 IX. Ourer 7:00 AM “Coffee,” Reine muttered to herself as she stumbled out of the shower. “Why is it that I always wake up at the same exact time every day no matter the amount of time I spend asleep?” Wrapping a towel around herself, she turned on the sink faucet and squirted toothpaste onto her toothbrush and looked up. An old man’s face with lecherous blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She screamed, jumping back against the wall and dropping her toothbrush into the sink. The face disappeared, but she thought she heard a chuckling in the back of her mind. Nervous, she hastily scrubbed her teeth and brushed her hair and tugged on some clothes. From her bed, Tuesday peeked at her before going back to sleep. “My mind is playing tricks on me,” she told the sleeping Tuesday. “Too little sleep will do that to you. It makes you see ghosts and hear weird things. You’ve got it good to be sleeping in.” She stepped out of her room and headed downstairs when she heard commotion coming from the hallway on the second floor. Curious, she sidetracked, and headed to the end of the hall where she found Palwick and Mary knocking on a pair of wooden double doors. “Ira, are you awake?” Mary called out. “Go away. I’m working,” came the muffled voice from the other side of the door. “What’s the matter?” Reine asked. The housekeeper shook her head as Palwick took his turn pounding on the door. “Ira hasn’t been about all day yesterday and she refuses to come out today. What if she’s not working? What if she really needs help?” Something Larrington had said while she had been sitting outside the previous day trickled back into her consciousness. “Maybe she does need help, but she won’t admit it to just anyone.” Reine knocked. “Ira? It’s me, Reine. Is everything all right? Can we help?” “Go away. I’m working.” Reine frowned. “This isn’t like her at all. We should have checked up on her earlier.” “We could try opening the door now,” suggested Mary. “Don’t you have the key, Palwick?” “I do not have the key to her quarters,” Palwick sniffed. “She has the only copy to her room. But I can try pushing the door open. Many of the locks around here are of the old style. If you apply enough force on them, they open automatically.” “Yes, that might work,” agreed the housekeeper. Palwick began hurtling himself into the door, putting force by his shoulder. Each time he crashed into the door, the wood shuddered in a long groan. “Go away. I’m working.” “Ira, we know you need help. We’re coming,” Reine called through the door. “What exactly are you doing? It’s too early in the morning for this noise.” Hadrian had wandered out, still only dressed in his pajamas. His hair was hopelessly tangled. Amanda waddled at his feet and began yapping when his saw Palwick shoving himself on the door. “Ira won’t respond to our queries. She’s just repeating herself,” explained Mary. “Go away. I’m working.” “There’s a much more elegant solution to opening the door than by brute force,” Hadrian said. Palwick stopped and raised a haughty eyebrow. “Oh? And I suppose you have a key?” “No. But I know the next best thing.” Hadrian suddenly shoved a hand into Mary’s hair eliciting a surprised gasp from the housekeeper. He pulled out a bobby pin. Mary’s hair tumbled down in golden disarray. “How dare you…” “I like your hair down better anyway,” Hadrian interrupted. He shouldered his way past Palwick who was getting red in the face. “I didn’t know you could pick locks,” said Reine. “I don’t,” he replied as he stuffed the thin metal into the keyhole. “I’m just applying what I’ve read from mystery novels.” “Oh great. An amateur. I really need a cup of coffee after this. First I see a ghost this morning in my bathroom mirror and now this.” “You saw a ghost?” Mary said suddenly interested. “What did he look like?” “Old. Male. Blue eyes. He looked like a damned peeping tom to me.” “That must be old Phineas Cronan. Ira’s astrologer always says that his ghost is still lurking around. You must be the first person who’ve seen him because I still haven’t.” “If I’m the first person who’ve seen him, I must have been hallucinating.” “Ah hah!” With a triumphant twist, the lock clicked and Hadrian pushed the door open. “Ira?” Reine called out. Amanda, who had been pawing at the door the entire time Hadrian had been working, burst into the room barking wildly. “Go away. I’m working. Go away. I’m working. Go away. I’m working…” Palwick strolled into the room, staring down at the bed stand that had been shoved next to the door. The answering machine was on top, rigged so that it played the same message over and over again. “Go away. I’m working. Go away…” The butler turned the machine off. “If this is an idea of a joke, I’m not amused.” Ira’s room was a combination of bedroom and office. One side was dedicated to a bed, a no nonsense iron-framed cot the size of a king bed, and a whole slew of wardrobes and bureau drawers of dark mahogany. The walls were bare except for two paintings by Georgia O’Keefe. The other side was a large desk surrounded by three identical floor lamps in the shape of giraffes. On the desk was a computer (turned off), a black and white picture of Ira and her deceased husband when they were in their thirties, and three pens—one black, one blue, one red. The bathroom connected to the room was also empty. “She’s gone,” Hadrian said redundantly. The windows in Ira’s room were open though, letting in the cool fall air. Reine walked to the windows and noticed that the windows were also doors, leading out onto a thin balcony. A scrap of torn white cloth tied onto the railing fluttered in the breeze. Reine turned back into the room, seeing everyone else standing around, still shocked. “The room looks undisturbed and that answering machine looks planned. I think Ira just left.” “But who saw her leave?” demanded Hadrian. Mary put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “Do you suppose she was kidnapped?” “Quite possible,” Palwick agreed. “I’m going downstairs to call the police. We shouldn’t touch anything in here in case they want to examine the room for evidence.” They filed out and the butler closed the door behind them. “What are we going to tell the others?” Mary wanted to know. “They’ll find out soon enough when the police arrive,” said Hadrian. He handed the bobby pin back to Mary. “It’s bent out of shape!” “I’ll get some to replace it then.” © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |