Free Phantoms Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #13 by Connie Shelton Page B

half
expecting a secret doorway to swing open and a mummy or something equally
creepy to leap out at me.
    But the bricks were old and the
mortar held them firmly in place. I bravely pressed all around the edges but
nothing budged so much as a centimeter. I moved on, turning toward another
stack of boxes, almost completing my circuit of the room, when a distinctly
cold breeze hit the back of my neck.
    Goose-bumps rose and my heartbeat
thudded in my ears. I spun to stare at the bricked-up doorway. Nothing looked
the least bit different. I reached a hand out toward the source of the chilly
draft but couldn’t detect anything. The air in the cellar was again as still as
a morgue.
    I shook off the chill and
scurried a bit quickly toward the stairs. Flipping off the light I took the
steps in doubles and paused at the top, forcing myself to take a deep breath.
    Dolly was talking to a customer
and the normalcy of their voices brought me back to reality. Surely the old
bricked-in area was completely benign and the freshly dug earth . . . well,
there had to be an explanation. I squared my shoulders, flipped off the upper
light switch and closed the door as I stepped back into Dolly’s shop.
    “Digging?” she said, as soon as
her customer left and I got the chance to ask about the freshly turned earth.
“Hm. Archie may have mentioned a plumbing leak a few weeks ago. The man must
have left it unfinished. I suppose I’ll have to call him back to repair the
mess.” She said it as if reminding men to clean up messes was her lot in life.
    “There’s a bricked up wall, about
the size of a doorway,” I said. “Any idea where that goes?”
    “Oh, that. It’s old. Apparently
in the Middle Ages there were an entire series of tunnels connecting various
places in town—pubs connected to the abbey and such. Easy access for monks that
were supposed to live an abstemious life, I suppose.”
    Secret tunnels and bricked entry
ways. Spooky. Next she’d be telling me that Jack the Ripper escaped London to
come hide out here.
    “As I understand it, the river
flooded a lot of the tunnels one year—heavens, must be at least a hundred years
ago. Some kind of storm drainage system was built but the town fathers decided
it would be safer to block the tunnels. A lot of them were backfilled; some of
those farther from the river, like ours, were probably just bricked up.” She
shrugged it off so casually that I had to believe it wasn’t a real concern.
    But what about that cold draft of
air?
    Another customer walked in just
then and Dolly’s attention was diverted to helping the woman decipher a complex
knitting pattern so she could choose the correct amount of yarn for it. When a
second woman entered I knew Dolly would be occupied for awhile. I gave a tiny
wave and left.
    Half a block down I spotted
Archie coming toward me. “Hi,” I greeted. “I hope your interview went well.”
    He came to a dead stop, stared at
me in puzzlement, nodded curtly.
    Stupid me. Couldn’t I learn when
to stay quiet?
    “Dolly mentioned it. She was
hoping . . . Well, never mind.” I started walking again, leaving him standing
on the spot. Charlie, just stay out of it. You’ve been asked to investigate
a couple of silly things, not to get involved in their business.
    Two doors down from The Knit and
Purl was a coffee shop. I stopped in, realizing I’d never paused long enough to
eat lunch. I ordered a coffee and eyed the apple tarts in the display case. As
the girl behind the counter pulled one out for me I decided to follow a new
line of inquiry.
    “Wasn’t there a thrift shop in
this block?”
    She pursed her lips, which were
coated in an impossible shade of glowing pink. “Yeah, maybe a year ago or so?”
    “Did it move somewhere else?”
    An older woman stepped forward.
“The Alzheimer’s Care shop? Yes, it’s still around. Just go up to the corner,
turn right, next street over.”
    “Thanks.” I finished my dessert
and coffee and left a tip at