A Spot of Bother Read online

  I nodded and laughed harder.

  “What happened?” Roger asked.

  “Ages ago we took a long weekend down to Detroit and on the way back went to the Renaissance Festival. It was something like ninety degrees that day and Scott bought a kilt while we were walking the grounds – and changed into it pretty much on the spot.”

  “It sounds like you just got into the spirit of things,” Roger said.

  “It also generated a nice breeze,” Scott admitted.

  Roger smirked and gave me a funny look. Scott turned and went to his tool kit behind the bar. When it was just the two of us, he whispered, “Would you like to see me in a kilt?”

  “I can think of some distinct non-weather related advantages,” I offered.

  “Hey, guys?” It was Jordan at the top of the stairs that led to the basement.

  2

  We all turned and looked toward the lanky teen.

  “What’s up?” Scott asked.

  “I was looking around downstairs, and I think I found something.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, but maybe you guys want to take a look.”

  Several of us followed him downstairs and watched him walk toward the southern end of the basement, the side facing the canal.

  “You didn’t find a leak, did you?” Scott wanted to know. “The canal’s near, but not close enough to cause a water issue, I don’t think. The inspector didn’t find anything either.”

  “No,” Jordan said. “Nothing wet.” He pointed at a portion of red brick wall.

  Now that I took a moment, I realized it looked a bit newer than the surrounding areas

  “What do you see there?” Scott asked.

  “I’m not sure,” the teen replied. “I just … well, I have an urge to push.”

  “Push?” Scott looked curious.

  Jordan had a supernatural knack of knowing where things belonged — handy when setting up effective store displays and interior design — and so maybe a corollary gift of knowing what doesn't belong. If he wanted to push that old brick wall, maybe something there didn't belong and needed pushing.

  “Yeah, to push.” Jordan was focused on one spot of the wall, his gaze unwavering. Scott, Roger and I approached and peered over and around his shoulders.

  “Is there a crack there?” I asked, extending my index finger. I traced it over the seam, jerking my hand back. “Huh. I think I felt a whoosh of icy air.”

  Roger held his palm in front of the spot and shook his head. “I don’t feel a thing.”

  Jordan tapped his finger on the area in question. It gave slightly and the sound of brick on brick sliding backward caused us both to jump. He gave another small push and a couple of the red bricks gave way, tumbling backwards.

  “Oh! That was weird,” Jordan yelped, jerking back. “It was almost like something pulled it away.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t gravity?” Roger asked.

  “It had barely moved,” Jordan replied. “It nudged back a fraction of an inch and then it was like it got yanked backwards.”

  “I think your imagination is running away with you there,” Roger continued, grabbing a flashlight off a nearby work table. “Poppy, you and Jordan step back. I want to check that things are stable.” He flicked on the light and examined the opening, testing if anything else was loose or likely to collapse. When he was sure it was safe, he leaned closer to peer inside. “Huh. It looks like there’s a room through here.”

  “A room?” Scott stepped over, next to Roger. “Give me the flashlight.” A moment later he was aiming the beam inside. “It is a room.”

  He pushed on another brick, testing it like it was a huge loose tooth. It slid backward an inch and then several bricks tumbled away, most falling inside, but a few toppled in our direction. We all jumped to avoid them should any land on our feet. When the dust cleared, a hole was revealed.

  I craned my head around Roger’s shoulder. Before I could focus, I was overwhelmed by a damp smell, and something else, too. It made me cough, then sneeze several times in rapid succession.

  “You okay there?” Roger said, rubbing my back.

  “I’m fine,” I hacked before clearing my throat. “I think I just inhaled a bit of dust or something mildewed is all.” I took a breath and the curious smell assailed my senses. “That’s odd.” I turned to Roger, then Jordan, then Scott. “Do you smell that?”

  All three men took deep sniffs. Roger and Scott looked clueless, but Jordan screwed up his face. “There is something there,” he agreed.

  “It’s dust and mildew,” Roger offered. “Maybe mold. We should probably get face masks.”

