Arrival of the Traveler (Waldgrave Book 1) (2 page)

She dragged in her suitcases and closed the door.

“Good God, I hope this one doesn’t die on me.”

She took a running leap onto the bed. Upon hitting the silk sheets, she wondered what her uncle or grandfather or whoever had done to get so filthy stinking rich. She inhaled the clean smell of her bed, and momentarily she felt…

It was like a hotel room. It was like traveling. It was so clean, organized, and sterile. No one lived in this room. There were no personal knick-knacks, no family photos, no heirlooms, and no personal touches. The closet would be empty, awaiting her suitcase…

The closet. Lena got off the bed and approached the door on the left. She took a deep breath, hoping Howard wouldn’t spoil her dream by having used it as spare storage, and opened it.

“Oh my…I have my own bathroom. This really is a hotel…”

The bathroom was also done in green, with silver tone fixtures. There was a shower, a tub, and enough counter space that it could have been used as a surgical table. There were towels folded neatly and laid out next to the sink, with a fresh bar of soap placed on top like a ribbon.

Lena ran to her suitcase. Moments later and she was arranging mini shampoos, conditioners, and lotions from the last hotel in the shower. It completed the picture nicely. Lena nodded her satisfaction and headed for the door at the other side of the room.

Her closet was ideal as well; it was completely empty, and while Lena was sure that it had gone used for some time, it still had the potpourri smell that some hotels used to hide a well-trafficked spot. She dragged the suitcases in, pushed her father’s to the back, and opened hers up so that everything was within easy reach. It was all perfect. She used to sleep in the same hotel room with her dad, each with their own queen size bed, but it wasn’t that big of a stretch to imagine they were on a luxury vacation together. She toyed with the idea of imagining him in the next room, or just across the hall…

No. It wasn’t a luxury vacation, and he wasn’t here anymore. There was only one bed, and it was for her. Things were transient in life, just as she and he had been, and this wasn’t another hotel room. It had been their lifestyle, and now this was her lifestyle, and he hadn’t liked thinking about the past.

A digital clock on the nightstand showed that it was 9:13 p.m. Lena took a shower, picked her pajamas out of her luggage, and dressed quickly. As she slipped between the sheets, she stared around the room with a strange sense of gratitude. This place, Waldgrave, didn’t feel like a home at all. It was empty, quiet, and bland; her grandmother’s house had been filled with overly colorful furniture with worn-in smells of home cooking, carpet with tracked in dirt stains, and throw pillows with things like “Home Is Where the Heart Is” embroidered on them. Lena had felt out of place in the emotional memories of that place, but at Waldgrave she felt like she belonged. She was in a place of impersonal emptiness.

She reached over and clicked off her bedside lamp, listening as the noise echoed in the large space around her, and went to bed.

*****

Chapter
2

As forewarned, the knock on her door came at precisely 10:00 a.m. Lena had set her alarm for eight so that she would have time to unpack her suitcase into the closet, shower (Lena was fond of showering; when traveling, you never knew when your next one would be), dry her hair, and dress. She wasn’t sure what to wear at first, so she decided to wear her black corduroys and a white blouse—nice, but not formal. She hurried to the bathroom and quickly checked her appearance; she ran a hand through her straight dark hair, which always seemed to hang limp, and then hurried back out to answer the knock.

She opened her door to find a woman, perhaps in her late fifties, short and thin with sandy white hair, wearing a dark blue conservative dress. Her pale green eyes widened a little at the sight of Lena, already awake and ready for the day.

“Well, it’s clear you get that from your mother’s side.”

“What?” Lena looked down, examining her clothing for anything out of place.

“Howard Collins couldn’t get himself out of bed to flee a burning house. Dear Lord, when Masters Aaron and Howard were your age, they’d be in their bed clothes morning to night if I let them.”

Lena smiled nervously. “My dad and I traveled a lot. Planes don’t wait for late risers.”

“I see.” The woman smiled politely, her thin lips pursing into a crease reminiscent of the crow's feet around her eyes.

“I’m sorry…who are you?”

The small woman straightened up. “I am Mrs. Ralston. I’ve been taking care of your father’s side for thirty-five years. I believe I’m to guide you down to breakfast this morning? If you’re ready?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Let’s go.”

Lena stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. She followed Mrs. Ralston back to the library, down the stairs, through the living room and kitchen, and into the dining room. Howard was already seated at the far end of a table meant for twenty. To his right, there was a place set for Lena.

“Well, there you are. I’ve got to get to the housework.” Mrs. Ralston excused herself from the room as Lena wandered toward her place at the table.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Lena.”

She lifted the cover from her plate to reveal eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and orange slices. They ate quietly for fifteen minutes.

“Uncle Howard?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m sorry about last night. I was really rude, and I’m sorry.” Lena let her eyes slide up to look at Howard from beneath her brow, but he was entirely engrossed in his food. He didn’t seem too concerned with her prior impoliteness.

“Well, yes. You’re grieving, and it’s to be expected. By the way, this is for you. My number’s in it, if you need to contact me while I’m working.” He slid a rather modern looking cell phone across the table at her, which she caught and picked up for inspection. Howard rose and began making his way to a door different from the one Lena had entered through. She reflected, yet again, on how hotel-like the house was; it was too big to be a dwelling for so few people.

“Uncle Howard?” Lena chimed in, sensing that the air had been cleared between them.

“Yes?” He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“What do you do for a living?” Lena picked up the cell phone and flipped it open, examining it. She had never had one before, but presumed it was a newer design. It was shiny, small, and had a color screen. The buttons were tiny compared to the ones on hotel room phones.

