Inside, the basement was filled with rows of folding chairs. Each chair had a blue book and a red book set on its seat. There was a podium at the front of the room, the plain wooden kind that teachers use, and a small table draped in green cloth with a cross set on top of it.

Even though the room didn’t look anything like St. Gerard’s, Wunder could feel that it was a special place for the people who met there. He moved slowly and quietly down the center aisle.

Faye, for all her supernatural sensitivity, didn’t appear to feel the same way. She was already at the other end of the room, opening a metal door set to the left of the podium. There was a staircase there.

“Up we go,” she said, and Wunder hurried over to her.

They crept up the stairs, their footsteps only slightly muffled by the blue industrial carpet. At the top, there was another door. It was just like the door at the bottom—metal, beige-painted, and completely plain—no windows, no signs.

“I don’t know if my key opens this one,” Faye said. “I guess we’ll see.”

She pushed the key into the doorknob and turned. The lock clicked open. She turned the knob, pushed, and—

BLEEEEEEP! BLEEEEEEP! BLEEEEEEP!

“Wundie! Listen!” Faye shrieked.

Wunder froze at the sound of the alarm, his heart pounding, his eyes wide. They were going to be caught. And even worse than that—they weren’t going to find out what they had come to find out. He wasn’t going to prove anything. He was going to be left wondering and wondering and wondering.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“Hurry!” he shouted.

The alarm bleeped on as they raced through the doorway and into the main foyer of the town hall. There was Eugenia’s desk ahead of them, computer screen black, cabinets rising up behind like sentries.

Wunder yanked open desk drawers while Faye rummaged through cabinets. He tried to be careful, but his heart was beating so fast and his hands seemed clumsy and strange. Papers and paper clips and sticky notes were soon scattered across the floor.

And then, there it was. A black three-ring binder with the words CEMETERY RECORDS typed in black on a white label.

“I found it!” Wunder cried. He flipped the binder open to the middle, but inside was row after row after row of dates and names, and the alarm was still blaring. He wasn’t going to be able to find the right record fast enough.

He slammed the binder shut and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s go!”

They went out the way they’d come in, pounding down the stairs, through the meeting room, and out the basement door. They leaped onto their bicycles and pedaled away as fast as they could, Wunder balancing the binder on his handlebars.

But instead of getting far, far away from the scene of the crime, Faye jerked her bike into the first alley they came to, less than a block from the town hall.