Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

It kept getting colder.

“Every step we take forward, we’re gonna have to take in the other direction,” Mettle said. “I don’t think I’ve ever used the flashlight for this long. If those batteries die on us, we’re totally screwed.”

But I pressed ahead. “It’s an illusion,” I said, trying to convince myself. “The trip out always seems longer than the trip back.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Ahead, my light landed on something hairy, the rocks awash in red.

I put my arm out to stop him. “Oh my God. Look.”

15

The passageway came to an abrupt end. At my foot, was a tiny, glassy puddle in the vague shape of a skull. As my flashlight passed over it, a drip from the ceiling shattered my reflection.

“Dead end,” Mettle said.

I shivered, a cool draft coming from nowhere. I stepped over the puddle and crossed into a small room. The space, no larger than my foyer, had walls so smooth they looked man-made, as if it were an underground springhouse. Stacked to the ceiling were barrels, all aged and smashed, the hoops deeply pitted with rust, the staves splintered. The wood, having been soaked by the seeping rains, was all rotted and hairy and stained with red.

“Treasure,” I whispered.

“One man’s treasure is another man’s trash,” Mettle said. He stooped beside one of the barrels and put a finger to the stain.

“Are you crazy? Don’t touch that,” I said.

He ignored me and touched the red and then touched his finger to his tongue. “It’s not blood, Casket. It’s rum.”

“Rum?”

He wiggled a barrel aside and took the flashlight and trained it behind the barrels. It illuminated stacks of wooden crates. The wood was less hairy than the barrels, like they had all undergone a recent shave, and they were marked with stamps that said, “Deliver to Danvers State Hospital.”

“That’s the abandoned psychiatric hospital in Massachusetts,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Obviously you don’t watch any horror movies.”

Mettle yanked the lid off one of the crates. It was packed with shredded paper. He reached in and pulled out a brand new bottle and shined the light on it.

The bearded skill grinned back.

“This is Hardgrave’s stash,” I said. “He must have hid it before you could confiscate it all.”

“There’s way more here than we got,” he said. “Wait ’till the boys find out.”

“You’re not telling anyone about this.”

“This is illegal. He hid it from the raid.”

“He must have known you were coming,” I said. I grabbed the flashlight and shined it on a sliver of twisted tape attached to the pitted curve of one of the barrels. “How much do you want to bet that piece of tape is biodegradable?”

Mettle peeled it off and sniffed it. “It smells like hemp.”

“That’s the same tape that Dimitri used to tie me up. I’ll never forget that smell. He must have been down here.”

“You think he alerted Hardgrave?”

“I don’t know, but I bet he left it behind thinking it wouldn’t leave a trace. But this room is cooler than the rest of the cave. It’s the perfect temperature for storing the rum, long term.”

Mettle tucked a bottle of rum under his arm.

I shined the light straight in his eyes. “Don’t you dare. Put it back.”

“If I can show this to the chief, he might lift my suspension.”

“If you do that, I will never talk to you again,” I said.

“It’s just rum,” Mettle said.

I yanked the bottle out of his armpit and nestled it back inside the crate and the shredded paper as if it were a baby in a manger. “It’s not yours. Keep your hands off.”

Mettle pulled out a strip of paper. “These look like shredded financial records.”

“Promise me you won’t say a word.”

Mettle stared at me. His eyes glinted in the light reflecting off the wet walls.

“One week,” Mettle said. “That’s it. Then I’m reporting it.”

The moment I got back to the inn, I submitted my visitation information to the state’s website. Mettle insisted on going with me for “protection” (apparently, the bars and locks and guards weren’t as good as his presence), so I added his name to the form. To accommodate families, three people were allowed to go at a single time which was one more guest than the average inmate received during the length of his entire stay.

In other words, Dimitri should consider himself lucky.

Out in the driveway, I stood beside the cruiser and said goodnight to Mettle. He turned the screwdriver and the engine started.

He leaned out his window. “This is actually highly convenient. I recommend drilling your Honda when you get a chance. You don’t need to remember your keys. All it needs is a good screw and you’re good to go.”

“Goodnight, Trooper.”

He flicked on his high beams and they cut a yellow path down my driveway, the pebbles casting shadows larger than their source.

“Good sleuthing tonight, Casket. I think we might be getting somewhere.”

“Fingers crossed,” I said.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you for some low-carb wine, some lean chicken breasts, and a super comfy couch? We’ll Netflix and chill.”

I rolled my eyes. “That offensive phrase was popular back when I was still teaching. Get with the times, Mettle. Your lingo is outdated.”

“Can I tempt you for an early morning workout?”

“I know what that means too.”

“Yeah, it means bench press and squats. Tomorrow’s a big muscle group day. Let’s grab some protein shakes and get sweaty.”

I wrinkled my nose. Sweat was when your skin cried. “How are you going to work out if you can’t go to the barracks?”

Mettle’s grin melted. He had forgotten. “Half the reason why I became a cop in the first place was to get a free gym membership. I guess we’ll have to stay up all night then.”

“Your persistence is bordering on stalking, Matt.”

“It comes with the territory. What do you say?”

I wasn’t sure why I kept avoiding an actual date with him. Maybe it was because I couldn’t erase the memories of him making out with Bella. Maybe I was afraid that I might actually