“I told you already. I work here.” Howard glanced back at her, but then diverted his gaze toward the floor.

“Yeah…but doing what?” Lena tried to keep her tone innocently curious.

Howard paused for a moment. “I manage the family inheritance.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Howard started for the door again.

“Uncle Howard? What did your dad do for a living?” Lena slipped the cell phone into her pocket.

This time Howard didn’t turn around. He paused at the door only long enough to answer her question. “The same thing I do.”

Left alone in the dining room, Lena finished her breakfast pondering how the Collins must have come to be so rich. Investing, maybe? Property development? Black market drug smuggling? She remembered a man in South America who had explained the drug trade to her once, and it was supposed to be very profitable, if somewhat illegal. Once finished with her meal, Lena sat for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“Well, I guess he did tell me that I’m welcome to look around,” she murmured to herself. She stood and went back to the kitchen.

It was eerie how quiet the house was; there weren’t even any old-fashioned ticking clocks to disturb the silence. The main floor of the house was composed of the kitchen, living room, dining room, entrance hall, some sort of large room that looked like it had been designed for guest entertainment, and the small side entrance she’d come through the night before.

Up the stairs and into the library, she inspected the room as she hadn’t had the chance the night before. Most of the books were old, which didn’t surprise her; Howard didn’t seem the type who read a lot. The shelves seemed somewhat sparsely populated, and most of the volumes kept there were dusty. There were a few objects that she recognized as being from other countries, and others she didn’t, but also suspected of being of foreign origin. There was a delicately painted boomerang, a blue glass evil eye, a hand carved totem pole, an onyx Egyptian cat, and several other items that she did or did not recognize, but seemed to be small souvenirs of worldly travel.

Lena sighed and moved out into the hall, looking at the many identical doors which lined the corridor. Deciding she needed a method, she walked to the far left of the hall, where her room was located, and determined to discover each new room successively while moving back the other way. But when she reached her own bedroom door, she noticed something that she hadn’t the night before. There was a patch of slightly darker paint, just there, to the left of the door. It was rectangular. Lena blinked her eyes a few times to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, but no, it was still there…

She turned around and looked at the wall across the way. It had two rectangular patches, and something else—nail holes, positioned at the exact top and middle of each patch. Walking down the hall, she found several more dark spots on the walls. She laid her hand against the cold, oddly bi-colored plaster of the wall as her brow furrowed.

Lena finally realized what was happening. Someone had recently removed a great deal of framed art from this hall. For cleaning, or some other reason? She distantly noted that she would have to ask Uncle Howard at lunch.

Going back to her starting point, she opened the door across from hers. Another bedroom, done in blue. The next door: bedroom, red. And the next: bedroom, white. She passed two more bedrooms (purple and yellow), and found herself back at the library door. She stared down at the two remaining doors and thought to herself: 
Let me guess, more bedrooms?

She was wrong.

The first door on the other half of the hall opened into yet another hallway. The walls were painted a black or very dark blue, and the only other door lay at the other end.

Now what could this be…

She started walking toward the other door, pausing halfway down the hall as a sudden fit of vertigo caught her. She leaned against the wall, staring down at the darkness, where she was sure the floor existed even if she couldn’t see it; momentarily she fancied herself about to fall down a rabbit hole as Alice had done, but then dismissed the thought as childish. Grabbing the handle of the far door, she took a deep breath and opened it.

The space beyond was astounding. It appeared to be some sort of greenhouse, built off the back of the house. It was two stories tall, and made entirely of glass, and round—it only touched the main house at the door Lena entered through. There were plants of all sorts, but most of them were dead. Leaves of all shapes and sizes littered both the first and second story paths. Dead vines climbed the glass walls, as if they’d been seeking escape. A raised, wrought-iron path curved along the walls of the greenhouse, meeting at the far side of the circular space, where a spiral staircase led down to the ground level. Leaning over the rail, Lena could see statues of various forms poised throughout the dead garden; rabbits of quartz, frogs in jade, a dog in some sort of speckled black and white stone…

And in the very middle, there was a large, round pond. Bright orange fish swam about in it, watched over by a strikingly realistic carving of a young man. He had on workman’s jeans, a tired old blue shirt, and had rather ruffled looking hair. Lena began to walk the suspended second story path toward the stairs to get a better look, wondering how a statue could be so perfectly carved to match life. She looked back and suddenly saw the statue was watching her. She inhaled sharply and stopped, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” said the stranger, smiling, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lena gathered herself quickly as she felt his eyes on her. “Well, you did.”

His demeanor seemed to change, and the amusement in his eyes went icy at her tone. “Maybe you shouldn’t go wandering where you’re not supposed to, then.” He smirked and picked up a pond net that was lying behind some bushes.

“I live here. I can go anywhere I want to. You, on the other hand, appear to be hired help.” Challenged by his reprimand, Lena crossed her arms; still stationed on the second level, she tried to look condescending. She immediately regretted this choice.  

He stopped and turned to face her, letting the net clatter onto the stone paving around the pond. His face contorted into rage; although she couldn’t tell when he was well collected, it was clear to Lena now that he was no more than a few years older than she was.

“What did you say?” If his eyes had glowed red, Lena couldn’t have been more afraid.

“I…I…” She started to back away.

“No. Say it again,” he said, sneering. He started for the stairs.

Lena turned and ran; back through the narrow passage, down the hall, and standing before her bedroom door, she paused and looked back.