Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  Claire rubbed her chin as she contemplated that, then shrugged.

  “That depends. Do you plan on calling me Angela Lansbury ever again?”

  “No!” Alec declared, her question making him laugh.

  “Then you may safely ascend,” she said graciously.

  “Maybe I should be Ned, after all,” he commented, as he did so. “Nancy would never kill him off.”

  “Of course not. She would, however, be sure to catch whoever did.”

  “Hard as it may be to imagine, that assurance leaves me without comfort.”

  “You’re right, I can’t possibly imagine why,” she replied, and smiled in response to the laughter in his eyes.

  She led the way down the hall to her room, and waved toward the open closet.

  “This isn’t just packed, it’s impacted,” Alec commented.

  “That’s the truth. I have no idea what’s in these boxes. It’s kind of exciting to imagine, but… right now, it’s more overwhelming,” Claire admitted.

  “Alright,” he replied, as he mentally calculated the order of removal that would be least likely to result in a future avalanche. “Where do you want them? There’s not room in this room for all of these, the furniture, and you, too. Not unless you want to climb over a mountain of boxes to get in and out of bed.”

  “If there’s an alternative, I’ll take it,” she said, frowning slightly as she measured the width of the hallway.

  “You could line one side I suppose…” he observed. “Do you want some of them downstairs?”

  “Are you serious?” she asked in surprise, then raised an eyebrow. “You’re offering to carry them? Or… drop them over the rail.”

  “That would get them there faster, now that you mention it,” he said thoughtfully. “Cleanup however, would cancel out any time gained. I’ll carry them for you.”

  “That would be great,” Claire said in amazement, too grateful to joke any further. “Thank you!”

  “It’s no problem,” he smiled. “Where would you like them?”

  “The sewing room,” she thought rapidly. “I have no idea how to sew. I might learn, but not any time soon.”

  “Alright. Then I’ll get started,” he said, as he tested the weight of the boxes, then stacked two and picked them up. Claire started to lift one, and he frowned at her. “You shove them out into the hall, I’ll carry them down.”

  “But I can help,” she protested.

  “You can also hurt yourself. Let me do this. I’m stronger, and… I’m carrying these boxes for you,” he said resolutely.

  “I’m glad to have the help, if you really mean it!” she said, deeply touched by his insistence.

  “I really do,” he replied, and she could tell he did. She had the urge to hug him, but clasped her hands together instead. He gave her a smile, then turned and carried his armload of boxes out of her room.

  Claire carefully pushed and shoved a stack of boxes to the bedroom door. Alec was back before she could get them all the way into the hall. He relieved her of two of them, making her job much easier.

  One by one and two by two, the boxes went from her room, to the hall, and down the stairs to the sewing room.

  Alec carried away the last of the boxes. The last of the boxes cluttering her bedroom floor, that is. More remained in her closet. Claire brushed her hair behind her ears and took a moment to breath, then followed him down the stairs.

  She paused in front of the refrigerator to acquire a couple of bottles of water, then looked in the doorway of the sewing room.

  “Thank you so much for doing this,” she said gratefully, as he set down the load he carried.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. He sounded a little winded, but not much. He brushed his fingers through his dark hair and accepted the bottle of water she offered him, as he gave the neatly stacked boxes a satisfied look. “You shouldn’t have any trouble going through them. Not like you would if they were stacked high.”

  “This is great,” she declared happily. “I won’t have any trouble at all!”

  “Good,” he smiled. “The boxes that are still in the closet will fit in here, easy.”

  “This is great,” she said again. If she had to do all this herself… it would’ve taken her a week! Or more. It would also require a personal trainer and months at the gym. Maybe years.

  “Let’s go empty your closet and get the rest of them down here,” Alec said, turning toward the door.

  “Aren’t you tired?” she exclaimed.

  “Not enough to quit,” he replied with a shrug.

  “Okay, then,” she said in amazement, and followed him back up the stairs. “I’m tired, and I didn’t do nearly what you have.”

