I was startled awake by a heavy creaking sound, as if someone were sneaking into my room.
I lay very still, listening, wondering if I should roll off the bed and hide underneath it. At times like this, I missed having Derek around, but mostly I missed the
very large semiautomatic weapon that he always carried with him.
Frozen in place, I scanned as much of the room as I could without lifting my head from the pillow. Light from the full moon streamed through the bay window, casting shadows on the walls and throwing parts of the room into complete darkness.
One thin shaft of light bounced off the glass-topped table by the love seat, illuminating the ceiling panels above.
One of them was swaying.
Oh, God.
I rolled off the bed, certain that the ceiling was about to fall down on top of me. Slipping to the carpeted floor, I curled into a protective ball and waited. And listened. And shivered in dread.
When the noise wasn’t repeated after several tense minutes, I decided I was being ridiculous and climbed back into bed. I tried to fall back asleep but couldn’t. With my mind racing, I finally gave up trying. Instead, I sat up and turned on the light and glanced around. Sure enough, my room was not being invaded and the panel’s swaying had stopped. I spotted Grace’s manuscript on my nightstand and reached for it.
I was surprised by how quickly I got caught up in the story. Grace’s main character, Greta, was a lonely child who spent most of her time inside her own imagination. She loved cards and magic, loved making up stories and games. She created her first original card game when she was seven years old.
Grace was obviously describing herself, except that Greta was an only child, while Grace had grown up with a brother and a sister. I figured she’d made Greta an only child to add more drama to the manuscript.
I was halfway through the fourth chapter when I finally drifted off to sleep, but it wasn’t a relaxed sleep and the next morning I awoke feeling tired and a little groggy. I must have been too discombobulated by all the strange things that had happened yesterday, because I usually slept like the dead, even away from home.
I could blame my tossing and turning on that Euro wench Thomasina, of course. I was so ready to jump on a plane and fly six thousand miles just to experience the joy of smacking her upside the head. But in the light of a new day the effect of her behavior on me had faded, and I knew she had little to do with why I’d slept so fitfully.
I was literally surrounded by four walls and a ceiling filled with thousands of books. My mother had recently delved into feng shui and now insisted that if I slept near bookshelves, all those printed conversations in the books would keep me awake nights. How could you sleep with all those characters talking at once?
Yes, my mom could be a little wacko sometimes, but now I was beginning to wonder if some of her theories were true.
I climbed out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to wash my face. That’s when I remembered there were worse things than being tired and grumpy in the morning. There was the whole puffy-face thing, too. I splashed lots of cold water on my face but knew it was hopeless. The other house guests would take one look at me and think I’d either been crying in my sleep (not likely) or I was coming down with a cold (no way!). Whatever the reason, it wasn’t pretty.
I threw on my sweats and made my way down the hall, where I ran into Merrilee plugging in the vacuum cleaner.
“Good morning,” she said in the cheeriest voice I’d heard since Beaver Cleaver’s mom greeted Eddie Haskell.
“Hi, Merrilee.” My own voice sounded more like a bullfrog’s. “I guess I overslept a little. Am I too late for breakfast?”
“Never,” she said with a smile. She gave me directions to Grace’s less formal family dining room located on the first floor off the back hall and outside the main kitchen.
I found the room easily, thank goodness. I didn’t ever want to miss another meal again. A breakfast buffet had
been set up and I approached it eagerly, then reconsidered when I saw Madge and Harrison Crawford sharing the table with Peter and Sybil Brinker.
I thought about grabbing a protein bar and hustling out of there to avoid conversation, but the aroma of fresh hot coffee and doughnuts grabbed me and I was stuck. I didn’t know where this recent doughnut fetish had come from, but I wasn’t about to question it as I headed straight for the stacks of buttermilk and jelly doughnuts and fluffy crullers that sat on a large warming tray. There were pastries, too. Bear claws, cheese Danish, apple fritters. I was in doughy, greasy, sugary doughnut heaven. I poured myself a cup of coffee, then grabbed a buttermilk doughnut and a chunky, sticky apple fritter.
