Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  Instead, she returned to the sitting room and sat down with her grandmother’s bible. She loved reading it for itself, but also for the many notes her grandmother made in the margins. It was interesting to see which verses she chose to highlight, too. It was sort of like studying it together. She picked up where she left off, and soon she was immersed in John’s account of the gospel.

  The soft light of the lamp and the rhythmic tick of the clock was relaxing. Having Herschel suddenly join her, and insist on a place on her lap, wasn’t. He was huge, and she had to hold the bible up in the air if she hoped to keep him off of it, which she did.

  “There are lots of other places to sit, you know,” Claire pointed out.

  Herschel knew this. Why Claire should feel the need to tell him, he did not know. It made no difference whatsoever, since lots of other places was not where he cared to sit.

  Claire rolled her eyes a little, and rested the bible on top of him.

  Herschel was still for a moment as he considered that. Then he stood, knocking the bible against her chest. He turned several times, then settled once more.

  Claire narrowed her eyes, and set the bible on top of him again. She was well aware that she could force Herschel off her lap, but his departure would last longer if it was his idea.

  Herschel repeated the process twice more, then tired of it. He hopped off her lap, and left the room entirely.

  Claire smiled with satisfaction, and got back to her reading.

  The slow tick of the clock was a help, rather than a hindrance. She took a moment to wonder why. She spent the next, wondering what could possibly sound like the backdoor opening… other than the backdoor opening.

  Claire’s heart sped as she set the bible aside, and switched off the lamp.

  The room was plunged into darkness, as she sat there, every fiber of her being focused on listening and analyzing each sound.

  A soft scratching noise. That came from the branches of the tree that stretched a little too close to the house. The sudden whoosh, which nearly sent her out of her seat, was the water heater on the other side of the door beside her. It blanketed all other sound, and she felt a flash of frustration. If she had any idea how to silently silence it, she would! But she didn’t. So she sat, watching the clouds sweep across the face of the moon on the other side of the porthole window, and listened.

  But why? She knew someone was in the house! That door didn’t open and close by itself.

  Claire stood and cautiously followed the perimeter of the room. A beeline to the door, and the ensuing creaks and groans of the floorboards, would be sure to alert whoever was in her house, that they weren’t the only ones.

  She ordered her heart to stop pounding so she could hear, and reached the short door leading to her closet-turned-hall. She swung it open slowly, and knelt to look through to the open doorway on the other side.

  The bedroom was dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon shining through the open blinds. Shadows played across the room and its contents, as the leaves of the trees outside her front window rustled in the breeze. The dappled light darted erratically, hindering as much as it helped. There was no other source of light. Except for the faint red glow of her charging phone.

  Claire ducked to avoid cracking her head on the doorframe, and stepped into her closet.

  Eyes peeled and ears searching, she tried to remember which floorboards creaked. Were there any that didn’t?

  A slow creak.

  It came from the stairs.

  Claire’s disobedient heart pounded again, as choices and their possible consequences, flailed frantically in her mind like butterflies in a tornado.

  She was already praying, and the memory of what she told Mark flashed in her mind. She grasped it and hung on.

  She was safe. She was. So were the apostles, look what happened to them! But she was safe. In God’s plan, whatever that was, she could have peace, she could have peace, she could trust and have peace…

  She decided sanctification was a long way off, because she was still scared! But her thoughts were settling.

  Step one, Claire needed the phone. Get the phone, get back to the secret room, barricade the door, wait an unbearably long time for her phone to start up, then call for help.

  Another creak, and under that cover, Claire took a wide step into the room. Another slow creak, and she crawled over the foot of the bed. The floor didn’t creak when she rolled over at night, did it? She crawled forward. There was her phone, if she could reach it—

  A bright beam of light flooded the floor beside the bed, the wall, the nightstand, the phone, and Claire was too late. She scooted backward and onto the floor, to the closet doorway, and inside. The footsteps were in the room, but the closet door closed silently, and she released the latch.

