Page 4 of One Last Secret

He grabs my arm and pulls me inside without waiting for my response. He doesn’t seem to intend rudeness so much as he seems distracted and only somewhat aware of what’s happening. His eyes look everywhere but my own, and when he releases my arms, he takes six steps forward before crying out, “Luggage! Yes, your luggage. “Excuse me.”

He brushes past me, nearly knocking me over. I decide it would be prudent to stay well out of his way, so I walk into the foyer and step to the side.

This turns out to be a wise choice as he nearly runs into me again while dragging my luggage behind him. He sets the suitcases in the middle of the foyer, then stands and sighs in satisfaction. "There you are. Your luggage is inside, and so are you."

A slight smile spreads across my face. I have a fondness for eccentric people. I have a feeling that Victor and I will get along handsomely once he gets used to my presence.

He turns to me and smiles. It’s a good look for him. His wrinkles soften, his eyes brighten, and his posture no longer seems so… looming. “Welcome to Holloway House, Miss Wilcox. Or is it Mrs. Wilcox? Perhaps Ms.?”

“Miss,” I reply, “and thank you.”

“Come! Let me show you around.”

He heads into the living room and gestures around expansively. "This is the living room, of course. The sculptures are mine. Well, of course, they're mine. I mean, I made them."

The living room floor is of varnished hardwood, brown rather than the gray of the exterior. The furniture is homely but of exceptional quality and arranged in that strange combination of tasteful and devil-may-care that only artists seem to achieve. From where I’m standing, the dining room is similar, the appliances and furniture modest but of high quality.

The statues to which he refers are the only off-putting elements of the décor. They’re not ugly by any means. In fact, even my unartistic eye can see the talent Victor must possess to create them. They look like they belong in a museum.

That museum look is what makes them off-putting. The statues are of humans, I think, but they aren’t representational. They look more like fluid shapes and forms caught at the precise moment they happened to resemble something vaguely human. One towers over me with a boneless spine, its arms wide as though to embrace me. Another leans back, its armsraised as though in a warding gesture, its angular knees bent at impossible angles. Another occupies a pose that I have great trouble discerning but I guess is some sort of interpretive dance. They are all constructed of a highly polished blue-black stone that sparkles with included minerals.

They’re actually quite beautiful, but the presence of something not quite human in a house that is otherwise so cozy and quaint makes it odd. They are something to be viewed with detachment and analytical appreciation, but here in the house, I cannot detach myself from them.

Before I can settle on what exactly disturbs me about them, aside from the vague belief that they belong in a museum, Victor grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs.

“The basement just contains showers and lifejackets, towels, stuff like that. The back door leads to a private cove.”

“How wonderful!”

His smile fades a little. “Yes, I suppose. Anyway, I’ll show you that during the day. This second floor is where the home theater and study are. Oh, there’s a laundry room on the first floor, but you’ve seen those before.”

“I am familiar,” I agree with a slight chuckle.

The home theater continues the homely but elegant theme. The two dozen chairs are upholstered easy chairs with cloth bolsters. The screen is perhaps twelve feet long by seven or so high, and the lights are recessed and covered with what looks like real crystal.

"Unnecessary, I admit," Victor said. "The realtor told me this drove the price up by a full million dollars. It would have cost five times that much to have it removed, so I just kept it. Not much of a filmgoer myself, but Celeste watches them from time to time. If you care to indulge, there's a snack room through the door in the back. Evelyn keeps it stocked. Between you and me,I think she uses this more than Celeste and I do. She chooses to remain here on her days off. Odd. Not that I mind, of course."

"Evelyn, is your housekeeper?" I guess.

“Yes! Charming young woman. Lovely. Anyway, the study is through here.”

He leads me to a door on the side into a much smaller room containing a large desk in front of a wall-to-wall window and a smaller desk in front of the larger desk. A bookcase filled with precisely organized textbooks and teaching aids occupies one of the side walls.

“I don’t have a lot of books other than what the state sends for her classes, I’m afraid,” he says with a sheepish smile. “But we both have library cards, and it’s a short drive to the Shoreline branch. Do you have a car?”

“I can get one. I have a friend who lives in the area.” The library might be a good place for Sean and I to meet to touch base on his investigation into Annie’s disappearance.

“Wonderful! On to the third floor then. That’s where the bedrooms are. Mine is the one nearest the staircase. Celeste is in the middle, and yours is at the end by the window. The fourth floor is my studio. That is off limits.”

“Of course. I would never dream of disturbing you.”

He gives me another dashing smile, then says, “Celeste is sleeping right now. I’m afraid she retires early these days. She’s excited to see you in the morning, though.” He sighs and looks toward the staircase. “Anyway, I should get back to work. I’m in the middle of a very big project.”

“Of course. Thank you, Victor. I look forward to getting to know you and your daughter better.”

His smile widens. He seems genuinely touched to hear that. “Thankyou, Mary. I can’t tell you how… your luggage!”

“I’ll get it,” I tell him. “Go work on your project. You’ve been very kind.”

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