Page 13 of Ruthless Riches
“We actually have a couple of them on our property,” Nate said.
Her eyes widened. “Lucky you. That’s a piece of history, right in your backyard.”
A piece of history I’d rather forget,I thought to myself, recalling my dark moments in the bunker. I looked down at the map again, twisting my lips. “How is this the most recent map?” I asked. “It’s seventy years old.”
“It’s because the tunnels fell out of use in the late 1930s,” Edith said. “After that, they were no longer expanded—only filled in to create bunkers on private properties during the war, as we were just discussing. So, what you see on the 1949 survey map is exactly what’s still out there. Nothing new has been added to the tunnel network in almost a hundred years.”
Nate took a closer look at the map. “How many tunnels were left on the island after some of them were filled in to create bomb shelters?”
Edith’s forehead wrinkled. “Hm. If I remember correctly, there are 1128 tunnels now. That includes the main ones and the smaller passages that radiate from them to connect to others.”
“That’s still a lot,” I mused, rubbing the nape of my neck.
“Yes. I feel sorry for the police who have to search through them,” she said. “It wouldn’t be a pleasant job, would it? Not after the tunnels have been abandoned for so long.”
Nate nodded with agreement. Then his brows furrowed. “Do you think someone could’ve built tunnels somewhere on the island without anyone else noticing? Ones that didn’t make it onto any of the maps?”
Edith shook her head. “I doubt it. But there have always been rumors about a secret stage of development that never made it into the records.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“It’s a silly thing, really,” she said, lips tugging upward in a faint smile. “The people who believe in it call it Satan’s Penthouse. Or just the Penthouse for short.”
My eyes widened. “What is it?”
She lifted a palm. “There’s absolutely no evidence that any of this is true, so take everything I say about it with a huge grain of salt,” she began. “Anyway, the rumors of Satan’s Penthouse date all the way back to the late nineteenth century. As you know, the tunnels were commonly used then. Also, by that stage, the island was beginning to attract a lot of wealthy folk from the mainland. Between 1885-1905, most of the historical estates were built, concentrated in Arcadia Bay and the outskirts of Avalon City.” She paused and looked at me. “You already know all about them from your previous project, Alexis.”
I nodded silently, waiting for the rest of the story with bated breath.
“According to the old stories, the wealthy people of the island weren’t particularly keen on sharing the tunnels with the common folk,” Edith went on, briefly rolling her eyes upward. “One of the families supposedly hired a team of engineers and architects to design their own set of private tunnels. They were supposed to include rest areas, marble columns, artwork, and mosaic-tiled floors. That way, the wealthy people would be able to get around the island in cold weather without having to cross paths with anyone who wasn’t in the same social class. They’d be able to do it in style, too.”
“Why was it called Satan’s Penthouse?” Nate asked.
Edith smiled. “Good question. It actually brings me to the next part of the story.” She paused to push forward the island tunnel map from 1888. “Because there were already so many tunnels on Avalon by then, there was no way the engineers could build new ones that would connect to the main districts of Avalon City without intersecting with any of the others. So they had to think outside the box.”
Comprehension dawned on me. “They built below the existing tunnels?”
“That was the plan, yes—for the private tunnels to run below the others, much deeper underground.” Edith turned to Nate. “It was so deep that people joked it was right on top of Hell. So that’s where the Satan’s Penthouse nickname came from.”
I arched a brow. “So… what happened? Did they actually build these private tunnels?”
“No one knows. It’s all lost to time, unfortunately,” she said. “The stories say that construction began in the early 1900s, but they ran into trouble after a couple of years. Apparently, one of the engineers made some sort of error on the designs, and the construction crew went too close to the edge of the island. That part of the tunnel system flooded as a result. They filled it in to stop the rest of the new tunnels from flooding, but it was too late. The project patrons heard about the error and decided it was too dangerous. After that, the project was abandoned.”
I nodded slowly. “So if the stories are true, that means the Penthouse tunnels are still out there, apart from the bits that got flooded and filled in.”
“Yes. But there’s no way of knowing, really. No one knows where the entrances to those tunnels were located, and the plans were lost. If they ever existed, that is.” Edith smiled again. “There are all sorts of silly legends about the place now. That it’s haunted, or filled with monsters.”
Nate and I exchanged glances. I knew we were both thinking the same thing—the copycat Butcher could’ve discovered an entrance to the partially-finished private tunnels and started using them to get around the island. That explained how he moved around the island like a specter, vanishing from every crime scene without a trace.
“I’d love to include this story in my project,” I said, turning my attention back to Edith. “Do you have any other information about it?”
She shook her head. “No. Like I said, I’ve always assumed it was just a silly old legend, because there’s no evidence that any of it is true.” She hesitated and tapped her chin. “Actually, you know what? You should speak to my husband. He might know more about it than me.”
“Is he a historian too?”
“No. He used to work at City Hall in the town planning department,” she said. “Have you heard of Beverley Cove? It’s that eco-friendly resort village down south.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
