“Needs oiling.” Owen ran a hand over it. “Solid mahogany, got the S-shaped tambour front, original carved handles. Late Victorian probably.”
Sonya thought she knew him well enough now to recognize the tone.
“It’s yours.”
“No, no way. This piece has got to be worth—”
“A custom doghouse?”
“Shit. Damn it. Done.”
She surprised him by throwing her arms around him and giving him a noisy kiss.
He shot Trey a smug look. “You’re doomed now, pal. You know what happens when I kiss a woman.”
“She kissed you,” Trey pointed out.
“I can fix that.” But he turned back to the desk. “It’ll be interesting getting this out of here.”
As they worked their way through, the bell began to ring.
“There she goes,” Sonya muttered.
Trey walked over, put his hand on the bell, stilled it. Under his hand, it began to vibrate.
“You’re just pissing her off.” But Cleo crossed over, put a hand over his. “Insistent. And cold, right?”
“Yeah, getting colder.”
He removed his hand and the bell swung wildly.
“We could take it off the board.”
“I thought of that.” Joining them, Sonya shook her head. “But it’s kind of an early warning system. Plus, ignoring it’s like flipping her off.”
“Any of the others do that?” Owen asked.
“Not that I’ve noticed. Cleo, look at this desk. The slant top. That’s mahogany, too, isn’t it? You should take this.”
“I already have a desk.”
“For work, for art. You should set up an office. We have all these rooms. And the more of them we really use? It just feels like sticking a thumb in her eye.”
“When you put it that way.”
“It’s looking like we’re just the muscle,” Owen commented, then pointed. “What about down there?”
Sonya looked at the basement door. “I don’t go down there. Ever.”
“Can’t skip the basement.”
He went to the door, and it creaked just as Sonya imagined it would when he opened it. He hit the switch. “Lights work,” he said, and started down the steep, narrow stairs.
“We’ll do a quick sweep,” Trey said. “You can stay here.”
“I’m not staying here.” Cleo looked at Sonya when Trey went down. “Are we staying here like helpless damsels?”
“Oh hell. You go first.”
The stark lights only added to the gloomy shadows and corners. The concrete floor showed a dull, unhappy gray. It held another labyrinth of rooms, low-ceilinged, bare walled.
There should have been cobwebs, Sonya thought. But the basement proved as clean as the rest of the house.
“Molly keeps busy.” Sonya stuck close to Cleo.
“If you didn’t watch so many horror movies, you wouldn’t be thinking of Freddie or Jason or, who is it, Michael Myers.”
“Don’t say the names!”
She heard the men talking about tankless water heaters, furnaces, support beams. And headed in that direction.
At the top of the stairs, the door slammed shut.
And the lights went out.
“Oh shit, oh God. Jesus. Cleo?” She groped for Cleo’s hand, gripped it.
“I’m here. Where—”
Since Cleo’s voice came from the left, and the hand she held was on her right, Sonya didn’t even think about stopping the scream.
Whirling, she ran into someone—something—screamed again.
“It’s me! It’s me!” Cleo held tight, and they heard feet running. Saw dim light bouncing.
“Sonya!”
“Something’s in here.”
When Trey reached her, he wrapped one arm around her, held his phone with the flashlight in the other. Beyond the door, the dogs barked like maniacs.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, no, but—”
“Got your phone?”
“Yes, sorry, yes. The door. The lights.”
She fumbled out her phone as Owen moved past her and toward the steps. “Locked, from the other side.”
“There were tools in the back.”
“Why don’t you get those? We’ll take it off the hinges.”
“We’re fine,” Trey told Cleo. “Just give me a minute.”
“Wait.” Cleo held up a hand as the lights flickered. “Try the door again.”
“I just did.”
“Again,” she snapped. “Look at the lights. She’s either finished or she can’t keep it up. Try it.”