  She was through the door to the sitting room, she’d close it, shove the couch in front of it, she’d—

  An unearthly shriek split the silence, and Claire’s heart stopped. It somehow ended up in her throat too, then raced like it never had before.

  Herschel!

  Panic fled before rage, and Claire was back through the door, into the closet, out of the closet, and onto the back of the dark form standing there in her room.

  Her momentum carried her right over his slippery shoulder, and onto the floor, before she could get him in a headlock. She rolled and grabbed his leg, but he tore loose.

  She was on her feet, and after him.

  Through the hall and after the guy she flew. She was light, and she was angry! How dare anyone come in here and hurt Herschel! Another burst of adrenalin rushed through her veins, and she launched herself onto his back as he hit the stairs. She gripped for all she was worth, but she was tumbling, crashing, she lost him as they fell. She hit the floor, hard, and struggled to her feet. One foot. She winced, and propelled herself to the entryway table. She grabbed her keys, they skittered, she clutched, and frantically pressed every button.

  In the distance she heard the Blue Lightning sounding the alarm.

  She collapsed to the floor beside the open front door, heart pounding, gasping for air, her ankle burning. As she lay there, more aches and pains made themselves known.

  In the distance, a car started. The sound of its engine quickly faded, as it sped away from the scene of the crime.

  Herschel!

  Claire struggled to sit up, wincing for so many reasons.

  Something cold and wet touched her arm, and she screamed.

  Herschel decided she did not like that. He also decided to remember this, the next time she set a book on him.

  “Herschel?” she said, as he butted his head hard against her shoulder. She snatched him up, in spite of her aching… everything ached. She snatched him up, hugged him tight, and rapidly felt of his head, legs, back, tail, chest, abdomen—

  Herschel decided all she needed was a stethoscope, and he could skip this year’s vet visit.

  “Thank goodness you’re alright!” she sobbed with relief, hugging him again. “I was so afraid you were hurt!”

  Herschel wouldn’t mind if his tail never got stepped on again, but it still worked. He lashed it back and forth to prove it.

  Over her tears of relief, she heard the sound of Alec’s truck pass the house, then stop abruptly. She heard the door flung open, and rapid footsteps.

  “Claire!” he called loudly, as he neared the porch.

  “I’m here, don’t step on me,” she answered, and he was beside her.

  “What happened?” he exclaimed, slapping the wall switch. Light flooded the entryway, making her wince. She silenced her car alarm, as he knelt. “Are you alright?”

  “I have no idea,” she replied honestly.

  “What do you mean, you have no idea?” he demanded sharply. “What in the world happened?”

  “There was someone here, he hurt Herschel, and I don’t have my phone, and we’ve got to call the police!” she burst out, clutching the cat tighter.

  Herschel complained.

>   “What?” Alec snapped, his anxiety rising. He took the wriggling cat from her. If he was injured, he showed no sign. Alec set Herschel aside, and turned his attention back to Claire.

  “Herschel’s getting away!” she exclaimed. Alec unceremoniously grabbed the cat by the hind leg and dragged him back over the threshold, then shut the door firmly.

  Herschel was too outraged to spit. He glared fiercely, but Alec appeared to be more interested in Claire, than in noticing his well-deserved rebuke.

  Herschel had no choice but to shun Alec. It was a harsh punishment, but sticking his nose to Alec’s arm had no effect.

  Herschel turned and stalked away in offended dignity.

  “Claire, start talking! What happened?” Alec demanded again.

  “Someone was here. I didn’t have my phone, he went into my room and hurt Herschel, and we have to call the police!”

  Alec grimly assured himself she was alright, pupils were equal and reactive, no bones appeared to be broken, and called. He told the 911 operator who she was, who he was, where they were, and what she said. He knew nothing else, and was relieved to hear the sound of sirens growing closer. He informed the operator he was hanging up, then turned on the porchlight and opened the door.