  Alec appeared to give that deep consideration as he took a box from the closet, and set it on the floor of her bedroom, but she saw the teasing gleam in his eyes.

  “I’m going to come clean and admit something to you, Claire,” he said solemnly, as he reached for another box.

  “And what would that be?” she replied as seriously as she could.

  “I’m determined to impress you, even if it kills me,” he said, causing her to laugh.

  “Why?” she wondered, and he smiled too.

  “Well… now that you mention it, killing myself to impress you so that you’re impressed enough to keep me around, rather than doing me in, doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. That’s why I’m Nancy, and you’re Bess. Or George. Maybe Ned,” she said matter-of-factly, and he laughed at that.

  “As long as you keep me around,” he replied, adding another box to the growing stack.

  “I’m absolutely keeping you around, are you kidding?” she glanced at him sideways. “I’ve still got boxes to move.”

  “You’re taking away my incentive to move them all,” he pointed out.

  “Fine… I’ll keep you around, even if you do,” she conceded.

  “Good,” he smiled. He reached for another box, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “What?” Claire wondered, joining him in front of the open closet door.

  “I don’t know, it… could be nothing, but…” he spun and headed for the door.

  “What? It could be what?” she asked, giving the closet a glance. He disappeared into the hall, and she hurried to follow. As she headed out the door, he headed back in, and they collided abruptly.

  “Sorry,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders to keep her on her feet.

  “What on earth are you doing, anyway?” she wanted to know, rubbing her forehead. “Nancy is much more forthcoming with clues than George, Bess, or Ned is turning out to be!”

  “Sorry, but come here,” he said, guiding her into the hallway and down to the bathroom. “Okay, so here’s your bathroom… your linen closet… Can I open this?”

  “Go right ahead,” she replied.

  “Okay, so look. This closet isn’t as deep as the bathroom. It doesn’t go back far at all, and it’s narrow. And now…” he hurried her back to the end of the hall and stopped in front of her bedroom. “You’ve got a closet. That takes up some of this space, but not nearly all. Not even close. And you’ve seen the back of your house, the wall is smooth, and—Claire, your bedroom has a window facing the backyard. Does your grandmother’s?

  “Yes,” she said, her forehead furrowing.

  “How many?”

  “Exactly the same as mine. One in front, one on the side, and one in back.”

  “Have you counted the number of windows facing the back yard on the second floor? From the outside?” he asked, as he guided her back into her room, and swiftly began unloading boxes from the closet.

  “No, how many are there? More than two?” she asked, her heart racing.

  “Yes! Yes, Claire! There are more than two! And—look.”

  He stood back triumphantly, and she moved forward.

  At the back of the closet, was a small door.

  Claire’s eyes widened. She slapped her
hand over her mouth, and they both looked at each other.

  “What do you think’s in there?” she asked in a stage whisper.

  “I don’t know, it could be nothing more interesting than the water heater. Still, this is pretty cool,” he declared.

  “Yes, but… a water heater?” she made a face. “You’re taking all the fun out of this.”

  “Sorry. What do you think’s in there?”

  “A leprechaun.”

  “What?” he exclaimed, and laughed. He also gave her a funny look. She looked back seriously.

  “Laugh all you want, Alec, but this is a tiny door. Grandma felt the need to block it with boxes filled with bricks. Who knows what could be in there! How well did you know my grandmother, anyway? You first.”

  She grabbed him by the arm and shoved him forward.

  He was taken off guard, but only for a moment. With a laugh, he just as swiftly maneuvered her in front of him.

  “Ladies first,” he insisted, and she squealed.

  There was a brief struggle, which ended with her several steps closer to the closet.

  “Okay, fine, truce!” she began to laugh, grabbing the doorframe.

  “Yeah, right! I have a sister. You can forget trying to trick me,” he retorted. He didn’t let go of her, but he did stop propelling her forward. “If you really want me to go first, I will.”

