumbled on yesterday. Someone had gone to a lot of work to keep that third-floor room hidden and there had to be a reason why.
She surveyed the room, figured out exactly where she’d been hiding, and began pushing on the center panel. She measured her head height and turned with her back against it and pressed back. No luck. She edged farther down the panel to the molding where two pieces joined, gave it a shove in the center. Click. A rush of cool, dank air engulfed her.
Addie stepped inside the hidden corridor, tugged her phone out, and flicked the flashlight app. As her eyes adjusted to the glaring light, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and made her way down the narrow corridor. At the crossroads of stairs, the toe of her shoe rolled over a bump she didn’t recall being there yesterday. She froze. The hairs on her neck and arms prickled as visions of Indiana Jones in a booby-trapped cave flashed through her mind. Hand shaking, Addie aimed the beam of light down to her feet. An orange extension cord. Her heart hammering against her chest wall, she traced the trail across the passageway landing and down the stairs as far as the light would illuminate it. She retraced it back toward her and up the stairs to her left. Addie warily lifted her foot. Nothing happened. There was no explosion or, from what she could see, no poisoned darts flying out of the walls.
She braced her wobbly knees and ascended to the third floor. She pressed her ear against the door at the top and listened for sounds of movement. Satisfied it was unoccupied, hand trembling, Addie turned the brass doorknob and stepped up the last step into the room. She strained to see exactly what it was she’d walked into. The muted light of the morning sun through the closed curtains on the two small windows provided just enough light for her to see a makeshift switch box on the wall beside the door. She flipped it on and a bare, overhead lightbulb dangling from a hook on the wooden ceiling illuminated the room in a harsh white blaze. With a small yelp Addie’s hand flew to her chest to steady her heart’s erratic beat. The room wasn’t large, but it was functional as a hideaway for someone, right down to the bed in the corner. The sheets were unmade but they appeared clean, so this wasn’t a room that had been uninhabited for seventy years. It was