 CHAPTER 5 (section 4) copyright © 2001, S. Y. Affolee The road heading north toward Havan passed through some gently sloping countryside before delving head first into more chaotic terrain that was peppered with pine trees and stark hilly bedrock that had been cut away to make way for the road. There was hardly anyone else on the road, so Simone stepped on the gas pedal, zooming through several unnotable exits. “Now look who’s driving fast,” Adrian remarked. He was staring at a copy of the map of Havan. “I may be driving fast, but I don’t drive like you.” “How wounding.” “Ha.” She signalled to get on the right lane. The exit for Havan was coming up. Havan was a quiet, rural town, the buildings all spaced widely apart as if the architects wanted to leave plenty of room for improvement. Downtown looked like it had been completely transported from the early nineteen-twenties. A small family owned grocery story stood on the corner. There was a quaintly decorated boutique that proclaimed its wares next door. There was “Mabel’s Cafe”, a small dinner that seemed to be getting a steady stream of cutomers in the late afternoon. The street lamps were iron-laced cups atop an equally and intricately decorated pole. The street was cobblestone which caused the ride to be a little more than bumpy. There was even a barber shop with the swirling red, white, and blue pole that was its becon. A bit past downtown, trees began popping up along the roadside as residential areas merged into the main street. The trees were small at first, more like bushes really, until a few blocks away, there were full grown trees that towered several stories above the houses, sort of like giant sentinels that watched for any detriment for small town life. The houses were all pre-fifties style. They weren’t cookie cutter, but there was a distinct Art Deco or post-Victorian feel about the houses. They were done in more somber colors, aging property that was content to wither away the years, each house, a plodding reminder of a simpler and possibly more puritanical times. Adrian gave the directions, telling Simone to turn right or left. But all of it began to blur into Simone’s mind and she automatically drove according to his voice. She wondered belatedly if she should have kept track of the streets so that when they were done with the visit, they would easily drive out of the tangled maze and get back home before it was too late. Finally, she stopped at the curb in front of an innocuous Art Deco style house that blended in with the rest of the white trimmed marroon houses on the rest of the street. There was a small front yard dominated by a fastidious and thick diametered oak. The windows of the house peeked shyly from behind the vegetated sentinal’s curtain of distinct leaves. From either side of the house, there was evidence of a much more vast back yard. Adrian ended up pressing the doorbell. They stared at an unmarked door that was graced with a shiny brass door knocker. The bell echoed in electric buzzes from the inside. Despite the ponderous surroundings, this house was nothing like Greenville’s previous house when he was supposedly still alive. The door was opened by a dour woman whose stocky figure drooped in her unrevealing gray dress. Gray brown hair was restricted in a severe bun. She watched the two visitors with disinterest. “Yes?” she said. “We’re here to see Marcus Thomson,” Simone replied. “What for?” “We had an appointment with him. Dubois and Sung. We’re here for some consulting...” “This way,” the housekeeper interrupted curtly. She turned around and motioned them inside before closing the door. “Mr. Thomson has been expecting you.” She plodded down an unfurnished hallway in a faint limp and indicated a room that stood near the back of the house. The housekeeper knocked. “Mr. Thomson?” “What is it, Mrs. Kinsey?” “The investigators are here to see you.” “Send them in then.” They entered a cluttered little room that bore a faint resemblance to Greenville’s former grand study. There were shelves lined on every wall and stacked to the brim with books. A single desk sat at the center, stacked head high with loose sheets of paper typed with notes, footnotes, and research. Some of the books and papers had spilled out onto the floor of the study. Greenville sat among the mess, grumbling at the current paper that he was reading. Simone crossed her arms, regarding the room with a mixture of awe and disgust. “Should we address you as Mr. Greenville or Mr. Thomson?” “Thomson,” Greenville muttered as he flipped a paper. “It doesn’t do to bring up someone who is supposedly dead, isn’t it?” He finally looked up and adjusted his glasses as he peered up at them. “Well, it was about time you two got here. There’s a lot to do.” Adrian raised his eyebrows. “To do?” “Yes, yes.” Greenville, now Thomson, got up from his seat and strode past them to open the door. “Mrs. Kinsey? Could you bring in some resfreshment for our guests?” There was some indistinct grumbling on the other side of the door, but Thomson seemed satisfied and rubbed his hands as he began to pace the room. “Yes. A lot to do. In fact, so much so that I don’t really know where to begin. The book dealer I hired before was small change compared to what I have found out since then.” He stopped for a moment and rubbed his chin. “Well, it would be a nice addition if he did turn up with the book in tow...” He shrugged and resumed pacing, “But it doesn’t matter since it isn’t likely that he will show up. There’s much more important fish to fry, so to speak.” At that moment, the housekeeper with her permanent scowl entered the library with a tray of tea and sandwiches. She managed to clear a small space on the desk without actually touching anything to place the food there. “Anything else, Mr. Thomson?” “No, no. That’s perfect.” She shuffled back outside, her limp making a distinct thumping sound on the wooden floor. Thomson hurried over to lock the door. He rubbed his hands. “Well then, everything’s set. All we need is a sound proof room.” He walked over the back wall and pulled out a book. The shelf moved slightly revealing a dark space. There were steps leading directly downward. The older man picked up the tray and nodded toward the opening. “Watch your step. I haven’t installed lights on this thing yet.” “Why am I not surprised?” Adrian asked rhetorically. Simone just sighed. |