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Herr D
Mr. Machiavelli didn’t even have to stand up. He leaned back and reached out to the draped wall behind him. He hurled aside the drape to reveal two sections of old and garishly ugly yellow tile, edges of dark paneling around them showing what had obviously been recently removed. “I made a mistake from the measurements you gave me and found a problem.” He stood up, leaned forward, and rapped on both sections with a heavy mallet from the toolbox on the floor.
Young Mike’s face fell. “I was wrong?”
Wet acrid tang in full darkness What? What’s that? $%^& Jennifer shook her head to clear it. “Wrong? What do you mean?”
Young Mike explained. “I’ve worked construction. There’s a section of pantry that ends against a solid column of concrete for strength on the other side of the section to the left. I drilled into it on the other side to demonstrate that my measurements were right. But the section to the right has no reason to be solid, and it doesn’t sound hollow.”
“–So it’s full, right?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It’s full of rotten moonshine?” The two men turned and looked at each other. “Right? It’s full of what the five people were killed for?” What are you looking like that for? That’s obvious, isn’t it?
