“Neek,” Aurora purred. “What do you think I am going to do to you? Your wife is dancing right behind you, eh?”
“Precisely,” Nick answered sotto voce. “She’s right behind me and she tends to get jealous because I get hit on by women… erm, kinda often.”
Aurora cast a questioning glance over Nick’s shoulder at Stella, who was, indeed, dancing right behind them. It was also apparent that Stella had heard everything her husband had to say, for she answered Aurora’s silent question with an exasperated look before rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
As the storm that had threatened Vue Colline finally descended upon the hillside property, Aurora stifled her laughter and led Nick into a sideways trot.
“Do you think the tents will be okay?” Meagan fretted as the wind howled and the wind-driven rain splattered violently against the French doors.
“Of course,” Morehouse reassured before dipping Meagan backward. “We had everything reinforced, didn’t we?”
Meagan nodded and stood upright. “Mr. Tuttle made sure the tent company added extra stakes and ties.”
“And you did a final inspection to ensure that everyone closed down the sides of their tents before leaving for the day?”
Again, Meagan nodded.
“Then we should have nothing to worry about, darling,” Morehouse proclaimed. “We’ll just go out earlier than we planned in the morning to see how everything survive –”
Morehouse’s words were interrupted by a loud clap of thunder followed by a familiar pop as the manor house’s electricity fell victim to the storm. Meanwhile, Carlson’s steam powered Victrola played on.
“Well, at least we still have Cole Porter,” Morehouse noted. “And your dessert, Chef?”
“It needs a quick heat in the oven, which runs on gas.”
“Good. We also have the candelabra on the table to light our way to bed and protect us from anything that might go bump in the night, so let’s continue to enjoy our evening, shall we?”
No sooner had the suggestion crossed Morehouse’s lips than a pale, round face, illuminated only by a flash of lightning, appeared outside one of the French doors.
At the sight of the ghostly vision, the room of Creators jumped, gasped, shouted, and screamed.
“What was that?” Aurora demanded, all the while squeezing Nick’s hand tightly.
The thunder and lightning returned, casting light, once again, on the figure outside the house. This time, when the sky went dark, the figure banged on the door, “Let me in!”
“Oh my goodness,” Meagan exclaimed. “It’s Oona Bauersfeld!”
Morehouse and Durand leapt to the French doors and allowed the figure in the blue windbreaker admittance. As if by magic, the dining room lights flashed back on.
“Sorry for scaring you all,” Oona apologized, removing the hood of her windbreaker to reveal a head of shoulder-length curly blonde hair.
“Of course not,” Meagan excused, her hand on her chest. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just soaked through to the skin,” she answered as she unzipped the jacket and peeled it back to reveal a slightly rounded middle-aged physique. “But the darned yome has a hole in it.”
In response to Stella’s questioning expression, Carlson explained, “A yome is a hybrid of a yurt and dome. Oona and her husband have been trying to promote the use of their geodesic domes as a low cost housing alternative for the financially disadvantaged.”
“Oh, yes,” Stella stated. “Their yome is at the end of our row on the fairgrounds. We noticed it being assembled as we were on the way to our tent this afternoon.”
“Arthur and I had finished setting up and decided to go into town to get some dinner,” Oona explained.
“Town?” Meagan challenged. “You know you were both more than welcome to join us tonight. Why didn’t you accept my invitation?”
“Yes,” Morehouse rejoined. “There was plenty of food. A veritable feast.”
“I know and we both appreciated the offer.” Oona moved to the dining room table, where she commandeered the first available chair and proceeded to undo the Velcro closures of her Teva sandals. “You know we never say ‘yes’ to dinner. If I were ever to fly solo, I’d jump at the chance to eat at such a fine table and even to dress up a little, but you know Arthur. A bean burrito is his idea of a gourmet meal. Most days he’s happy to have me to fill up his water canteen and toss him a Kind bar.”