  “What, and let you have all the fun? You discovered it. I’ll open it.”

  She let go of the doorframe, and reached for the knob. She twisted, and it turned a fraction of an inch. Then it stopped. She turned it the other way, with the same result.

  “It’s locked,” she said in disappointment.

  “Why don’t you try knocking,” he quietly suggested. “Maybe the leprechaun will answer.”

  “How creepy!” she shivered, and laughed. “If we can’t get this door open and figure out what’s back there, I want the boxes back in the closet!”

  “We’re getting this door open,” Alec promptly replied. “Where are your house keys?”

  “You think that might work?” she asked hopefully.

  “There’s one way to find out.”

  Claire ducked under his arm, and out the door. He heard her footsteps fade as she ran down the stairs, then grow louder as she ran up again. She flew back into the room, her keys in her hand.

  “I hope this works,” she said breathlessly, as the key slid into the lock. “It fits, anyway…”

  The key also turned.

  Claire gripped the knob in her hand. She twisted it slowly, and the latch released. She shoved it hard and jumped back, hitting Alec even harder in the chest. The door slammed into the wall on the other side.

  “That was my ribs cracking, in case you wondered,” he winced, but the hasty glance she gave him showed that he was teasing, rather than tortured.

  “I didn’t hurt you that bad, you big baby. Come on!” Claire grabbed him by the wrist, and they both knelt to look at the space on the other side of the open doorway.

  Claire gasped quietly, and her eyes widened as she took in the quaint sitting room.

  Sheer curtains hung from the rod above the large picture window. They softened the rays of the setting sun, bathing the room and its contents in dim twilight. Above it, a porthole window framed a few sunset-stained clouds.

  A small claw foot, rose-colored velvet sofa, faced the windows. Beside it sat an oval table, which held an ornate, tiffany-style lamp. Its cut-glass shade was decorated with clusters of green leaves and pink, ivory, and wine colored roses.

  Much of the polished wood floor was covered by a thick, oriental-style rug in shades of pink, blue, green, and ivory. A crocheted, mulberry and wine-colored afghan lay draped invitingly across the arm of the padded rocking chair occupying one corner of the room. It shared the space with an antique floor lamp, its cut-glass shade a flowered conglomeration of green ferns and pink, purple, yellow, and blue flowers.

  A painting of a rose garden in an elaborate gold frame, hung on the pale green wall behind the sofa. A small cabinet with glass doors filled the corner to the left of the door. It held delicate china teacups and saucers, a flowered platter, and matching teapot.

  Framed photos covered the top of the low shelf that filled most of the wall opposite the doorway through which Claire and Alec entered. Beside the shelf was a second small door. Beside the couch, was a third.

  “Wow,” Alec commented. Claire looked in amazement from one side of the small room to the other.

  “I love this,” she said softly, clasping her hands together and pressing them to her heart. Her eyes caught those in the framed photos, and locked onto them.

  “There are albums, too,” Alec pointed out, eyeing the volumes that spanned a portion of one shelf. “And that door… what are the chances it opens into your grandmother’s room?”

  “Or her closet,” Claire said absentmindedly, her eyes shining as she slowly moved to the other side of the room. Alec followed. While she studied the photos, he sorted through the albums.

  He smiled triumphantly as he removed one of the volumes from the shelf.

  “Come on,” he said. He led her to the sofa, and they both had a seat. She watched as he flipped through the pages. He stopped suddenly, and pointed.

  “I knew your grandparents took a lot of pictures when you visited. I remember this. See, that’s your grandmother.”

  “And—that’s me?” Claire asked, as she eagerly studied the face of the smiling woman holding the toddler with hair the same shade of brown as her own.

  “Yes, that’s you.”

  “Oh, wow… Her hair was brown like mine. Mostly. She had brown eyes, too.”

  “You look like her. Only a lot younger,” Alec commented, and Claire searched her grandmother’s face again. The hair and the eyes, yes, but…

  “She’s really pretty,” Claire thought out loud.

