Chapter 4 - The Escape Through the Shadows
Footsteps reached the stairs.
Rosa moved quickly now. She crossed to the closet and pulled aside a row of old winter coats. Behind them was a small square panel in the wall.
I stared. “What is that?”
“Your grandfather built this house during Prohibition,” she said, pressing something along the trim. “Rich men always need places to hide things.”
The panel clicked open. Behind it, a narrow passage dropped into darkness.
I stared at Rosa in disbelief. “You knew about this?”
“I clean everything.”
Men shouted from below. “Second floor!”
Rosa shoved a small envelope into my jacket pocket. “Do exactly as I say. Go down the passage. It leads to the old laundry exit near the east garden. Take the sedan. Drive to St. Agnes Church on Flagler. Ask for Father Miguel.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“You are.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened. “Mr. Calloway, all your life people followed your orders because you had money. Tonight you have none. So listen to someone who still has a plan.”
The guest room door slammed open.
Two uniformed officers entered first, weapons raised. Behind them came a tall detective with silver hair and cold eyes.
“Edward Calloway,” he said, “put your hands where I can see them.”
I froze.
Rosa stepped in front of me. “Detective Marlowe,” she said.
The detective’s gaze shifted to her. His face did not change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
“Mrs. Martinez,” he said. “You have been busy.”
That was when I understood. He knew her.
Rosa’s shoulders squared. “You were faster than I expected.”
Marlowe smiled without warmth. “Your son had the same problem. Always thought he had more time.”
A sound escaped Rosa, small and wounded.
I lunged before thinking. “You son of a—”
An officer slammed me against the wall. Pain exploded through my shoulder.
Marlowe walked into the room slowly, surveying the cash, the boxes, the documents.
“Well,” he said, “this is unfortunate.”
“For you,” Rosa said.
“For everyone.” He lifted a stack of cash with gloved fingers. “A bankrupt developer. Millions hidden in his house. A desperate housekeeper. Stolen bank records. It tells itself.”
“You killed Daniel,” Rosa whispered.
Marlowe’s eyes moved back to her. “Daniel killed himself with curiosity.”
The officer holding me tightened his grip.
Marlowe turned to me. “Mr. Calloway, you are under arrest for money laundering, fraud, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy.”
“This money was stolen from me,” I said.
“Of course it was.” He nodded toward the cash. “That is exactly what guilty men say when they are caught.”
Rosa’s eyes flicked toward my hand. The flash drive was still hidden in my fist. Marlowe noticed the glance.
“Search him.”
One officer reached for me. Rosa moved.
She seized a brass lamp from the table and swung it with both hands. It crashed into the officer’s wrist. His gun clattered to the floor. The other officer shouted. Marlowe reached inside his coat.
Rosa screamed, “Run!”
I dove toward the closet.
A gunshot cracked through the room. The mirror behind me exploded.
I stumbled into the hidden passage as Rosa slammed the panel shut behind me. Darkness swallowed me whole.
For a moment, I could not move. I heard shouting through the wall. Furniture breaking. Rosa’s voice. Marlowe’s voice. Another gunshot.
Then silence.
I pressed my hand against the panel. “Rosa,” I whispered.
No answer came.
The passage smelled of damp wood and dust. I forced myself forward, shoulders scraping both sides, one hand sliding along the wall. Behind me, men were tearing apart the closet.
I moved faster. The passage sloped downward, then turned sharply. I almost fell twice. My breath came in broken bursts. I had built towers that touched the clouds, yet now I crawled through my own walls like a rat fleeing poison.
At the bottom, a rusted latch resisted me until I shoved it with my shoulder. It gave way into a narrow storage room behind the old laundry.
I slipped outside into the storm.
Rain soaked me instantly. The garden was black except for flashes of lightning. I saw police lights at the front of the house, but the east driveway remained empty. Rosa had parked the sedan there earlier, facing the service road.
Of course she had. She had prepared everything.
I ran. My shoes slid in the mud. Branches whipped my face. Behind me, someone shouted. A beam of light swept across the garden wall.
I reached the car, yanked open the door, and collapsed inside. The engine coughed twice before starting.
As I sped down the service road, a police cruiser appeared in the mirror. Then another.
May you like
The old sedan screamed as I pushed it harder than it had gone in years. Rain blurred the windshield. My hands shook so badly I nearly missed the turn onto Biscayne. Horns blared. Tires skidded. Somewhere behind me, sirens wailed.
I drove like a man already dead.