  “Yes, there is that,” Jordan nodded, “but something else, too. Like an emotion.”

  “Exactly,” I bobbed my head. I took another sniff. “It’s … sadness … or disappointment … also, a hint of longing and anger.”

  “What do those smell like?” Scott was curious.

  I shrugged. “It’s not a specific thing, but anger can smell burnt, like maybe blackened toast. Disappointment can smell rotten or sharp and green, like something that isn’t ready or that’s gone off. Like a love that’s unfulfilled or unreciprocated. Or something chemical, unnatural. The tang of ammonia, maybe. Sadness can be anything that sparks melancholy in an individual. In this case I smell something earthy, like damp clay, and something dried out, like old leaves, or walking along the river on a really cold, wet day. Something like that.”

  “And you’re smelling all that?” Roger asked.

  I inhaled again, and closed my eyes to focus. “I smell … how would I describe it? It smells like hot metal, and tinged with rust. Also something sharp and coppery.” I stuck my tongue out in disgust. “Oh, I can taste something, too, like an unripe lemon and blood and clay. Yeah, I definitely taste something that makes me think of clay.”

  I turned and retrieved the cider I’d been drinking and drained the glass in one gulp. “Ah, that’s a bit better.”

  “That bad, huh,” Scott smirked.

  I shrugged. “There’s just something odd here.”

  “Like what, though?” Scott asked.

  “I really don’t know. It could just be that the area was walled off for years. Maybe it stored something weird, like old paint that leaked, or held a few bottles of bootleg gin, or maybe there’s a couple dead rats in there.”

  “Somehow I think you’re trying to soothe me,” Scott said.

  I shrugged again. “I really can’t say. I make soaps and lotions and potions, so my nose is more sensitive to picking up bits of this and hints of that.”

  “You’re also more sensitive to picking up magic,” Jordan said.

  I gave him a look as if to say “not now.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Yeah, it’s probably just an old smell, or a mix of old smells.” He directed the flashlight into the hole and peered around once more.

  “See anything?” Roger asked.

  “Lots of things,” Jordan said. “Bottles, some old boxes, shelving, dust, cobwebs. There’s something big and black in the corner … .”

  “An old safe?” Roger and Scott said in unison.

  “There’s also … a body! Oh my god! One with no head!” He looked alarmed and drew back.

  “Where? Let me see,” Scott ordered. Jordan handed him the flashlight. “Oh shit, there is someone or something there! Oh, wait, I think it’s one of those things dressmakers use. Roger, take a look.”

  Roger did as told. I pressed next to him and peered around his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a dressmaker’s dummy. In the dark it looks like a person standing there.”

  Scott took back the flashlight. “It looks otherwise okay in there. Just a bunch of stuff. Looks pretty intact.”

  “No skeleton in overalls or a zoot suit or anything?” Roger replied, a smirk on his face.

  “Nope. No standing water on the ground either,” Scott said. “I’m going in.”

 
“Are you sure that’s safe?” I asked.

  “Is what safe?” It was Amber, Scott’s lilac-haired lady love. She had shown up and when I turned I realized we had a crowd. Vanessa and Ethan as well as Trish and Mike had drawn close.

  “Maybe it’s one of those old bootlegger hideouts,” Roger said. “This area was thick with them in the 1920s.”

  “Could this lead to one of those tunnels under the city?” Scott asked.

  “What tunnels?” Jordan asked.

  “There were tunnels built about a hundred years ago,” Roger explained. “It was during World War I, constructed for the war effort.”

  “What purpose did they serve?” Vanessa asked. “I’ve heard of the tunnels. I even saw one years ago under one restaurant where I waited tables one summer. But I thought they were for bootleggers.”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure,” Roger offered. “I’ve seen part of a tunnel before, too, under the bookstore downtown here. I mainly have heard stories about how bootleggers used them to hide their stash once the war ended and Prohibition began. Some predate that, however. I think some were built when the locks were built, and some maybe for World War I. ”

  “So you think that’s what this might be – a place to hide hooch, I mean,” Scott said.

