Ripped From the Pages Read Online Free Page B

over to shake more dust out of his hair. “I think
     we’ll be all right.”
    I scuffled back a few feet to avoid being enveloped in the powdery cloud he’d just
     created. I was getting worried. Hadn’t people died from breathing the dust inside
     old caves? Didn’t I remember hearing something about archaeologists breathing the
     dust of mummies’ tombs? Didn’t they carry strange viruses?
    I guess my mind was going a little wacky while I waited for the okay to go back inside.
     After another half hour, I was ready to scream. I’d always thought I was a patient
     person, but apparently I was wrong because I was beyond anxious to get in there and
     figure out who had died in the cave. Everyone else was standing around, chitchatting
     and hacking up particles and brushing off more dust. Didn’t anyone else feel the same
     urge I felt? Where did all that furniture come from? The silver, the art, the books.
     The body. Didn’t anyone want answers?
    “I’m going in,” I declared, and began to walk toward the cave.
    “Hold on,” Derek said, grabbing my hand.
    “Why?” I demanded, prepared to battle against Derek’s innate urge to protect and defend.
    He grinned. “Because I’m going with you.”
    “Okay.” I calmed down a smidgen. “Good. We’ve waited long enough. We need to check
     out that cave and call the police.”
    “In that order,” he murmured, clearly resolved to survey the scene of the crime before
     raising the alarm. He picked up the flashlight and joined me.
    Much of the dust had settled, but we stirred more up with every step we took. I coughed
     as some of it got into my throat, andI wondered how Derek and Dad and the others had withstood it for the thirty minutes
     they’d been in here breathing that stuff.
    When we got to the back wall, I could see how much work the men had done earlier.
     The opening into the hidden room was bigger now, almost the size of a small doorway,
     about three feet wide by five feet high. Eighteen inches still remained along the
     bottom of the wall, which meant we had to step carefully over the small barrier.
    “Good job,” I said, beaming at Derek.
    “The men were on a mission.”
    I smiled at his words. He made it sound like he was leading his troops off to war.
     I ducked my head and stepped over the stone lip. Once on the other side, I was able
     to stand without crouching. I had expected the enclosure to feel damp or stuffy, but
     the air was clean and I detected a mild floral scent. It was also slightly larger
     than I’d thought, maybe fifteen feet long by twelve feet across, the size of a typical
     bedroom.
    Derek joined me inside the small enclosure, flipped on Stan’s flashlight, and pointed
     the beam toward the floor.
    That was when I saw the body again.
    Although he was facedown, he was obviously a man, and he was pressed up against the
     wall as though he’d sought out a secure resting place. I figured that was why we hadn’t
     seen him at first. We had been diverted by all of the treasures surrounding him.
    He wore an old-fashioned brown suit and had short, dark hair. On the ground near his
     right arm was a well-worn brown leather suitcase.
    “I wonder if he got trapped here during the ’ninety-seven earthquake,” Dad said.
    I glanced up. Dad stood on the other side of the barrier, but he had poked his head
     in so he could watch us. Austin and Robin were crowded around him. Jackson had gone
     back to work in thewinery, and the rest of the men must have either lost interest or needed to return
     to their jobs as well.
    “That’s almost twenty years, Jim,” Derek said, touching the dead man’s neck and studying
     the change in color. “This man’s skin looks and feels as if he died a few hours ago.”
    “Maybe the absence of air helped preserve him,” I said.
    “What’re you saying? You think he was mummified?” Austin’s wry tone gave a clear indication
     of his opinion of my theory.
    I was used to getting snarky comments