Page 36 of Finders Keepers
Quentin nudges me lightly, his elbow barely grazing my upper arm. The paltry contact leaves an unreasonable amount of heat in its wake. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go see what we can find.”
What we find is, of course, Fountain’s house pretty much exactly how it was when we toured it last week. This time, though, we know that the landscape hanging above the navy-blue velvet divan in the Star Parlor was once the location of a portrait painted by a man named Whale. The treasure, if it’s here, could very well still be behind it. Or under it? It’s kind of hard to tell what exactly “beneath” means in the context of something hanging on a wall. We’ll have to be thorough.
There’s just one problem that we did not anticipate. And her name is Gladys.
“We call this the Star Parlor, due to the star motif on thewalls. We carefully reconstructed the design based on photos and remnants of the original. The house’s blueprints have this room labeled as a bedroom for the lady of the house, but as Fountain never married, it was instead kept as an upstairs sitting room. Fountain’s secretary, Louisa Worman, often used the space as her personal office when working from the Castle, which she did frequently as Fountain aged and became less inclined to travel to his factories to take care of daily business.” Gladys smiles warmly as she takes a well-rehearsed breath. She told us when she introduced herself that she’s been a volunteer docent at Sprangbur Castle since the house reopened to the public ten years ago. That’s a whole lot of Monday tours. She’s basically the opposite of Sharon, in that she has the spiel down to an art. This is the tight five version of a historic house tour. Also, Gladys seems extremely aware of where all seven of her visitors are and what they are doing at all times. “Nowadays we use it as one of the dressing rooms for wedding parties. Events are a big part of what we do here at Sprangbur, so if you know anyone looking for a venue…” She trails off cheekily and everyone chuckles on cue. “Take a peek inside, then we’ll travel down the hall to Mr. Fountain’s bedroom.”
Quentin and I allow the other five people on the tour with us—a family of three and an elderly couple—to stick their head through the doorframe to look at the parlor and wait until they’ve all proceeded down the hall before Quentin leans in himself and whispers, “Go. I’ll keep a lookout.”
I swallow against the nerves telling me this is a bad idea and slide around the velvet rope to enter the room. One step. Two steps. That’s as far as I get before Gladys’s voice dashes down the hallway, almost as if it’s grabbing me by the upper arm. “We okay back there? Ready to move on?” she asks. Which, I willgive her, is a very nice way to say “What do you think you’re doing? Get your asses over here with the rest of the group this very instant.”
So I turn around and head back out of the Star Parlor, Quentin’s heavy exhale audible as I pass by his outstretched arm.
The idea that we could simply detach ourselves from the tour and enter one of the Castle’s rooms without anyone noticing suddenly feels like an extremely poorly thought-out plan. At least it is with Gladys in charge. As we rejoin the group, the older Black woman begins telling us about Fountain’s bed, which is no longer here but was particularly extravagant and so heavy they needed to construct it in pieces and assemble it in place. Quentin leans down to whisper into my ear again. “What if I ask her a bunch of questions after the tour and you can sneak back upstairs while I keep her busy?”
I put my hand on his shoulder to tug him down to me so I can whisper back. One of his hands lands at my waist in response, and I try to ignore the familiarity with which he touches me. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Why am I the one sneaking back up?”
“Because you’re cute.”
Oh.
Hey, wait. What does that have to do with anything? Before I can ask, Gladys says, “Now we’ll head down into the lower level. If the gentleman by the stairs will lead the way…”
It turns out that Quentin is the gentleman by the stairs, which gives us no chance to linger behind. Not that Gladys would let us anyway. It’s probably just paranoia brought on by the fact that the last time I did anything even remotely against the rules was over a decade ago, when I stole a fork from my university’s dining hall. But I feel like this sweet little lady isaware of every breath I’m taking, every move I’m making, and maybe also every other lyric from that Police song.
Down in the basement, she tells us more about the staff who worked at the Castle. Sharon might win for breadth of knowledge about this place, but Gladys definitely has the presentation down much better. And thankfully I’m able to focus, despite the residual jitteriness in my limbs from getting caught going into the Star Parlor earlier.
I cannot believe I’m about to try to sneak back up there. Best-case scenario: I make it inside and am able to do a thorough search, during which I find the treasure and I’m suddenly seven thousand dollars richer. Worst-case: I get caught and sent to jail for a million years for, I don’t know, cultural site defacement? Is that a thing? At the very least, I’ll get banned from Sprangbur forever. Most likely: I guess I go in, look around briefly, find nothing, and slip back out without anyone the wiser. That wouldn’t be so bad.
“And that concludes today’s tour of Julius James Fountain’s home, Sprangbur Castle,” Gladys announces. “We’ll return now to the foyer, where I’m happy to answer any questions or provide you with a map of the grounds, which you are welcome to continue exploring at your leisure.”
Quentin gives me a speaking look before we start up the narrow servants’ stairs. Back on the main level, he sidles up beside me. “So, am I distracting her or not?”
“If it’s in that room, don’t you think they would’ve found it during the renovations? I mean, maybe they did and it was so boring they didn’t even bother—”
“Nina,” he says more sharply. “Are we doing this?”
Ugh. If I don’t go now, when will we get another chance to check it out? We can’t just keep coming here for tours until weeventually happen to get Sharon again. That would be seriously suspicious behavior. “Okay. Fine,” I say. “Let’s do it.” My stomach dips as I remember the worst outcome is not a completely far-fetched one. If I get banned from Sprangbur, I’ll have deserved it. I feel a bit like a traitor to Sharon, Gladys, and public historians everywhere. But I’m going to do it.
Quentin plasters on that hardworking charm of his, then takes a step toward the docent. “Ms. Gladys. Such a wonderful tour. Thank you so much. I do have a few questions, if you don’t mind…”
I turn around and quietly but quickly make my way back up the stairs. There’s a moment halfway there where I nearly trip over my own feet, my nerves making me feel like I’ve suddenly grown six more of them. It’s a relief when I reach the second floor without any major incidents.
I’m about a yard away from the Star Parlor when a door markedStaff Onlyat the far-left end of the hallway creaks open and a woman with a small cleaning cart pushes through. She smiles at me, and I smile back. But in my head, all I can think isShit, shit, shit. Because I’ve been caught up here when I’m not supposed to be, and even if she isn’t about to sound any sort of alarm, I am now officially conspicuous. Which is generally the opposite of what you want to be when doing something against the rules. Or maybe the law. I’m somewhat unclear on what constitutes trespassing. Quentin presumably knows more. Probably why he made me do this instead of going himself.
Maybe this is all an elaborate attempt at payback for getting him in trouble that night. As if the loss of him in my life wasn’t punishment enough.
My smile wobbles as the weight of what I’m doing sinks in further.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” I repeat.
“Hello?” she answers, understandably confused.
There’s an awkward little pause while we continue smiling at each other. “Um. Bathroom?” I ask at last.
