Chapter Five // Cryptic Walls

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For once, I actually want to listen to what Austin has to say.

After he decided he would force me to take him, he explains, he did some research on the Hawksley family and uncovered something interesting. So as I make the drive outside of town, trading smooth roads for cracked and forgotten ones, my traveling companion reveals his discovery.

He kicks his feet up on the dashboard and cracks his knuckles. “So when I did a quick online search for ‘Hawksley,’ the top results were all about this guy named Arthur Hawksley, who started a railroad company in 1850. This dude made himself a mega-millionaire when he was just 27, and then he sold the company and lived the rest of his life in crazy luxury.”

The car rolls to a halt at a stop sign, and I glance over to Austin. “That’s where his money came from, then. What about the house?”

“I was getting to that. The mansion started pretty normal looking, still big, as you would expect, but not so…twisty. But as the guy got older and older, people around town whispered that his brain had clocked out. He made the place bigger and bigger, stacking new rooms on the side, top, and underground. And just a few people were allowed inside.”

I glance back and forth across the intersection and speed up again, continuing straight. “I guess he was more of a hermit than a partying sort.”

“Well, you might think that. But he attended all kinds of wild parties at friends’ houses. He just didn’t want anyone near his prize.”

I cock my head. “You think he kept people out because he hid his fortune inside?”

Austin smirks. “That’s exactly what I think. And it must still be there, because why else would the Hawksley of today hole up inside that dusty old place? He’s a miser, obviously. Doesn’t want to spend a penny of his inheritance. He probably bathes in the stuff every night.”

“Are we looking for a bathtub of hundred-dollar bills then?”

“I’m not ruling anything out.”

We approach the mansion, and our conversation falls silent. I pull to a stop outside the gate, as always.

Austin’s eyes take in the entire scene. Determination replaces his usual carefree voice. “After you go inside, I’ll wait in the car for a few minutes. You think there’s someone watching for you out a window, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’m not sure how else they would know to open the gate.”

“Right. But once you go inside, they probably stop watching. So I can easily get out and look around the sides of the building for an open window or something.”

The gate motor kicks into gear, the iron door rolling to the side with a squeal of protest. “What if all the windows are locked?”

“Then I might just have to walk in the front door.” He unbuckles his seatbelt, climbs between the front two seats, plops on a seat in the back, slides to the floorboard, and pulls the back seats down. He gives me a wink and slides into the trunk.

I want to spend several minutes lecturing Austin on what to not do so he doesn’t blow our cover, but we’re out of time. I just have to hope he doesn’t ruin it. “Try to not get caught.”

He grins. “No promises.” And then he yanks on a strap and the seats fold back up to conceal the trunk entrance.

I shake my head, but there’s no time to get a vow of cooperation. I pull the car onto the gravel driveway, swing around the fountain, and stop in front of the door. After disembarking from the car, I ascend the creaky steps and use the lion’s head knocker to send three loud pounds into the house.

The door flings open almost immediately and I step back. Instead of the hunched, shriveled Mr. Hawksley standing at the door, it’s a middle-aged man in a suit—albeit a dusty suit—who obviously frequents the local gym.

My body seizes up. Does Hawksley know what I’ve been doing? Has he sent this lackey to punish me?

The man’s bushy eyebrows overshadow his eyes, so it’s hard to read his expression as he says, “Follow me.”

I have little choice.

Matching his pace, I fall in behind him as he walks across the once-grand room. The heels of his unpolished shoes click against the wood floor. The man keeps a brisk pace, strides long, and I struggle to keep up. What’s with all the urgency? I glance around the room and stuff my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket. I’ll have to be ready for whatever faces me ahead.

But what about Austin? If they’re trying to hold me here, they won’t let my car out. He’ll be trapped inside, too.

We ascend the stairs and continue toward the usual door into the hallway, and my dismay lightens. But my shoulders are still tense, and my eyes dart around, looking for an ambush in the shadows.

The hallway seems to swallow us up and, as always, it’s as dark as a monster’s throat. I avoid ramming into any walls this time by following the sound of my escort’s footsteps—it’s much easier than feeling my way through. Maybe Hawksley will start sending this man with me every time.

But the benefit of easier navigation comes at a cost. I won’t have a chance to slip away and join Austin’s search. Unless this bodyguard leaves during the lesson, I’ll be stuck with him the whole time. I wince at the prospect of Austin doing all the searching himself. He’ll probably rush headlong into a room of servants and get himself arrested. Or if he finds the treasure, he’ll probably demand a huge portion of it for finding it himself. That’s if he shares at all.

As light seeps back into my vision, the hall passes behind us and we enter the circular room wreathed in stained glass windows, all shedding colored light on the raven-black grand piano in the center. A rickety wooden chair sits beside the plush black leather piano bench. And as always, on that bench sits Shane Hawksley.

The muscular man takes his post next to the hallway entrance and I sigh. He won’t give me a chance to search. But as that fact sinks in, so does another. He wasn’t taking me to a dungeon or to a waiting police officer. Hawksley is probably just overly cautious. Or defensive of his treasure hoard.

I ease into the squeaky chair and take off my satchel, withdrawing the music flashcards from inside. I attempt to make a genuine smile while I say, “Let’s begin with a review.”

But inside, my mind is alight with concerns. What is Austin up to? Will he even find a way inside? Could he have found the treasure already? If he ruins this whole thing now, I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for Eva’s medical bills. I replay in my mind the conversation earlier today when Austin convinced me to let him go. What part of me thought this is a good idea?

“Teacher Cannan?” Shane’s quiet voice breaks me away from my worries. “It’s a quarter note, right?”

I nod. “Very good.” My fingers work at pulling out the next card, but my mind dives back into the whirlpool of thoughts.

Later, near the end of the lesson, I guide my student through playing a simple song. I place his hands on the correct notes and sit back in the chair. “Now, take your hands down and find the notes again.”

He puts his hands in his lap, but when he returns them to the piano, his hand is two notes off where it should be. I clench my teeth. I know I should give Shane some room to learn, but he’s really trying my patience. He can’t remember where to put his hands after being shown the same position three times. “No, Shane, like this.” I move them back to the correct place.

The edge in my voice comes across to the kid, and he bows his head slightly. “Sorry, teacher.”

I hang my head and open my mouth to apologize, but something catches my eye. Outside one of the stained glass windows, a figure darts past, blocking light as he rounds the side of the room. It’s impossible to make out the identity, but it could only be Austin. My mouth snaps shut and my shoulders tense. It seems he’s found himself in a pickle. With this man still watching my every move, I can’t help him.

Turning back to the lesson, I push Austin from my mind. Or at least, I try. The possibilities of his predicament keep me distracted for the rest of the lesson.

The lesson ends a few minutes later, and I hurriedly gather up my bag and bid goodbye to Shane. My escort turns back into the tunnel, leading me into the main room and out the door. He nods, perhaps trying to show some hospitality, and shuts the door. The deadbolt clunks into place.

I stride toward my car and glance at the trunk. Hopefully, Austin is back in there right now, with something to show for his efforts. Or maybe he didn’t pick up on my bodyguard and planned on more time. But I can’t check now; the gate controller will get suspicious if I don’t leave.

I slid into the driver’s seat, slipping the keys into the ignition.

Austin, please be here.

And then I start the car and drive out of the courtyard.

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