 XIX. Salla 12:00 AM No one had been in the mood for games. There were already too many dangerous games floating about already. Predictably, Vicker and Esther retired early, both of them subtly avoiding Marcus or Reine whenever they were close by. Larrington said he had something to see to in the library. Diana pleaded a headache and also went back upstairs. Xanthia was apparently still incapacitated. She had surfaced to consciousness a few times, enough to be fed, but had lapsed back into a fever-induced sleep. Everyone else had stayed in the living room with the eerie trophy heads, brooding and thinking about past events. Marcus and Reine, though, kept quiet about the incident on the balcony to everyone except Hadrian. Earlier in the day, they had tramped outside to the section of the building where the bedrooms faced the lake. There were a few bushes below the window and would have provided very little cushioning if Reine had fallen. The railing was a mangled mess on the ground. After an hour of examination, the railing looked as if it had given over to the pressures of gravity because the stress points had worn away. But it was difficult to tell, given the railing’s condition, whether it was just a natural accident or whether it had been tampered with. “I don’t understand it,” said Tabora as she sipped more of the red wine, hoping that it would soon make her drowsy. “Why do my things keep disappearing?” That afternoon, she had discovered yet another piece of her jewelry had vanished. “You’re probably misplacing them, dear,” her husband consoled her. “It happens to everyone.” “You mean getting senile?” she smiled. “Long past due considering our ages.” “Senility would imply that you’re already too far gone to notice anything,” said Mary as she poured more wine into the emptying wine glasses. “You’re still as sharp as a tack as far as I’m concerned. You actually noticed that your things were missing in the first place.” “True, true.” “What if,” said Hadrian slowly, “they were stolen?” “Stolen? What do you mean?” said Tabora. “Somebody stole them. You didn’t just misplace your jewelry or even lose them. Somebody took them.” “I should think that if a thief came by, we would have noticed it,” Tabora replied, unconcerned. “But Ira didn’t install an alarm system,” said Mary. “So a thief could have theoretically broken in without our knowledge. You’re not in your room all the time so you couldn’t have known who has been in your room while you were away. In fact, if Ira had been kidnapped, the kidnapper might have also taken something from your room. You are on the same floor.” The Baron steepled his fingers. “But what if you say is true, then you have as much opportunity to have stolen Tabora’s belongings. “Me?” the housekeeper squeeked. “Of course,” the Baron continued. “You have access to all of our rooms. You come in daily to put in fresh sheets and to replenish supplies to the bathroom if needed. Why not you?” Mary frowned. “But I would never do that.” “Come on Stephan, you know the poor girl wouldn’t do it,” Tabora said, her words getting more slurred. “Ira would never hire thieves. And besides, she’s the one who came up with the idea. Do you think a thief would want to draw attention to themselves like that?” “I don’t know, Tabora. What if she drew attention to herself to actually make herself an unlikely suspect even though she did steal things?” “Silly hypotheticals,” the Baronness declared. “What if you were the one stealing all my jewelry, hm?” Her husband leaned back. “Also highly improbable, but an interesting scenario. Why on earth would I steal my wife’s jewelry?” “To pawn them off to get money for the failing company.” “If you can recall, I handed off the company to our son a long time ago.” “Yes, but you wouldn’t have any qualms about helping out a relative in need, would you?” “No,” he admitted, “but still highly improbable. Last I heard, the company was doing quite well.” Reine saw a flicker of something dark entering the den. She deliberately set down her wineglass. “Well, I’m not feeling terribly well.” “Are you all right?” Mary asked worried. “I could get something from the medicine cabinet.” Marcus shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend mixing pain killers with alcohol.” The housekeeper nodded. “You’re right. Perhaps you should go to bed.” “Yes, perhaps,” she said getting up. “Let me help you,” said Marcus. She shook her head as she edged out. “I insist.” His hand closed around her elbow. “Very well.” “Who else has access to the rooms?” said the Baron as the rest of the group in the living room, the Baron, the Baronness, Hadrian, and Mary, paid no more attention to the people leaving them. “There’s Palwick,” said Mary, “But I don’t think he’s a likely thief. He has pretty high moral standards.” “But in mystery novels, it is always the butler who did it,” said Tabora. “Sure,” said Hadrian, “But in Ira’s novels it never happened that way.” “Well, I guess you’re right. So who was the villain in her last novel? The clown from the nearby circus?” “Something like that.” Reine raised a finger to her lips indicating to Marcus to stay quiet. She edged to the opening to the den and peeked around the corner. The room was dimly lit, but she could see that