The Portrait of Doreene Gray (11 page)

“Princessa,”
Reynaldo said hesitantly, “don't you usually lock the bedroom door when we have guests?”

“That's right, I did lock it.” Doreene's angry expression faltered, but then she turned on Reynaldo. “Did you unlock it? Maybe you did this!”

“No! I swear.” Reynaldo raised both hands in denial, causing his pecs to jump.

“Can I take a look?” Michael asked. He pushed his way past the others and went inside the room, where he got down on his hands and knees and tilted his head this way and that.

Doreene folded her arms across her satin-clad middle. “What are you doing?”

“Looking to see if the slime trails lead back to any one point,” Michael said.

Suki took advantage of Doreene's inattention to take some pictures.

Michael sat back on his heels and stared at the ceiling. “There's a vent up there. Could someone have gone into the attic and dropped slugs into the room from up there?”

“There's another floor above us,” Doreene said.

“Oh, right. Lupita sleeps up there.” He resumed crawling across the floor.

Angus crossed the room and gripped the top of Michael's head, stopping him. “The explanation is pretty obvious to me.”

Michael slapped at Angus's hand. “Let go!”

Angus grabbed his wrist and tugged Michael to his feet. “Lupita said that, night before last, she saw spirits of the dead crawling through the woods. Last night, they must have reached the house.”

Reynaldo crossed himself. “
Cara,
you have to get rid of the painting!”

Doreene rolled her eyes. “I'm selling the damn painting, Rey. Would you rather I put it out by the curb?”

Michael headed toward the windows that looked out on the front lawn, evading Angus's reaching hand. “Two of these windows are unlatched, and there are no screens. What do you bet someone just opened one and tossed in leaves and slugs?”

“On the second floor of the house?” Angus asked.

“Ever heard of ladders?” Michael asked drily.

“These leaves are pretty spread out,” Suki said. “Wouldn't someone have to come inside the room to do that?”

Michael picked up one of the leaves. Another one followed, dangling several inches below it on an almost invisible thread of mucus. “I think the slugs are responsible for distributing the leaves.” He dropped the leaves and wiped his hand on his pants.

Angus went to the window and looked out. “Wouldn't Doreene or Reynaldo have heard something? A bunch of slugs hitting the floor must make some noise. And if someone used a ladder, that wouldn't be exactly silent.” He thought of the thump he had heard during the night.

“I take sleeping pills,” Doreene said. “I wouldn't have heard a thing. And Reynaldo sometimes pulls the covers over his head.”

“Because it is cold,” Reynaldo said. “But I did wake up last night.” He looked at Michael thoughtfully. “I thought I heard a door closing in the hall. Then I went back to sleep.” His frightened look eased.

“It'd be an awful risk,” Angus pointed out. “What if Reynaldo had got up and looked outside?”

“I'm sure they waited a while after putting the ladder up to see if any lights came on,” Michael said.

“Also, that window is on the street side of the house,” Angus said. “Anyone might have seen them and called the cops.”

“He's right,” Reynaldo said, looking frightened again. “It would be very risky.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “So you think it's more likely that
actual skeletons
put slugs in the room than that someone propped a ladder against the house in the middle of the night?”

Reynaldo bit his lip. “But why would someone do that?”

“Why would skeletons scatter gastropods across the carpet?” Michael countered.

“Because they are messengers from the Devil,” Reynaldo said.

Doreene pointed a finger at him. “I swear, Reynaldo, if you start yapping about the Devil one more time…” She went to a side chair and grabbed a robe from the back of it. “I never did get to pee.” She passed Lupita, who had returned in her uniform, carrying an empty bucket and a whisk broom. “
Finally.
Make sure you check under the bed and on the curtains, Lupita. And we'll be eating out today, so don't get any bright ideas about slug soup.”

*   *   *

Michael came out of his room wearing his jacket and found Angus leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“I've a bone to pick with you,” Angus said.

