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| Also by Pat Bertram |
| Second Wind Publishing, LLC 931-B S. Main St., Box 145 Kernersville NC 27284 Copyright (c) 2008-2010 All Rights Reserved E-mail us |
“A delightful treasure-hunting tale of finding
one’s self in a most unlikely way.”
- Publisher's Weekly
“I loved this book—who doesn’t like a good old
gangster story? I loved Teach’s speeches, too.
They add flavor to the story and to the
character.”
-Rachael Wollet, Freelance Editor
Pat Bertram’s work is insightful, superbly
crafted, and completely involving.”
-Suzanne Francis, author of the Song of the Arkafina
series from Bladud Books
one’s self in a most unlikely way.”
- Publisher's Weekly
“I loved this book—who doesn’t like a good old
gangster story? I loved Teach’s speeches, too.
They add flavor to the story and to the
character.”
-Rachael Wollet, Freelance Editor
Pat Bertram’s work is insightful, superbly
crafted, and completely involving.”
-Suzanne Francis, author of the Song of the Arkafina
series from Bladud Books
“God damn it,” Bill said. “Why won’t you listen to reason? The place is
crumbling to bits. It won’t take much for the whole thing to crash on top
of your head. Look.” He thumped the wall. A chunk of plaster fell to the
floor. “See what I mean?”
Mary pointed to the wall. “What’s that?”
“A hole. Believe me, there will be a lot more of them, too.”
She shook her head. “No. There’s something inside. I think I caught a
glimpse of metal.”
“There’s nothing.” Reaching behind him, he ripped out a handful of
plaster. “See?”
Mary stared open-mouthed into the hole. Instead of the dining room,
which should have been on the other side of the wall, there was a
windowless room not much bigger than a walk-in closet.
“What are you looking at?” Bill turned around. “What the—?” Within
minutes he had ripped away enough of the plaster so they could squeeze
through the struts.
Once inside, they could barely move a round. A folded rollaway bed, a
shallow wooden cabinet, a metal desk and chair took up most of the
available space.
“A secret room,” Mary breathed. “It’s like something out of Nancy Drew
or the Hardy boys.”
“It’s a storage area,” Bill said.
“Then where’s the door?”
“Probably behind the gun cabinet.”
“But how did the cabinet get in front of the door?”
Bill raised his right shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Maybe it is a secret
room. So what?”
“I think it’s romantic.”
He snorted. “You would.”
She jerked her head around to stare at him. “Did you say gun cabinet?”
crumbling to bits. It won’t take much for the whole thing to crash on top
of your head. Look.” He thumped the wall. A chunk of plaster fell to the
floor. “See what I mean?”
Mary pointed to the wall. “What’s that?”
“A hole. Believe me, there will be a lot more of them, too.”
She shook her head. “No. There’s something inside. I think I caught a
glimpse of metal.”
“There’s nothing.” Reaching behind him, he ripped out a handful of
plaster. “See?”
Mary stared open-mouthed into the hole. Instead of the dining room,
which should have been on the other side of the wall, there was a
windowless room not much bigger than a walk-in closet.
“What are you looking at?” Bill turned around. “What the—?” Within
minutes he had ripped away enough of the plaster so they could squeeze
through the struts.
Once inside, they could barely move a round. A folded rollaway bed, a
shallow wooden cabinet, a metal desk and chair took up most of the
available space.
“A secret room,” Mary breathed. “It’s like something out of Nancy Drew
or the Hardy boys.”
“It’s a storage area,” Bill said.
“Then where’s the door?”
“Probably behind the gun cabinet.”
“But how did the cabinet get in front of the door?”
Bill raised his right shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Maybe it is a secret
room. So what?”
“I think it’s romantic.”
He snorted. “You would.”
She jerked her head around to stare at him. “Did you say gun cabinet?”