“He is a very low maintenance sort of fellow, isn’t he?” Morehouse mused as he drew an extra wine glass from the sideboard, poured Oona a glass of Gewürztraminer, and handed it to her.
Oona accepted the glass gratefully, took a sip, and slid off the mud-stained striped socks she wore beneath the Tevas. “Ah, that’s better,” she smiled.
“Are you warm enough?” Meagan asked. “I can get you a blanket or a fleece jacket if you’d like.”
“No, no. I’m fine, thanks, but I’m afraid I will need a bed for the night.”
“Of course,” Meagan, despite the strain in her face, smiled warmly. “There’s a lovely room on the third floor. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
“And what about Arthur?” Morehouse inquired. “Where is he?
“Oh, that man of mine is more stubborn than any person I’ve ever known, and I’ve known quite a few,” she lamented before taking another sip of wine and curling and then uncurling her bare toes. “If I told him once, I told him a thousand times to come to the main house with me to sleep tonight. Our mattress is drenched, the wind is whipping the open nylon into a threadbare rag, and there are leaves and branches in our composting toilet, but that yurt is Arthur’s baby. He’s not going to leave it to be damaged even further, whether by the elements or by persons unknown.”
“Perhaps we should we go out and check in on Arthur,” Meagan proposed. “We might be able to change his mind about staying here.”
“Yes,” Morehouse agreed. “We have the space.”
“No, I don’t think so. Arthur patched up what he could of the roof and was resting in his chair when I left. He’ll be fine, I’m sure. But, he’d be awfully angry with me if I dragged you out in this weather.”
“But what about his arthritis?” Meagan questioned. “The dampness…”
“I can’t mention that to him, he’s too proud. When I left, he had fixed himself a dry spot and was going to hunker down for the night. Given how upset he was, it’s better for him to rest right now than to trot him out in this wind and rain,” Oona stated with confidence.
“True,” Philip conceded. “So long as he’s dry and comfortable.”
“Pardon me for interrupting,” Stella quickly introduced herself and Nick. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you suggest that ‘persons unknown’ might have damaged your yurt, er, yome?”
“I did. Arthur thinks someone slashed it up on purpose. I do too,” Oona stated bluntly as she took yet another sip from her glass.
As the Victrola soared into “All Through the Night,” Morehouse, his face registering both shock and disappointment, sat down in the chair beside Oona. “That’s quite the accusation, Oona.”
Meagan responded to Morehouse’s disappointment by pouring a glass of his cherished Akvavit and then serving it to him with an affectionate pat of the shoulder.
Philip smiled up at his fiancée and lifted his glass.
“I know, Phil, I know,” Oona went on, “the Creator’s Cavalcade is our favorite gig of the year. Arthur and I love the atmosphere, the people, and the scenery. So we wouldn’t be saying what we’re saying if we didn’t believe it were true.”
“Please, tell us everything that happened,” Meagan urged.
“Not much to tell, really. As I started to say, we went into town for dinner. We usually have falafel, but Arthur heard of a great sandwich shop there, so we stopped in for a bite. I got a tofu Bahn Mi – killer by the way! – and Arthur, looking forward to the weekend, asked for a gluten free black bean wrap with a little extra ho
t sauce. Extra hot sauce is living in the fast lane for him,” she added, aside, before taking a sip of wine and continuing.
“When we finished, the storm was just starting to roll in and the wind was beginning to pick up, but it was still a beautiful evening, so we took a little drive before we completely lost the light. When the weather started to turn, we came back here, checked in with security at the front gate, and drove to our yurt. By the time we got to it, it was pouring down rain – both outside and inside.”
“And you’re certain it wasn’t the wind or even lightning that tore the yurt?” Morehouse confirmed.
“Positive. Look, Arthur is the engineer and I’m just the spokesperson, but even I recognize a cut made with a blade. The canvas covering not one, not two, but three of our geodesic panels was slit open cleanly with no loose threads or fibers and without slashing through the support rods. This is not the work of the wind or a tree branch or lightning. This is the work of an extremely malicious human being with knowledge of how the yurt is constructed.”