“Finger or knee?” Michael glanced toward Doreene and Reynaldo's room. The sound of slugs hitting the bottom of a bucket came from beyond the open door.

Angus pushed away from the wall. “Do you or do you not work for a paranormal magazine?”

“I've never seen the pages turn by themselves or felt cold when I picked up a back issue, so no, I don't. If you mean, do I work for a magazine that covers paranormal topics, then yes, I do.” He crossed his own arms. “Do you have a problem with my writing?”

Angus frowned. “Your writing is fine. It's your interview technique that needs work.”

Followed by Angus, Michael started downstairs. “Reynaldo is determined to believe in walking skeletons, no matter what I say. If I weren't here for him to argue with, we might not have that quote about skeletons being messengers from the Devil.”

They reached the ground floor, and Michael turned. “And in case you've forgotten, Doreene asked us to stay because she hoped we'd find out what's behind all this, starting with the paper strips in the soup. If we had been all for demonic warnings this morning, she might have kicked us out.”

“Maybe,” Angus said.

Michael opened the front door, and they went out. “Anyway, we both know that it doesn't matter what rational explanations I come up with, because you'll edit those out of the finished article.” He paused on the walk and took a small digital camera from his jacket pocket.

“I'm glad you brought that,” Angus remarked. “We need better pictures of the ground where those gouges were. I knocked on Suki's door earlier, but she didn't answer.”

“She was probably in the shower. I could hear a hair dryer going when I left my room.”

Angus watched Michael fiddle with the settings on the camera. “I clipped a pen to the bush, so we could find the spot.”

“We can search for your pen, but first I want to look around the outside of the house.”

“What for?”

“A ladder.” Michael turned left, walking around the corner of the mansion. He led the way past the side door to the conservatory and continued to the back of the house, where a small greenhouse stood, moisture clouding the windows. Beyond it was a medium-sized shed of weathered wood. “Aha!”

“Bet it's locked,” Angus said.

“Nope.” Michael gave him a triumphant look and pulled the slightly rusty hasp back. Metal squeaked against metal, and the sagging door opened. He peered into the dusky interior, making out a lawn mower and a selection of pruning tools. Then he pointed. “If I'm not mistaken, that's a ladder.”

Angus stood next to him and peered inside. “It's awfully dark in here. Are you sure it isn't a bookcase?”

Michael ducked his head and moved cautiously into the shed, then backed out, making spitting noises and pawing at his mouth. “Yech. Spiderweb.”

“If there's a spider's web, I'd say this ladder hasn't been used in a while,” Angus said smugly.

“Or the spider made a new web after the ladder was returned. It's had a few hours, after all.” Waving his hands in front of him, Michael edged inside the shed, grabbed the end of the wooden ladder, and dragged it out. “Hmm. Stepladder. That doesn't seem like it would be tall enough.”

Angus looked at the ladder's feet. “And I'd expect the feet to show a little moisture, or grass.” He rubbed his finger across the wood. “Dry as a bone.”

Michael shoved the ladder back into the shed and latched the door.

Angus stood behind him, hands in his pockets, breathing the damp morning air appreciatively. “Can we look for my pen now?”

“In a minute. I want to check the ground underneath Doreene's windows.”

They made their way back to the front of the house, Michael studying the ground the whole way. “I'm not used to grass that's this lush. Would it stay down for a while or spring right up?”

“You'll have to ask someone local, but remember, we're not in the debunking business, Michael.”

Michael stopped and turned to look at him. “Aren't you remotely interested in the truth?”

Angus smiled. “Truth changes constantly, but a good story lasts and lasts.”

Michael resumed walking. “Ah, aphorisms. The spray cheese of wisdom.” He looked up and pointed. “Those are Doreene's windows, and those two on the end are the ones that weren't latched. If I were going to put a ladder up, I would put it right…” He took a step back, then several to the left. “… here.” He pointed at the lawn. “What does that look like to you?”

