Page 68 of Merciless Daddy

I heard a door open. The sound changed. Tighter now. Walls close to Tonio’s microphone. “Shelves,” he said. “Flour, canned tomatoes, enough garlic to season Sicily.”

“Move to the rear. There should be a fire door behind the shelving.”

“There is no door.”

“Yes, there is.”

“I am looking at a wall.”

“Third shelf from the left. It’s built into the panel. The handle is behind the hanging aprons.”

A pause.

Then: “You are terrifying.”

The door clicked.

I could see it in my mind. Narrow, painted the same cream as the wall. My mother had used that route when she didn’t want dinner guests seeing staff cross the public rooms.

“Straight ahead,” I said. “You’ll pass the wine cellar on your right.”

“Passing it.”

“Do not turn left after the cellar. The plan shows a corridor there. It was closed.”

“Why?”

“My father disliked looking at the old breakfast room.”

Tonio did not joke about that. His footsteps remained soft.

“Ten feet ahead, there’s a narrow opening on your left. It looks like a linen closet.”

“I see it.”

“Go through. Then right.”

“There’s a stair.”

“Do not take it. It comes out opposite the upstairs guard post.”

The line crackled.

A different sound came through.

Shoes.

Measured. Approaching. Tonio stopped breathing.

“He’s early,” I whispered.

Sal bent closer to the plan. “Who?”

“There shouldn’t be a guard in that corridor until two-fifteen.”

The shoes came nearer.

Tonio had nowhere to go. Wine cellar behind him. Open passage ahead. If he returned to dry storage, he would meet the collection crew.