  “Will you please tell me what happened?” Alec asked, as he rejoined her on the floor. “Herschel seems fine. Did this person hurt you?”

  “Not exactly,” she frowned.

  “What do you mean, not exactly?” he snapped. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could contain his frustration. “Did this person hurt you?”

  Claire saw the intensity in his eyes, and shook her head.

  “No, no one hurt me,” she hurried to say, much to his relief. “I jumped on him, and we both fell down the stairs. But he got away.”

  “You did what?” he snapped. “Why?”

  “Because he hurt Herschel,” she frowned. “I couldn’t just hide in the sitting room, waiting to see what he’d do next!”

  Alec stared. He looked like he never saw her before. Or as if she suddenly sprouted wings. Or turned purple.

  Officer Andrews and Officer Simpson, climbed the porch steps, sparing Claire the fiercest talking to she was ever likely to encounter. Alec pressed his hand to his forehead and tried to calm down, as question by question, they got the entire story out of her.

  An ambulance arrived, and the EMTs examined Claire. She was sore, she was sure to erupt in bruises by morning, and her ankle was sprained. But, considering how severe her injuries could have been, she was considered extremely fortunate.

  Officers Andrews and Simpson made sure she knew it, and attempted to deliver the lecture Alec didn’t.

  Claire would have none of it. She fiercely asserted her right—no, her responsibility!—to defend her castle, and cat, from whatever the interloper intended. By the time she was through, Alec decided it was just as well he was spared from delivering that lecture himself. The way her eyes snapped with righteous indignation, he wouldn’t be surprised if it spared him from losing his girlfriend, before he even had her.

  He felt sick all over again, at the thought of what could’ve happened to her.

  “You’re staying at my house, or I’m staying here,” he told her quietly, as the officers conferred with one another. “Or you’re staying with your sister, or Gina, or Tammy, or someone. You’re not spending the night here alone.”

  “But the lock on the backdoor needs replaced,” she said with concern. “I can’t leave the house unprotected like that.”

  “I can’t leave you unprotected like that,” he said firmly. “I’ll sleep on the couch. We’ll replace the lock tomorrow.”

  “The couch is awfully small,” she pointed out, but her protest was obligatory rather than adamant. He wasn’t the only one realizing how differently the night could have ended.

  “I don’t care,” he replied. “I’m staying. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, anyway.”

  “Okay… thank you,” she said gratefully. “I’ll feel better with you here.”

  “So will I. I’ll feel even better, after I take care of one other thing,” he said grimly.

  No sooner did the door close behind the police, than he had his cell phone in his hand. He dialed as he rejoined Claire on the couch in the downstairs sitting room.

  “My name is Alec,” he said firmly, and gave his number. “This is the last time my friend Claire, and I, will contact you. I suggest you hurry up and respond, or you’re going to look like idiots when the guys who are after the evidence, and the research material in the Variant Research Laboratories versus Allan Parker corporate espionage case, get their hands on it. They’ve tried three times in the past week, twice at Claire’s work, and again, tonight, at her home. Twice, she’s been injured as a result. Either contact us and come pick it up, or we’re handing it over to the local authorities. The guy who assaulted her at work is already in police custody, so it would behoove you to call before you get any more behind than you already are. We don’t get paid enough for this. We don’t get paid at all, and Claire sure better not have to pay any more, for her determination to hold onto this evidence until you decide to show up. You have six hours. If I don’t hear from you by then, we’re going to the police. Then, we’re going to the media. Talk to you soon.”

  Chapter 21

  “How long did you say it takes bruises to heal?” Claire asked, as she frowned at the dark blotches decorating her arms and legs.

  Marlena looked up from the open album on her lap, and glanced at her younger sister.

  “Ten days. How long until the wedding?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Then you should be fine,” Marlena replied, waving away any cause for concern. “Besides, you said your dress is lilac. If there are any lingering signs of your trip down the stairs, it will appear intentional. A case of overzealous color coordination.”