“Oh, my God. They’re actually warm,” I said, my voice trembling in anticipation.
As an afterthought, I added a spoonful of scrambled eggs to my plate. A girl needed some protein every day.
I greeted everyone as I sat down, but didn’t add much to the conversation. Instead, I listened as Madge complained about her lack of sleep.
“What was all that pounding?” Madge demanded. “It kept me awake all night. Did you hear it?”
Sybil frowned. “No, but we’re up on the third floor. I slept like a baby.”
“Oh, fine,” Madge groused. “Figures Grace would stick us on the noisiest floor. You know she did it on purpose.”
“Now, Madge, honey,” Harrison began.
Madge smacked his arm and repeated through clenched teeth, “She did that on purpose, Harry. She’s trying to get me to leave, and I’m warning you, it’s working. If this keeps up, I’m driving straight to a hotel in Tahoe and staying there for the rest of the week. I don’t care how much money she’s promised you. It’s not worth it.”
Yikes.
Cue the awkward silence. Peter and Sybil exchanged
uneasy glances. I didn’t dare make eye contact with any of them, for fear that my absolute disgust for the woman would be clear for all to see.
“Now, Madge,” Harrison said calmly, “let’s not get carried away. I’m sure the construction was a one-night thing. I’ll speak to Grace.”
“Construction, my ass,” she muttered.
Was she really so thickheaded that she didn’t think her comments about money would annoy her husband? Maybe she was born with no filters between her brain and her mouth. Whatever her problem, I really disliked the woman. It didn’t help that in the morning light her stretched neck and facial muscles and overly moisturized skin made her look like a shiny skeleton.
Note to self: rethink the whole face-lift issue.
Of course, I had never considered getting one, but now I knew why.
“Grace still likes to experiment with new games,” Peter explained. “She’s always been an insomniac, so I guess she’s been working at night lately. Can’t wait to see what she comes up with.”
Madge just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all about her insomnia.”
Then why couldn’t she have more compassion for her sister-in-law if she knew she was an insomniac? Clearly they weren’t close, but still. The woman was a real jerk.
Peter’s explanation fit in with Vinnie’s stories of how Grace was always looking for new ways to delight—or
deceive
, as Vinnie put it—her guests with new games and tricks. Suzie had told me that Grace often walked around the house, staring at the walls or gazing at the ceiling, and she was never without her tablet computer, on which she made notes about her latest ideas.
“Such an odd creature,” Sybil murmured.
“Yes. Isn’t she?” Harrison said, but his tone was cheerful. He caught me watching him and winked. I had to admit I liked him even more today.
Madge saw the wink and scowled. Pushing her chair
back from the table, she stood. “I’m going for a walk in the woods.”
Harrison stared at his half-eaten plate of food, then sighed and stood. “I’ll go with you, my dear.”
“Don’t bother,” Madge said sharply.
He laughed and turned to the rest of us. “She’s kidding.”
Madge grumbled something under her breath, then stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Barely a second later, Merrilee opened the door and walked in, looking a little dazed. Clearly, Madge had shoved the door closed rather than keep it open for the housekeeper.
Madge was so offensive! In that moment, I wanted to track her down and slap her.
Despite the affront, Merrilee flashed me another bright smile. “I see you found our buffet.”
“Yes, and your homemade doughnuts,” I said. “Thank you.”
Sybil stood, ignoring me as she walked out of the room.
“We’re off to explore the conservatory,” Peter said, as he pushed away from the table.
“Enjoy,” I said, but wondered how he could enjoy anything, being married to that woman. I felt the same way about Harrison. How odd to be in the company of two such genial, successful men who were both married to horrid wives. I suppose there was a lesson in there somewhere, but I couldn’t begin to figure it out.
I was about to take the last bite of my buttermilk doughnut when I remembered last night’s tarot card reading and Vinnie’s dire warning that Sybil could be in danger and should be watched. Should I follow them? I stared at my doughnut and reasoned that since Sybil would be in the company of her husband, who appeared stalwart enough to protect his wife, I would leave them alone. So after gulping down the last of my coffee I escaped back to my own room.
