While Tim is in the kitchen, I turn the knob to the basement door. Like my house, his house is old and the door sticks, so I have to wrench it open. And of course, the basement is pitch black. I feel around for the drawstring to turn on the light bulb. After grasping around blindly for about thirty seconds, my fingers make contact. A single bulb flickers on, dimly illuminating the basement.
The basement of Tim’s house feels colder than it is outside—almost frigid—and the air is slightly moist. As soon as I enter, I identify an unpleasant musty odor that wasn’t here the last time I retrieved a bottle of wine from the basement—he’s probably growing mold down here. I make my way down the lopsided wooden stairs, holding onto the icy metal banister so I don’t go flying. It’s dark enough down here that I am nervous about the placement of my feet on the ground.
When I get to the bottom, the wine rack is waiting for me. He seems to have added a few extra bottles since the last time I was down here. Not that Tim is any sort of wine connoisseur, but he just gets a kick out of having a wine cellar.
After pulling out a few bottles to check the labels, I select a bottle of Merlot. Does Merlot go well with spaghetti and meatballs? I have no idea. But it will taste good and give us both a nice little buzz.
Just as I’m about to go back upstairs, I notice a gray tarp rolled up on the floor of the basement, in the corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed that tarp the last time I was down here looking at the wine collection. What is Tim doing with a giant tarp?
I creep over to the rolled-up material—the strange smell is stronger over here. Even in the dim light of the basement, I can tell something is sticking out of the end. I bend down and realize what it is—it’s a shoe. No, not just a shoe, it’s a high-heeled red pump.
And it’s still on a woman’s foot.
I stare at the foot sticking out of the tarp, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing. I look closer and can make out another shoe peeking out of the tarp as well. Does Tim have a manikin wrapped in a tarp in his basement?
Don’t kid yourself, Brooke. You know exactly what you’re looking at. Her scarf is lying on the coffee table upstairs.
I’ve got to get out of this basement.
I drop the Merlot on the ground, and the bottle shatters into dozens of pieces. I run for the stairway, taking the steps two at a time, not bothering to be careful this time. I place my hand on the knob and…
It doesn’t turn.
Oh God. It’s locked.
Chapter 42
Tim sent me down here to get wine. He wanted me to see that dead body wrapped in the tarp. And now he has trapped me down here.
“Tim!” I bang on the door to the basement. “Tim!”
Everything makes sense in a horrible sort of way. He’s been toying with me all this time. That sandalwood aftershave—he must have known how I felt about it. What if he was the one who splashed it on that night at the farmhouse, so I would think he was Shane? And then, of course, that damn snowflake necklace. He’s the one who gave it to me. He knew that was the necklace used to choke me that night—because he was the one who did it. He kept it all these years, and he gave it to me just to freak me out.
Why did I trust him? I should have listened to Shane. He warned me. He told me that I couldn’t trust Tim Reese. He begged me not to have anything to do with him. But I didn’t believe him. There were so many signs and I ignored every single one of them because I blindly trusted Tim—the boy I knew since we were babies.
Tim is sick. I never realized it until this moment.
“Tim! Let me out of here!”
He can’t keep me down here, can he? He would never get away with it. Margie knows I’m here and so does Josh. If I didn’t come home, they would know. They would call the police and tell them where I am.