someone was hunched over the mysterious chessboard with a hand to his chin, pondering his next move. Finally he lifted his hand and placed his fingers to the tip of the black bishop and moved it. She turned back to Marcus who frowned when she quickly motioned towards the foyer. “What did you see?” he demanded as they mounted the stairs. “Palwick. He’s one of the players of that chess game.” “Which side?” “Black.” “But he didn’t start the game then,” he mused. “Perhaps he was drawn to the white pawn that was mysteriously moved in the first place. I wonder if he knows who he is playing.” “Probably,” said Reine. “He and his accomplice are probably enjoying the joke they’re playing on us, driving us crazy trying to figure out who’s mysteriously moving the chess pieces.” “Would he tell us who his opponent is if we asked him?” She shrugged. “Maybe.” “Well, at least I feel a bit better since we know the identity of one of the players,” said Marcus. “That chess game was getting a bit eerie for me.” “But then what if he doesn’t know who he’s playing? What if he’s just playing because of curiosity? I know everyone says that they don’t want to play an opponent who doesn’t show his face, but I bet some people would find it exciting to play an unknown variable.” “I see your point.” “Mrowr.” Reine blinked, looking down at her feet as they reached the third floor landing. Tuesday was sitting on his haunches looking pleased with himself. Between his paws was a pair of lacy green panties. “Tuesday!” “Mrowr,” Tuesday repeated. He daintily swished his tail waiting. Marcus automatically scooped up the underwear as a blush crept across her cheeks. “Yours?” “Give me that!” He grinned. “No. I’m keeping this as a souvenir.” He stuffed it into his pocket. “You don’t have a headache at all, do you? You were just lying to our friends down there.” “Marcus, give it back.” She held out her hand expecting to be obeyed. Instead, he took her hand and drew her closer to him. “Invite me in,” he whispered in her ear. “That’s highly improper.” “Considering yesterday, I don’t think there’s anything that you really would consider improper.” She glared at him. “You’re going to be punished for this.” He chuckled. “And I don’t mean it in a good way.” She pulled her hand out of his and traversed the hallway with Tuesday and Marcus close at her heels. “When I’m through with you, you’re going to wish belts never existed.” She turned the knob to her bedroom. Tuesday was the first one to peer inside. Immediately, the hair on his back stood up and he hissed loudly. “What is it, Tuesday?” “Reine, back!” Marcus loped his arm around her waist and pulled her away as the door slammed the rest of the way open. In the doorway, the astrologer stood like an avenging demoness. Without her turban, Xanthia’s dark hair, streaked with white, flowed around her like foam. Her dark blue dressing gown that her cousin Diana had previously helped put on her while she was unconscious billowed like a storm cloud. Her face was pale. White. And her eyes glittered eerily as they fixed themselves on Reine. “Where is it?” she demanded. “Where is what?” said Reine. Tuesday hissed and darted past her heels as she attempted to kick the cat. “The stones, you stupid woman.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I want them. They’re the answer to everything, but you don’t see that do you?” the astrologer sneered. “You’re too wrapped up in that trash you consider scientific.” “Well, science makes a whole lot more sense than your mumbo jumbo,” Reine retorted. “Why on earth are you in my room anyway? And how did you get in there?” “Have you ever heard of picking locks?” Xanthia said haughtily. “Obviously not. I need those stones. The spirits have been trying to contact me for the past few days.” “But I thought you were an astrologer and not a medium,” said Marcus. “Yes, but one has to be flexible these days. I am a woman of many talents,” she said arrogantly. A door nearby slammed. “Will you stop that yelling?” said Diana. “I have a horrible headache and I’m trying to get to sleep.” The older woman looked up at the little scene in front of Reine’s bedroom. “Xanthia! What on earth are you doing up? Get back in bed or you’ll stall your chance in recovery.” “I am feeling as fit as an ox,” the astrologer declared. “I am an adult and you can’t tell me what to do, Diana. Go back to your room and read your silly mystery books. I, for one, am more concerned about the real world.” “She wants to use my seeing stones to contact the spirit world,” Reine said dryly. “Good God, Xanthia, are you out of your mind?” said Diana. “It’s one thing arguing with me, but I’ve had it up to here, and this, this accosting other people. You really need to seek help.” “No,” protested Xanthia. “I do not need to seek help. It is you.” But when she took a breath to continue her tirade, her eyes rolled up into her head and she dropped to the floor in a faint. Her cousin rushed to her side. After touching her forehead, she declared, “It was a fever-induced delirium, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry about this.” Reine shook her head. “I know she’s not quite well. Here, we’ll help you take her back to bed.” © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |