main | index XX. Rana 6:00 PM She stalked across the den, occasionally jerking her head up to look out the window. The sky was dark gray and it was snowing. The trees were slowly getting bleached by accumulating snowflakes, but the lake was a deadly calm. She suddenly stopped and stared out onto the water to the island as if it was the source of all her problems. Marcus had shown her the compass that he had found back in the catacombs. It was an odd shiny disk with strange symbols on it, symbols that she had speculated had its origins in the Free Masonic cult that had once flourished in the area when the original owner of the mansion, Phineas Cronan, had lived there. The arrow had not been pointing north. Indeed, it spun in different directions depending on where you stepped. The arrow was not in the least magnetic as they had found out when they tested it using a refrigerator magnet that they had swiped from the kitchen. Through whimsy, she had taken out her seeing stones and had taken a reading to see if she could make sense of the artifact that he had found. But the black, blue, and white stones that she had drawn told her nothing. Instead, she had a sinking gut feeling as if she was missing something terribly important, something that happened to be right in front of her nose. “We’re like amateur occultists,” she had told him, not a little bit frustrated. “We play at these tools, thinking that it will give us the answer when they are nothing but that, tools. We can’t see anything because we don’t have a gift for making obscure connections. At least I’m too blocked to see anything. Even through touching these stones and seeing that odd compass, I can see them only as trinkets. I’m still very logically thinking at the heart of this.” “These are nothing but parlor tricks,” he agreed. “But I don’t think at the heart of it that we are that logical. I mean, think of the history of humanity. We came up with religion to explain things that seemed fantastical. People didn’t like to think of coincidences as mere coincidences. Something was behind them all, just as we think that everything here has been orchestrated by something or someone.” “Of course,” she had replied irritably. “Think of Ira’s disappearance. She wouldn’t have left out of her own free will without informing us, would she?” “No, of course not. But maybe we’re not blocked by logical thinking. What if we’re blocked by our superstitious thinking?” “What do you mean?” “What if we don’t think that these trinkets don’t work because there is some greater power behind everything else, so much so that maybe it’s suppressing the answers that these clues might give us?” “Are you serious? You sound like, heck, I don’t know how you sound like except that you’re getting perilously close to the incomprehensibility of Xanthia’s delirium.” “Or maybe you’re in denial.” But he had been smiling. Reine paced a few more times, thinking that she should maybe stop running around in circles and instead forget all of it by vegetating in front of the television when she became aware that she was not the only one in the room. She looked up and saw Palwick armed with cleaning supplies, a duster, a spray can of cleaner, and a rag to wipe of any other dirt. “Good evening, Ms. Lee.” “Hello,” she said nodding her head. Her eyes immediately glanced at the chessboard. Palwick had moved, but then the white pieces had also moved, presumably between the time Palwick had been in the den the night before and now. She briefly wondered if Palwick was actually playing himself. “It’s certainly getting colder at this time of year, isn’t it?” She glanced out the window at the whitening landscape. “Yes, it is. Do you play chess, Palwick?” “I know of the game.” “I noticed that the white player has moved. What would you do with the black pieces?” He set down the feather duster with an audible click. “Are you interrogating me?” “I might be.” She walked toward the chessboard and looked at the current layout. “I saw you last night moving the pieces.” He stiffened. “I beg your pardon.” “No need to. Beg my pardon, I mean. I saw you move them. I’m not blind. Why didn’t you say anything about being one of the players in this game? Everyone would have found it fascinating. Instead, it’s actually kind of spooky with chess pieces moving by themselves.” “I never said anything because nobody asked me,” he sniffed. “I’m just the butler, after all.” “But you must have heard the comment that in mysteries, it’s usually the butler who did it.” “If you’re implying that I kidnapped Mrs. Reece…” “I’m not implying anything. I’m just