“I’ll speak with security and ask if they saw anyone suspicious lurking about the property this evening. Perhaps we should also call the police?”
Oona finished her wine and frowned. “I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s just a bit of waterproof nylon and we brought spare with us. It’s is more an inconvenience than anything.”
“And the mattress?”
“Camping grade and lumpy. If we put it outside tomorrow it will dry like a dream, but I wouldn’t be heartbroken if we had to buy a new one,” Oona grinned. “And now, if you all don’t mind, I’m going up to my room to shower and get in a dry, non-lumpy bed. Goodnight everyone.”
“Goodnight,” the group bade as Oona, accompanied by Meagan, left the dining room.
Philip got up and poured himself a second shot of Akvavit, but his mood was far from celebratory.
“The thought of someone intentionally sabotaging a Creator – it’s crazy,” Dan commented before joining Philip at the sideboard and popping open a bottle of merlot.
Ms. B. Ology and Chef Durand joined Dan, their glasses in hand. “I know,” Ms. B. agreed. “Who would want to do that to the Bauersfelds’ tent?”
“Let’s just hope nothing else has been vandalized,” Carlson spoke up.
“O Dio mio!” Aurora exclaimed. “I have thousands of dollars of fabric and computer hardware in my tent. That would be horrible!”
“We all have a lot to lose,” Durand replied. “My immersion circulator is one of the best in the industry.”
Morehouse returned to his seat, pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed the security guards at the front gate. Minutes later, he reported his news: “Aside from the Bauersfelds, Helen, Amanda, and Mr. Tuttle, no one has left the property this evening. And apart from the Bauersfelds, no one else has entered it. In addition, the guards on patrol reported nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Meaning that whoever did this is still here,” the Salvage Guy interpreted.
“Impossible,” Ms. B. declared. “We’ve been putting this thing on for years. We know all the Creators on a first name basis. None of them would do this.”
“This is a vast piece of property,” Stella pointed out as she too approached the sideboard and refilled her glass with more of the excellent pinot noir that had accompanied the main course. “Is it possible that the perpetrators might be on foot and entered and exited the property at some other point?”
“I think Stella’s on the right track,” Nick concurred. “For we all we know, some kids got onto the property to hold a little party away from parental eyes, and things got out of hand.”
Morehouse shook his head. “The estate is surrounded by a ten foot wall topped with small spikes to prevent birds for resting on top of it. Surveillance cameras are positioned at every eight feet along this wall, the footage of which is being reviewed as we speak. The only other gate is the service entrance and that, too, is being guarded. No one has entered or left through it since four o’clock this afternoon.”
“I doubt it was kids,” Carlson opined. “A bunch of teens viewing the acres of woods as a potential party ground is one thing. But for those kids to have found a way to breach the wall and the security system in this weather, and on a weekend when everyone in town knows that there will be additional security on duty, seems a stretch. Also, I don’t think they’d be so quick to leave; they’d stick around a few hours at least.”
“But if not a bunch of kids, then who?” B. Ology asked aloud.
“Who indeed?” Morehouse swirled the Akvavit in his glass pensively. “And perhaps, more importantly, why?”
Chapter Six
The dinner party wound down shortly after Oona’s departure. With the storm still raging outside, Vue Colline’s occupants dispersed to their respective quarters. After a brief consultation in the upstairs hallway, it was determined that Stella would avail herself of the shared bathroom first, Ms. B. Ology second, and Nick third.
Whether or not Kenneth Zolar might be in need of the facilities was not even a consideration in the arrangement since his bedroom door was tightly shut and bore a fluorescent yellow Post-It note upon which had been scrawled the words: DO NOT DISTURB. Despite the message, a faint blue light glowed above the threshold and from behind the door, the clicking of a computer keyboard could be heard.