  “No one’s going to accuse me of being coordinated, if I have to hobble down the aisle,” Claire said, giving her propped foot a rueful look. “Think Daphne will mind if I sit in a desk chair? One of the other girls can push me to the front.”

  That mental image struck Marlena as funny, but a glimpse of her younger sister’s bruises as she reached over to adjust the ice pack, and the way she winced, chased away all amusement.

  “I can’t believe I’m laughing. It’s no joke how last night could’ve ended,” Marlena shuddered.

  “I know, it isn’t. I’m reminded of that every time I catch Alec looking at me.”

  “Thank goodness he lives next door. I can’t imagine what you would’ve done, otherwise,” Marlena said with a concerned frown.

  “I’d probably still be lying there. And the rest of the neighbors would be annoyed, and wondering when the owner of the car with the blaring alarm would finally get around to turning it off. But, he does live next door. I didn’t lie there for long.”

  “I’m glad, and I’m sorry for interfering last week. In my defense, I knew he continued going out after asking you out, and… the latent big-sister in me—aided and abetted by the overtly snobbish side of my sinful nature—jumped to the wrong conclusion. I’m glad I didn’t cause permanent damage. It’s easy to see how much he cares about you.”

  “He does,” Claire smiled. “I feel the same way. I wonder though, how long he plans to wait before asking me out.”

  “It’s no secret how you feel about each other. Is it? He’s promised not to date anyone else. Everything you do, you do together. How is that not going out?”

  “It is. I guess… in a way,” Claire considered. “It’s kind of platonic, though.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Marlena pointed out.

  “I guess,” Claire replied, but she frowned a little. So did her sister.

  “I’m not sure what you feel you’re missing out on…” Marlena said, her eyebrows knitting. Claire rolled her eyes and blushed a little.

  “We don’t even hold hands. We hug sometimes, but that’s it. There’s a sl
iver of space between us nearly all the time. Would it kill him to kiss me?”

  “I might,” Marlena promptly replied.

  “What?” Claire laughed in surprise, and looked perplexed.

  “I’m teasing,” Marlena declared. “Either that, or this big-sister role is growing on me. In that spirit… don’t rush things. And be thankful he isn’t. Maybe he’s old-fashioned, I hear courting is coming back in style.”

  “I know, I should be grateful. I am. How on earth did we get on this subject? Moving on.”

  Marlena stifled a laugh, but it got away from her. Claire raised an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “I think you’re better at giving advice, than taking it.”

  “Well—yeah,” Claire said, with a shrug of her shoulder. “It comes with the little-sister territory, if you didn’t know. Bossiness and knowing-it-all is not an option. It’s mandatory.”

  Marlena laughed, and so did she.

  “It says something, that his family brought the family dinner, to you,” Marlena commented. She sounded impressed.

  “It was very sweet of them,” Claire agreed. “Alec, his dad, and his brother, replaced all the locks. They installed reinforced strike plates, too. If someone tries to break down one of the doors, I’ll have time to react before they can succeed. They also hooked up the lamps in the downstairs sitting room, and sewing room, with automatic timers. There’s one in my room, too. It will be harder, now, for anyone to know if I’m here or not.”

  “Do the police think this intruder would’ve stayed away, had he believed you to be home?” Marlena asked, her forehead creasing with concern.

  “Maybe. He was in a big hurry to leave as soon as he realized he wasn’t alone. Or… maybe he thought the house was haunted. It’s dark, Herschel shrieked, I threw open the door and jumped on him…”

  “I hope so,” Marlena said sharply, her blue eyes snapping. “He won’t be so quick to return. But… why was he here, in the first place? This is hardly an affluent part of town. The house itself is miniscule. Whether he’s local or not, he’d surely know there are homes not far away that would yield a far greater profit than this.”