  Roger shrugged. “It makes the most sense to me.”

  “And you’re going in there?” Amber asked, her gaze pointed.

  “Sure,” Scott said, testing the wall in a few spots. The rest of the bricks seemed firm in place. “It looks fine inside, just dusty.”

  She opened her mouth to say something more but stopped when she saw Scott slip through the opening. Amber shook her head and muttered something under her breath before brushing us aside and following.

  “Hey!” Scott called out. “You could have waited for me to give the all-clear.”

  “Whatever. Oh, look, a safe.”

  “What the heck,” Ethan said, shrugging. “I’m going in.”

  For a moment I thought Vanessa would follow but she opted not to.

  “Not interested?” I asked.

  “I don’t really like enclosed places that much,” she said. “I think I’ll stay out here.”

  “Somebody should,” I agreed.

  “Hey, Poppy,” Jordan called to me, pointing inside the hidden room. “Your dad is here.”

  “Wait? What?” Mike looked confused. “How could her dad be in there? The wall just opened up. I didn’t see anyone show up either.”

  Trish patted his forearm reassuringly. “Remember what I told you about Poppy?”

  “That she’s your best friend?”

  “No,” Trish smiled, “but that much is true. But about the ghosts and magic stuff?”

  “Oh.” Mike’s voice was low. “Ohhhh, wait, do you mean a ghost is in there?” His eyes grew wide.

  I nodded as I peered into the hole. “Yes, that would be his ghost.”

  “Oh shit, I am out of here!” Mike turned and scarpered up the stairs.

  “I didn’t realize he was scared of ghosts,” I said.

  “I didn’t either,” Trish sighed. “I guess I should go check on him, huh?”

  “It might not be a bad idea.”

  “Is it wrong that I’m getting ideas for a couple of good pranks?” Trish asked.

  “Only if you don’t include me in staging them,” I replied.

  “Poppy,” Jordan called out. He’d already slipped into the secret room and was motioning me inside. “Your dad wants you to come in.”

  Roger made a move to stop me, but I barreled forward. “If Dad says it’s safe, then it’s safe. Plus,” I turned to Vanessa who sat several feet away from us in a chair by the stairs. “She’ll call for help if needed. Or you will if you stay out here.”

  “Oh, I’m following you.”

  “Awesome,” I said, giving his rear a quick pat.

  A moment later I was inside the newfound space. It was large and the first words to slip into my mind upon taking in the spot were “dust” and “bricks.” I turned and spotted Dad over by the safe.

  “Interesting find,” he said, his grin lopsided as he looked over the black box. It was the size of a mini-fridge, only slightly larger and looked decades-old. It had a brass dial set in the front and a large handle. “Try opening it, Poppy.”

  I stepped over and gave the handle a jerk, but nothing happened. “It’s locked.”

  “Damn,” Dad swore. “I want you to open it so we can see what’s inside.”

  “Can’t you go in,” Jordan asked, “and see what’s in there?”

  “This is odd,” Roger said. “I’ve talked to your father before thanks to that magic oil you had, but it’s strange to see you and Jordan talking to a ghost. I kind of wish I had the ability now. Can he go inside the safe?”

  Dad turned to Roger who looked past him, and then to Jordan and shook his head. “I kind of could, but I really don’t want to go inside a metal box.” He gave a ghostly shudder.

  “Are you claustrophobic, too,” Jordan asked.

  “No, not quite,” Dad said. “It’s just when I first became a ghost I, well, how can I put it? I ‘woke’ up in the morgue, and even though I was dead the experience about killed me.”

  “So ghosts can get scared?” Jordan asked.

  “Many of the things we’re afraid of originate in the mind,” I offered, “so it makes sense. So, how do we get it open then?” I turned to Scott. “I assume you’d like to know what’s inside.”

  Scott nodded.

  “I suppose I could put my head next to the dial and turn it, and listen for a click. I’ve seen it done in movies and TV shows. Maybe that could work?” I offered.