Still feeling a little groggy from the lack of sleep, I took a long shower in the hope that it would revive me. It worked to some extent, and as I dried my hair and dressed for the day in black jeans, ankle boots, and a red turtleneck sweater, I considered my next move. I could always track down Vinnie and Suzie and see what they were up to. I also had big plans to get a massage, but that could wait until tomorrow. And I wanted to go to the library and see what progress Nathan was making on the book cataloging.
That reminded me of my promise to hunt down any wayward books and return them to the safety of the library.
I decided to start with my own room.
“A daunting task,” I muttered as I glanced at all the books. But I could at least skim the shelves for anything of real value that might be better off and safer in the confines of the library. Plus I was anxious to check out those cool ceiling racks.
“Cool in the light of day, that is,” I said aloud, reminding myself that I’d been scared boneless last night when I thought they were going to suffocate me.
Twenty minutes later I’d found six books on the shelves that I deemed too valuable to remain outside the library. I set them on the coffee table in front of the couch, then grabbed the remote control that operated the shelving up near the ceiling. I felt some trepidation after my first experience with the moving shelves and also because Vinnie had planted the seeds of suffocation in my susceptible little brain. But I forged ahead and pushed the power button, then pressed the button marked Number One on the panel.
I watched the shelf descend and marveled at this genius setup. I still wasn’t sure why Grace had gone to all this trouble. Maybe she simply enjoyed a new challenge. Maybe one day she looked up and said,
Hmm, I’ll build an elaborate yet nonsensical bookshelf on the ceiling. Why not?
I could see her with her computer notepad, sketching out a fancy design with her stylus. She liked pretty things, so the shape would have to be attractive and swirly. The wood itself looked expensive and intricately sculpted, and the pattern of fluttering petals sweeping across the ceiling like a surrealistic flower had probably appealed to her sense of whimsy. I would have to ask her where the idea had come from. In the meantime, it was a mystery, but a fun one.
As soon as the shelf was lowered to my waist level, I pressed Lock on the remote control. Venturing closer, I studied the books stored inside the sturdy boxlike shelf.
“Ah,” I whispered, charmed by the set of twelve
Little House
books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I pulled one out at random to examine its condition.
Little House in the Big Woods
. The dust jacket was still in good repair with no tearing, although there were some light stains. Stains weren’t unusual when it came to the covers of children’s books.
I opened the book to check the copyright page. It stated that the book was a first edition, followed by the letters
F—B.
I’d seen this type of code before in small-press books. The first letter,
F
, indicated the month the book was printed and the second letter,
B
, indicated the year. So if January was represented by
A
, a book with
F
would have been printed in June.
Figuring out the year was trickier, since it was anyone’s guess what year represented the letter
A
. But judging by the book itself, the style of the drawings, and the font used for the titles, I would have guessed it was printed during the 1930s or ’40s. And if that was accurate, then the book was in excellent condition. I checked the other titles and they all appeared to be in good to excellent condition, as well.
What a delightful little find. I wondered if the rest of the shelves hanging from the ceiling held complete collections. Only one way to find out. I pressed Ascend on
the remote and sent the Laura Ingalls Wilder collection back up to its place just beneath the ceiling, then pressed Lock.
This was kind of fun. I found the button for the second shelf and hit Descend, lowering the next shelf.
The books here were more of an eclectic blend, with a few old, well-read copies of
Tom Sawyer
and
Huckleberry Finn
, some mismatched Earnest Hemingways, and a number of philosophy tomes that had been nicely bound in matching black leather with red-and-gold gilding on the spines. The bindings had been commissioned by a book club, so while they were pretty, they weren’t exceptionally rare or valuable.
I sent that shelf back up, then lowered the third shelf. It had reached eye level when a huge black creature flung itself at me.
“Eeeeek!” I screamed, and covered my face with my hands. “Oh, dear God.”
What was that? I didn’t want to know. I curled up and shuddered in fear that it would attack again.