“Not with all that razor wire in there,” Aida said. “Unless you want to shred it to bits and yourself with it. Maybe we should get a couple of the Shiffleys in here to see if they can take the razor wire out.”
“Not yet,” Horace said. “It’s evidence. Possibly exculpatory evidence. We need every bit of that we can get.”
“I’ll bring the evidence over,” I said. “About time I got back to take care of the twins.”
“I shouldn’t let you,” Horace said. “Chain of custody. Sammy could take it.”
“I have to stay here with Phinny and Rob until the chief says otherwise,” Sammy said from farther back in the room.
Aida and I both glanced at Horace’s anxious face and exchanged a look.
“Meg, I hereby deputize you and instruct you to deliver this evidence to the chief,” Aida said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Though I refrained from saluting the way the Flying Monkeys did.
It was tricky fitting all of the evidence bags and me onto the little rolling cart, but we finally managed, and I began the slow, hand-over-hand trek back through the tunnels. Going back ought to have been less nerve-wracking, since I knew that at the other end of the tunnel I’d find fresh air and freedom, but the tunnel sloped slightly upward—enough to make pulling myself more challenging, even without baggage. And lying on top of the evidence raised me so high on the cart that my back occasionally scraped the ceiling of the tunnel, bringing down tiny avalanches of dirt and stones that set my heart beating faster. Around halfway through the second leg of the tunnel, my arms felt so heavy I wasn’t sure I could go on, and all I could think of was how ironic it would be if I stopped to take a rest there in the cart and got caught in a cave-in, a few short feet from freedom. That thought triggered my second wind, and I managed the last few feet and scrambled up to the surface, leaving the evidence bags in the cart. Someone else could haul them up the ladder.
Was my claustrophobia that much better than Horace’s? I thought so. Instead of popping out of the trapdoor like a jack-in-the-box I took a deep breath a few rungs from the top of the ladder and composed my face so I looked cool, calm, and collected when I stepped out into the crawl space under the bandstand.
Michael was waiting for me.
“Welcome back!” he stage whispered, giving me a hug. “How was it?”
“Interesting,” I said. “I suspect Horace was hoping to find some key piece of evidence to prove Mr. Throckmorton’s innocence, but so far, no dice.”
“Oh, dear,” he murmured.
“What’s more—”
Suddenly, gunfire broke out overhead. I started, and hit my head on the low ceiling of the crawl space.
“Relax,” Michael said. “It’s only the First Battle of Manassas. Do you think there’s any chance Horace will be coming out before World War II is over? The program gets a little quiet after that, and we’d like to close and cover up the trapdoor for a while.”
“No idea,” I said. “I think he’ll probably find things to putter around with over there until the chief gives him a direct order to come back. He sent back all the evidence he’s collected so far with me—any chance you could haul it up?”
Since I was probably not supposed to let the bags out of my custody, I peered down from the top while Michael scrambled up and down the ladder with the evidence.
“That it?” he asked.
“Rob should have some spare clothes in one of those bins,” I said. “Can you take some down and send them halfway over on the cart?”
“Can do,” he said.
“I’ll call Rob and tell him it’s coming.”
But first, I called the chief to tell him that I had the evidence.
He wasn’t as delighted as I thought he’d be.
“Horace really should have maintained possession of the evidence,” he said. “Chain of custody.”
“Aida deputized me to take it,” I said.
“Well, that’s better than nothing,” he said. “In fact, I was a bit worried about the possibility someone would see Horace coming out from under the bandstand with a bunch of evidence bags. Any chance you could find a discreet way to bring them over to the forensic tent?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Just one more thing.” His voice grew stern. “You’re not deputized for anything except transporting evidence. Got that?”
“Got it.”
Discreet. Not usually my forte, but I could manage. I emptied out a rolling box I used to haul around heavy blacksmithing tools, put a couple of gallon milk jugs of water in it, and then Michael and I stowed the evidence bags on top of them.