curious about the chess game, that’s all. So who’s playing the other side?” “I have no idea,” he replied. “I just saw the pawn moved and I thought someone might find it lively to see who took up the game so I did. It was purely out of curiosity. I assumed the other player might have been your friends, Mr. Block or Mr. Drenth, or maybe even the Baron since the three of them seem to be avid chess players. I wouldn’t doubt that any of them would loudly deny that they were playing the game just to amuse themselves.” Reine carefully examined his face and decided that he was not lying. “Well, I’ve known my friends for a while. They wouldn’t lie about something so trivial.” “Ha. Then you know nothing about men, Ms. Lee. Most will say anything to remain in the good graces of others or more importantly to their advantage.” Reine frowned but said nothing as Marcus entered the den with a book in one hand. The butler swiftly turned back to his feather dusting duties. “I found something.” “Apparently,” said Reine. “What is it?” “A book on Free Masonic symbols,” he replied. “Look, these look rather familiar, don’t they?” She peered at the open pages in his hand. “Yes. That one there, it means north. So that disk you found, it is a compass.” “So it is,” he said nodding. “Quite disappointing really. I had my hopes up that it might be something more interesting. I remembered that alchemists in the Middle Ages also had some similar symbols that usually stood for chemical compounds. These same symbols also stood for occult things that were related to these chemical compounds such as angelic and demonic beings, the planets, certain types of personalities, and other sorts of magical properties.” “I didn’t know you were so well versed in the occult, Marcus.” “I’m not,” he scowled. “It just comes from editing the odd book now and again.” “Palwick!” Hadrian appeared at the entranceway with a laptop under his arm. Amanda the bulldog was not far behind. Seeing one of the settees, he lumbered to it and climbed up to the cushion for a small nap. “Mary said that you knew where the phone jacks were.” The butler slowly turned, giving the mystery editor a disapproving stare. “Yes, I know where the phone ports are. There’s one in here against the wall near that phone. You should be able to find one in your room.” “I went through my room in meticulous detail. No phone. No phone jacks. I think that bedroom was entirely meant for smoking and nothing else. I wouldn’t be surprised anyway.” He sat down on the chair the closest to the small table that held a lacquered old style spin dial phone. He unplugged it and jammed in his own modem connection. “I’m assuming that the connection here is going to be extremely slow,” he announced. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere anyway.” “Are you working?” said Reine. “It doesn’t seem like you.” Hadrian’s laptop beeped as he turned it on. “I’m checking my correspondence, thank you very much. Besides, who said that you can’t work during your vacation?” “Nobody said that you can’t work during a vacation,” she said, “I’m just surprised that you are.” “Well, you’re sorely mistaken then. Hm.” He stared intently at the screen. “Ira sent an e-mail.” “What?” she said surprised. Reine and Marcus immediately went over to Hadrian and stood over his shoulder to also look at the screen. “Ira sent an e-mail?” said the butler, stopping his cleaning activities. “What does she say? Is she all right? Should I call the police and tell them to call off the search?” “The e-mail is dated yesterday,” said Hadrian. “And it’s been e-mailed to me, Reine, and Marcus only. I wonder what she has to say.” He clicked on the message that said “On Vacation” from Ira Reece. Hello Darlings, I hope you three have been having a fabulous time relaxing for the week. Mary’s an absolutely wonderful cook and the scenery is gorgeous, especially during the fall. I hope you’ve had the chance to visit those ruins a little ways away on the trail and that the Baron took all of you camping on the island. I know I’ve been jaded to all those things since I have lived there for so many years, but I thought all of you needed some rest and relaxation after the hectic pace of your jobs in New York. I’m sorry I did not give any of you advance notice about my rather hasty departure, but I just want you to be aware that I’m safe and having the time of my life down here in warm and sunny Cancun. Everyone here is so friendly and I’ve gathered so much more new material for my next book. When I’m not out having fun, I’m so busy writing that