Third Half by P. R. Garlick Page B

the matter.
                  She could hear the voices getting closer, and was certain she heard their footsteps on the stairs.  Or is that my heart beating that loudly?
                  Finally she managed to climb through the opening into the narrow darkened room.  Leaning back through the hole, she quickly pulled up the rope ladder.  She leaned back through the hole to get the tile she had pushed out of the way. 
                  Quickly she slipped it back into place, hearing the men's voices below her now.  She didn't move.  She didn't dare.  She was even afraid to breathe.  She just sat quietly, hoping they wouldn't discover the secret room right above them.
                  Liane felt wet from perspiration.  M.C.'s habit was just as hot as she thought it would be.  She hoped she wouldn't have to wear it much longer.  She fanned herself, allowing herself to finally take a few shallow, silent breaths.
                  "The Boss expects us to find something here," a deep voice grumbled from below.  "If not the money, the rest.  No one was supposed to know about this place.  The Boss was sure it would be stashed here."
                  "What about the airport?" the other man asked.
                  "Too obvious.  Besides, their last trip came back empty."
                  "This dresser is as good a place to start as any.  We better check it good like everything else.  He could'a hidden a key, or something, inside that'll give us a clue to where he stashed the stuff."
                  She waited, wishing she had done something to hide the footprint that had revealed the hiding place to her.   If the men saw it, she'd be doomed!
                  "What's this?" one of the men bellowed.
                  Liane caught her breath again, listening intently.
                  "Looks like some kind of urn," the other man said, then laughed.  "Maybe he's got someone's ashes inside."
                  The two men both laughed, but Liane didn't think it was funny.  She had only briefly noticed the urn on top of the dresser.  But she recognized it as the one she had so carefully made for her brother three years ago when she had taken some ceramic classes.  She had given it to him as a housewarming present that year.
                  "Too heavy for ashes," the man said.
                  She winced as she heard the sound of the urn breaking.
                  "Feel like counting pennies," he said, laughing more.
                  "Cut it out!" the other man ordered.  "We don't have time for that."
                    Another loud crash came from below.  It sounded more blunt, like wood this time.  If that's the dresser, I don't think anybody would distinguish the foot print in the dust. And from the sounds of it, they probably no longer distinguish the dresser either.
                  After what seemed like an eternity, she heard them leave.  But she knew she still wasn't safe.  They'd soon be on their way upstairs to the rooms directly next to her.   Only a few more rooms, then she hoped they'd be gone.    
                  Pins and needles stabbed at her foot, making her realize she had been sitting on it the whole time.  Slowly she lifted her weight and stretched her leg in front of her.  As she did, her shoulder bumped something – nearly tipping it over – and with a thud, a weight tumbled on top of her.
                  In the darkness she fumbled for it, then sighed as she felt the heavy object in her grasp.  She held it tightly against her, hoping the men hadn't heard the noise.   Listening, she heard such racket, she doubted they'd hear anything!
                  Her fingers gently ran over the surface of the object in her grasp.  It seemed to be some type