B. Ology shook her head and frowned. “Such a beautiful, scientific mind to be locked up alone in a dark room.”
“I could be wrong, but he seems to prefer it that way,” Nick observed.
“That’s because he’s quiet and socially awkward,” B. explained. “But what a brain! You saw that robotic suit this afternoon, didn’t you? Can you imagine how many people that suit will help? People who once could not walk might now be able to dance. How incredible is that? And yet the creator of the suit himself, when presented a chance to dance, refuses. Too sad.”
“Ironic, yes. But we all have our quirks,” Nick offered. “Considering what Zolar’s achieved, his quirks seem to be working for him.”
“And they are, but I also think he pulls back from people because – well, I love Phil and all he’s done for us, but he’s not always very kind to Kenneth.” Ms. B. drew a deep breath and pursued a different line of thought. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s a shame that Ken is missing the good things in life.”
Over Ms. B.’s shoulder, Stella watched as Carlson – dressed in a dark green velvet robe with an embroidered shawl collar – exited the bathroom down the hall. He gave a tentative wave goodnight in their direction before heading into his bedroom.
Stella waved back to him. “It’s difficult to miss something to which you’ve never allowed yourself to be open.”
“I suppose you’re right,” B. Ology allowed. “Lucky I’ve always been one to try new things.”
“Mmm. Well goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight guys. Just give me a knock when you’re finished in the bathroom, and Nick, I’ll do the same.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nick rejoined. “See you in the morning.”
Stella stepped into their bedroom and set about retrieving her toiletry case from her luggage. Nick followed and shut the door behind him. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?”
“You’re not one to keep quiet in any situation, let alone one involving an affair of the heart.”
Stella’s eyes grew wide. “So you noticed?”
“Noticed what? That Carlson has a serious thing for Ms. B.? Of course I did. I was in love once too, you know.”
“Once?” Stella folded her arms across her chest and glared at her husband.
“Yes, once. With you. Still am,” Nick stated emphatically.
“Nice save, honey. Very smooth.” Stella allowed her arms to drop to her sides.
“Thanks, I thought so.”
“Uh huh. As for your question: I’ve only just met Carlson and Ms. B. I’m not about to meddle in their personal lives.”
“What? You meddled in my personal life as soon as our first date,” Nick mocked.
Stella grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at Nick before heading, toiletry case in hand, across the hall to the bathroom. On her way out, she literally bumped shoulders with Meagan, who had since changed out of her sweater dress and into a pink satin robe that tied at the waist. She had been heading away from Morehouse’s wing of the house, toward the opposite end of the hall, and she appeared to be preoccupied.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Meagan excused herself. “I should have been watching where I was walking.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just barged out of my room the way I did.”
“Don’t be silly. You had no reason to expect there’d be someone right outside your door at this time of night. I, um, I was just going to sleep in one of the spare guest rooms,” she explained self-consciously. “Philip can be quite the night owl – he has a Skype interview with some reporter on the west coast in a few minutes, if you can believe it – but I’m a wimp about that sort of thing. I need my seven to eight hours, otherwise I cannot function properly.”
“No, I’m with you on that. Proper sleep and strong coffee are the only things that help me to be somewhat lucid in the mornings. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even remember my own name,” Stella commiserated. “Speaking of remembering – there was something you wanted to discuss with me tonight, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, but given all the stuff with the Bauersfelds and the late hour, it can wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’ll track you down during the Cavalcade tomorrow or we’ll talk before dinner.”
“Okay,” Stella nodded. “Sleep well.”
“You too. And if you and Nick need anything, I’ll be in the White Room. Don’t hesitate to knock on my door.”
“We will.” Stella had no idea which was the White Room, but she was fully aware of which rooms were occupied and which were not. Juggling the brass door knob of the bathroom, she took her time before entering and watched out of the corner of her eye as Meagan McArdle entered one of the unoccupied rooms and locked the door behind her.
Short-Circuited in Charlotte: A Pret' Near Perfect Mystery Page 8