Angus squatted and brushed at two indented spots in the grass. “I suppose it's possible someone put a ladder here.” He stood, and watched while Michael took several photos of the marks. “Or it could be from something completely different.”

“Like what?”

“Like a skeleton with several other skeletons on his shoulders, putting slugs through the window.”

Michael shook his head and looked at the sky. “You never give up, do you?”

“I've a magazine to put out,” Angus said. “Now can we go and find my pen?”

*   *   *

They were still looking for the pen when Suki joined them in the woods around Maureene's cottage. She had topped her jeans and buckled boots with a faded Velvet Underground T-shirt. As usual, she had a camera around her neck. “Did you find the place?”

“No,” Angus said grumpily.

Suki walked a little back way back, keeping Maureene's cottage in sight. “Okay, I'm pretty sure this was the bush we were standing in at first.”

Angus joined her, then turned around and mimed the events of the previous night. “I took out my phone, I walked this way a little, I turned…” He glanced around. “There it is!”

The others joined him.

Angus unclipped his pen from a branch and put it in his jacket pocket, then studied the ground. “See how there aren't many leaves in this area?” He took a step toward the nearest tree and pointed. “And there are the two gouges.”

Michael squatted and stared at the spot. “It looks to me as though someone dug through the leaves with a stick, looking for slugs, then scooped some up, leaves and all. If they used a flashlight, that would also explain the light Lupita saw in the night.”

“Could you lie down on the ground and really look at those marks, Michael?” Angus asked.

“What for?”

“It's just that you look very
investigative reporter
down there. I'd like Suki to take a few pictures of you for the magazine.”

Michael looked pleased. “Okay.” He lay on the ground and fixed the marks with a serious look.

Suki raised her camera.

“Hold on,” Angus told her. He bent and positioned Michael's arms so they were on either side of the marks. “Fire away.”

Suki circled Michael, taking pictures as she went.

“Excellent,” Angus said. “We'll use these as a re-creation of a skeleton dragging itself along the ground.”

Michael scrambled to his feet. “Did you listen to anything I said?”

“Slug gathering with a flashlight. It's a possibility.” Angus turned and looked at Maureene's cottage, barely visible through the bushes and trees. “I wish we had a better interview with Maureene.”

“Want to see if she's home?” Suki asked. “We could tell her about the slugs and see what she says.”

“Good idea.”

They went to Maureene's cottage, their feet rustling through the dead leaves.

Angus rapped on the door. No one answered, and no barking came from inside. “Probably gone out to get breakfast. Michael, where are you going?”

Michael had walked down an overgrown path of concrete pavers that led along one side of the cottage. “I'm just looking around.” He disappeared around the back of the cottage. “Well, would you look at this!” he called.

Angus and Suki trotted to join him. “What?”

Michael pointed to a shiny aluminum extension ladder, neatly folded and leaning against the back of the house. He checked the bottom of the feet and pulled a fresh blade of grass from one. “Looks like Maureene and the Slug Fairy could be one and the same.”

Angus held up a finger. “
Or,
the skeletons forced her to do their bidding. I don't imagine you get good purchase on these rungs with bare bone.”

Michael flicked the blade of grass away. “I like my explanation better. The question is, why would Maureene throw slugs into her sister's bedroom?”

 

Twelve

They returned to the house to find Reynaldo on the front walk watching Doreene drive away. Enrico's white Impala was nowhere to be seen.

Reynaldo smiled as he turned back toward the house.

Suki raised a hand in greeting. “Morning, Reynaldo. You look pretty happy for a man who recently had a close encounter of the slug kind.”

“My
princessa
has gone to talk to Max about shipping the painting to New York,” he said, walking to meet them. “I would be happier if she destroyed it, but this is very good.”

“So what are you going to do this morning?” Michael asked.

Reynaldo looked blank. “I don't know. Perhaps I will go back to the festival.”

“Come and have breakfast with us,” Angus invited. “We're going to a restaurant in one of the shipyards.”

*   *   *