 CHAPTER 3 (section 2) copyright © 2001, S. Y. Affolee The tape was playing on fast forward, the tape track creating white static streaks across the television screen. Simon sighed and pressed the play button so the tape could resume its normal speed. They were sitting in a den area, the survellience tapes of the previous night stacked between them. “Whoever the prowler is, he’s either very good or didn’t bother coming last night,” she mused. “Maybe he knew we were coming so didn’t show up.” “That’s a very real possibility,” Adrian agreed. “But the simple fact that he didn’t show up last night does not negate the problem.” “And I suppose we’re stuck here until we do catch him,” she said gloomily. “I promised to go to Caroline’s birthday this weekend.” “Caroline?” Distinct interest lit his voice. “Your niece, right?” “I don’t think you’re one to forget. And my mother told me to invite you.” “I’ll be glad to come.” “Well...” She suddenly stopped staring at the screen. “Well,” she repeated. “Maybe we can get to Caroline’s birthday party after all.” The calico kitten had clawed her way up to the manual television controls and had randomly hit the pause button. The screen had frozen, the static lines permanently etched on the top and the bottom of the picture. The scene was from one of the cameras aimed toward the second floor of the study along a monotonous row of empty bookshelves. A dark shadow, faintly in the figure of a human being, hovered just along one side. Simone pressed the play button and the recording resumed. The dark shadow still hovered, but in two seconds, it vanished into the wall. “Must be a ghost,” said Adrian. Simone held up a hand. “Not so fast. I think this is our prowler.” A faint grin tugged at her lips. She loved it when they were on the verge of catching the culprit. “I don’t know how he did it, but still this is our guy.” She rewound the tape and played the section again, narrowing her eyes in concentration. Still again she replayed it and paused at the frame when the shadow seemed to meld into the bookcase. “A pretty good trick if you ask me.” “Yeah,” she muttered. She finally dropped the remote control onto the floor and stood up. “I’m going to the study to check that section out.” The the orange kitten took the opportunity to pounce on the new plaything, pressing all sorts of buttons. The other kittens watched mesmerized by the television, the scene with the shadow fast forwarding then rewinding, repeatedly. “So are you staying and watching the rest of the tapes to find anything?” “Nah.” He swiftly rose, suddenly towering over her. She turned her back toward him and headed toward the door. She hated when he did that. “I’ll come with you. Who knows, maybe the perpetrator left a clue behind.” As the two headed out, the kittens stopped their antics and tumbled over each other attempting to follow “their humans” to see what they were doing. They trampled over the controls and inadvertently turned off the television and the VCR. “Have you seen Mrs. Greenville around? Is she back yet?” Simone asked as they strolled down the hall. “No. I haven’t seen her butler either. Perhaps they came back early and haven’t come out of their rooms yet,” Adrian replied. They passed Mina who was dutifully polishing one of the vanity tables standing against the wall. The maid shook her head at their conversation. “I’m afraid they haven’t come back at all, Ms. Sung, Mr. Dubois. They are possibly still out at the party, or as I probably can guess, their little tryst.” “Tryst?” said Adrian amused. Mina tapped her feather duster on the frame of the painting above her. “Old Dargood probably convinced Mrs. Greenville to do it out of the house. I know he hates being stared at by him.” Simone and Adrian looked up at the painting. A man, probably in his fifties or sixties, was seated on a burgundy armchair with a fire roaring in the background. He was wearing one of those comfortable fur-lined robes that the affluent wore. Only one hand was visible in the picture. It was holding a long wooden pipe that appeared to be imported from England. The man himself was not spectacular. His thin graying hair was combed back in a severer manner. Brown unassuming eyes peered from behind gold rimmed spectacles. A moustache, perfectly trimmed and curled, sat pertly on his upper lip. He wasn’t smiling or frowning. He wasn’t giving out any particular expression at all. There was a name plate on the bottom part of the frame. It read, ‘Robert F. Greenville’. She crossed her arms. “Actually, he doesn’t look that intimidating.” “He wasn’t,” Mina agreed. “He mostly kept to himself. A scholarly sort who was much more into history than the social whirl like his wife. Most of his money was made even before he was born, I believe. He was one of the owners to Randall, Greenville, and Farthing, a relatively well off stock brokering company. It’s passed down to his son now. He died of a heart attack while he was visiting one of his friends all the way down in Havan about two months ago.” Adrian nodded. “We knew about his death.” “You know, even if Mr. Greenville knew about his wife’s affair, I do not think he would have cared much. His only pride were his books, you see. Wouldn’t let me or Dargood go into the study to tidy up unless he was watching us. But other than that...” Mina shook her head. “I think he was getting fairly paranoid about those silly books of his. About a month before he passed away, he had them all sent to his friend, the one in Havan I mentioned. And he started commutting down there.” Simone and Adrian glanced at each other, the same idea dawning. The maid had moved away, further down the hall and turned her attention to a dusty statue. The slight smile on her face had turned into a grin. “You don’t suppose he forgot something, did he?” |