I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath and to let you know how I’m doing. But I do have another reason for writing. The police in Monadnock know I’m here so you don’t have to waste your time calling them to inform them I’m safe. They know all about my situation. But I know you have to remain in the house, at least until the police call you to tell you it’s all right to go back home after they’ve finished the “investigation” in two days. But the house isn’t safe at all. Be careful dears, the old house has many tricks up its sleeves if you’re not vigilant. Love, Ira P.S. Hadrian, I trust you to take care of Amanda. I’ve been meaning to give him to you since I will not be returning to Monadnock. Marcus, I’ve left my latest manuscript in the vault in my room. It’s not a mystery so I thought to pitch it to you first. The combination is six-four-oh-two. And Reine, I just remembered where I lost the twenty-fifth seeing stone. It’s in the library somewhere. “That’s it?” said Marcus. “Damn. Ira’s switching over to literary fiction. They’re all doing that these days. Well, there’s also an attachment,” Hadrian replied. “Let’s see what it is.” “Do you suppose Ira also sent me a message?” asked the butler wistfully. Reine looked up from Hadrian’s laptop sharply. “Do you have an e-mail address?” The butler’s face turned arrogant again. “Of course not. Why would I have an e-mail address when the regular one works just fine?” “Ah, well, too bad then. If Ira wrote you a letter, it’ll arrive much later.” “Should I phone the police to let them know that Ira is well?” “She says that they already know.” “Well, that’s good to know,” said the butler. She glanced back down at the laptop. Hadrian had opened the attachment in the photo editor. It was a picture of Ira in a summery blue dress with flowers in her white hair. She was smiling and had her arms around two young men, both shirtless, tanned, well-built, and with long dark flowing hair. “Lucky Ira,” murmured Reine. “She’s hit it big, all right,” agreed Hadrian. “You don’t suppose they’re gigolos?” Marcus said neutrally. Reine jabbed him in the ribs. “Feeling inadequate?” “I doubt they’re willing to be tied up.” “Tied up?” said Hadrian, clueless to the mischievous looks Reine and Marcus were exchanging over his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know. Ira’s pretty kinky in her books if you’ve bothered to notice. With the right amount of money, I’m sure these guys would be willing to be tied up.” “So you think Ira was tied up and kidnapped to wherever she is now?” said the butler, worried again. “I don’t think so,” said Hadrian, turning his laptop around. “Take a look for yourself.” Palwick’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Ira’s picture with her two male friends. “She never said anything about going on a vacation to me.” “Apparently, it was a spur of the moment thing.” Hadrian turned the laptop back around and closed that particular e-mail. “Well, let’s see. Hm. Some more spam. Nope, I don’t need help with my mortgage or my personal problems. What’s this? Who’s Bubba Leslie McLean? Well, it says ‘Manuscript’ as the header so I suppose it’s an unsolicited manuscript.” “Don’t you keep filters up for your inbox?” said Reine. “It also helps if you keep your e-mail address private.” “Nothing is private these days.” Hadrian clicked on the message. “Geez. This must be another piece of spam.” “What does it say?” asked Marcus. “It only says, ‘Keep away from her.’ It doesn’t make sense.” Reine gave a nervous cough. “Um. I might be able to explain.” “Please do.” “The guy who owns the hardware store in town. His name is Bubba.” “Yeah? And why would he know me? And how did he get my e-mail address?” “Well, as to getting your e-mail address, I have no idea, but it was probably fairly easy since you said you didn’t keep it private. When Mary and I went to town to get the groceries, he, uh, attempted to hit on Mary.” “I see.” Hadrian frowned. “I guess I’ll just have to ignore some scrawny redneck the rest of the time I’m here, huh?” “He isn’t scrawny. He was tall,” Reine replied holding her hand up above her head to demonstrate Bubba’s relative height. “And very bulky. Sort of like a football player if you go for that type.” “You mean he’ll crush me to smithereens, right?” said Hadrian getting a bit concerned. She shrugged. “Nah. He’s a little slow, you know. A marble short of a whole set if you get my drift. I got him away from Mary before he did anything.” Unconsciously she rubbed her knuckles. Marcus regarded her wearily. “Remind me never to get you mad.” © 2002, S. Y. Affolee