  Jordan approached cautiously, his fingers twitching. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give it a try.”

  “You think you can guess the combination?” Roger asked.

  “Well, sort of. I usually know where things need to go, so maybe I can focus and figure out where to stop as I dial.”

  “I’m all for it, kid.” Scott smiled.

  Amber drew near, her expression curious. “Can he really do that?”

  Jordan clapped his hands as he crouched low in front of the safe and blew out a loud gust of breath. “I guess we’ll know in a minute, huh?” He hovered his fingers over the dial and then began turning it to the left, coming to a pause, then making a couple passes to the right before stopping again. Another pause, then a half-turn to the left. He stood still and seemed to listen to something only he could hear, before slowly giving a last twist. He exhaled loudly and then looked to me before jerking the handle. It gave and the door swung open.

  “Oh my God, wow!” Amber said. “That is amazing. How did you do that?”

  Jordan shrugged, a crooked grin on his face. “I really don’t know. Something. Something inside, I guess, told me when to stop and when to keep going.”

  “Wow. Have you taken him to the casino?” Amber asked.

  “He’s not old enough yet,” I offered. “Plus that’s probably not a good idea. I did notice you’re really good at playing cards, though,” I said, turning to Jordan.

  He blushed slightly. “I guess I am. I usually get a feeling when I need to draw or fold. I used to think I just had good hunches, but maybe it’s more than that.”

  “It’s a good skill to have,” Dad beamed, pride evident. “Just don’t ever let Fiona find out, if you know what’s good for you.” He then bent low to peer inside the safe.

  “What’s in there,” I asked.

  Jordan also looked inside, then at Dad, then at Scott, who cautiously approached.

  “I’m not stepping on any ghost toes here, am I?” he asked.

  Dad hovered up and sat on top of the safe, peering down at Jordan and inside the metal interior.

  “No, you’re good,” I said.

  3

  Scott bent low and reached inside, drawing out a metal case the size of a shoebox and a couple of bottles.

  “Is that old Prohibition-era hooch
?” I asked.

  “Looks like it,” Scott said, handing the container to Jordan and motioning for us to follow. He went back into the open space and set the bottles down on a work table. Jordan placed the metal box next to it.

  Vanessa stirred from her spot by the stairs and approached. “So did I hear right? There is a safe in there? And that box and those bottles were in there?”

  I nodded.

  She gingerly lifted up one of the bottles. “There’s something inside.” She tilted the bottle slightly and some liquid sloshed around. She took an old rag and wiped the exterior. “It’s a nice bottle. Unmarked, though.”

  “Can we pry off the cork?” Jordan asked.

  “Sure, knock yourself out,” Scott said. “I’d advise not drinking it, though.”

  “You couldn’t get me to sample that for all the tea in China,” Vanessa said, as she popped off the cork and sniffed the contents.

  “Is it booze?” I asked.

  “Yes. And it’s strong. You can practically get tipsy from the smell.” She held out the bottle for me. I inhaled and coughed.

  “Oh, wow, that is potent,” I said.

  Jordan did the same and sneezed.

  “Not worth sampling, huh?” Roger smiled. “Your magical powers aren’t telling you that it belongs in your stomach.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Jordan said, grimacing.

  Roger grabbed the bottle next and sniffed. “Whiskey, I’d say.”

  “Is it still good?” Jordan asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Roger said, setting the bottle back on the work table and recorking it. “I wouldn’t risk it, though. If it’s whiskey it might be still good, but if it’s been doctored the way a lot of speakeasy booze was tampered with, then you probably don’t want to chance it.”

  “What did they do with it?” Jordan asked. “Isn’t it just like, water, corn and sugar and yeast or something?”

  “Not even that,” Roger said. “Usually it’s just grain mash, yeast and water.”

  “That’s all you need to make whiskey?” I could see the wheels turning in Jordan’s young mind.

  “Basically,” Roger said. “But it’s more complicated than that. How you distill it, blend it, store it … that all comes into play.”