  “Like I said,” Alec replied matter of factly.

  Color flooded Claire’s cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice, not that she had anything to judge by, since her head was down and her chin-length hair shielded her cheeks. She hoped.

  “Is that my grandfather?” she changed the subject.

  “No… that’s my grandfather. But here, look—there’s yours.”

  “He looks so happy,” Claire commented. “So does she. Everyone does. I wish… I wish I could remember.”

  “You were only two, but who knows. The pictures may stir those memories.”

  Claire flipped the page, her eyes scanning the images. There was her two-year-old self, gripping her grandfather’s finger as he stooped to walk along beside her. She was pointing to the purplish-blue hyacinths planted in a bed next to the house.

  Her grandmother was baking cookies. Claire, the toddler, stood on a chair, her grandfather ensuring that she didn’t fall. She was taking a bite out of a cookie as she looked up at him, and he was smiling back.

  She was asleep in her grandmother’s arms… in the rocking chair in the corner of the room where she now sat.

  There she was, riding on someone’s shoulders…

  “Who is that?” she wondered.

  “It must be your father,” Alec replied. He pointed to another photo of the same man, and a woman with curly blond hair and blue eyes. “Is that your mom?”

  Claire’s throat tightened as she nodded, and studied her father’s face. A multitude of emotions flooded her.

  “I’m going to cry, I can’t help it,” she warned Alec, her voice cracking.

  “It’s fine,” he said sympathetically.

  “Okay, but I mean I’m really going to cry,” she sniffed, as tears robbed her of sight. She hastily brushed them away, determined that nothing should stand between her and the faces of her family. She saw how they loved her, and she loved them, and they were hers all along… More tears flooded her eyes, and she choked back a sob.

  “It’s okay,” Alec assured her. He retrieved the box of tissues from the coffee table, and offered it to her. She
snatched several, and held them to her eyes as she cried in earnest.

  “I have a family, I just didn’t know,” she sobbed.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself,” he replied, rubbing her shoulder.

  “I never knew—I know they’re gone, but—they were mine, all along…”

  “I understand,” he said in sympathy. He hugged her as tears robbed her of speech.

  As the sun set and the room darkened around them, Alec reached over and turned on the lamp. Light burst forth, filling the cut-glass shade, and softening the darkness.

  Herschel wandered in.

  He looked at Alec. His arms were around Claire. Herschel looked at Claire. She was crying. Herschel’s eyes narrowed as he gave that considerable thought.

  Herschel hopped onto the couch and draped himself across Claire’s lap. She laughed a little through the tears, and scratched under his chin. Herschel purred.

  Claire wiped the tears from her face and let out a deep breath.

  “I’m okay now,” she said, her voice wobbly. “Sorry about crying all over your shoulder.”

  She started to sit up, so Alec let her go.

  “It’s fine, don’t apologize,” he said, as she blotted his damp sleeve with a fresh tissue.

  “I grew up thinking I had no family,” she said. She held out her hand for the album, which was now on the coffee table. Alec retrieved it, and held it for her, since there was a cat occupying all of her lap. “I know they’re gone, but… I can’t explain it.”

  “You feel like they’re yours now,” Alec offered. “It makes no difference that they’re gone. They’re still yours.”

  “Yes, that’s how I feel. My past doesn’t feel as empty as it did.”

  “You also have the future to look forward to. Your grandmother was a Christian, and so was your grandfather.”

  “Really?” she smiled. “I’m so glad. What about my father?”

  “I don’t know. But I can ask my grandma. She might.”

  “Okay, but… when you ask, I don’t want to know beforehand. And don’t tell me the answer if it’s no. That way… I can believe you forgot to ask.”

  “Alright. I won’t,” he said with sympathy.

  “I didn’t even know what my father looked like,” Claire said, as she studied his photos. “I remember him just a little, but I didn’t have any pictures, or anything else.”