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Riley sat up and looked at the comforter Emerson had draped over her. It was covered with more Post-it notes. Emerson had been sticking notes on her while she slept as if she were a refrigerator. Most of the notes were work-related. A couple were personal reminders like “Find socks” and “Eat more vegetables.”
“The man needs a keeper,” Riley said to the empty room. Oh crap, she thought, that would be me. I’m his keeper.
Emerson’s Aunt Myra was also his keeper. She was Vernon’s mom and Emerson’s father’s sister. She was a no-frills, practical woman who’d stepped in when Emerson’s father passed. She could usually be found in the kitchen, but this week she was in West Virginia tending to a sick relative.
Riley left the library and checked out the dining room and the kitchen. No Emerson. She helped herself to coffee and a piece of leftover pizza and set out for the conservatory. If Emerson wasn’t in the library or the kitchen he was almost always in the conservatory, which was actually an immense greenhouse located a short distance behind the main house.
The garages and Vernon’s RV were also behind the house. Riley was about to walk past the RV when its door crashed open and two young women in skimpy black maid’s uniforms popped out, followed by Vernon. Vernon was buck naked except for a John Deere hat covering his privates. He was holding a feather duster in his free hand.
“Thanks for helping me clean up my RV,” Vernon said. “Appreciate you ladies showing up on short notice. Hope you don’t mind the job took so long.”
The women giggled something that Riley couldn’t hear, got into a Prius, and drove away.
Riley clapped a hand over her eyes. “For the love of Mike, Vernon. Put on some clothes.”
Vernon looked down at himself. “I got all my nethers covered.”
Riley peeked at him from between her fingers. “I’m looking for Emerson. I think he’s having breakfast in the conservatory.”
“I’m powerful hungry,” Vernon said. “Wait up for me, and I’ll go with you.”
Two minutes later Vernon was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a tight-fitting white T-shirt, and he had the John Deere hat on his head.
“This here’s my lucky hat,” Vernon said, joining Riley.
“Apparently so. Did you hear the alarm last night?”
“Oh sure. But Emmie texted me not to come unless my unagi told me to. And I wasn’t getting any unagi danger signals, which was a good thing being that I was busy with the maid service.”
“They were here all night?”
Vernon grinned. “Turns out we had a lot to do, cleaning-wise.”
“Good grief.”
“It’s not what you think,” Vernon said. “Most people gotta pay for ladies in maid suits, but Jolene and Mary Beth and me went to high school together back in Harrisonburg. They live in D.C. now, and they come over on occasion to tidy up and enjoy my bachelor amenities.”
Don’t ask, Riley told herself. Best not to know too much about his amenities.
The grounds surrounding the main house and the conservatory were tended by a well-meaning but partially blind ninety-two-year-old gardener. The result was a riot of grasses and flowering plants run amok. Riley thought it suited the property perfectly because everything about Mysterioso Manor was amok. It was an extravagant display of wealth and bad taste set in a heavily wooded area of Rock Creek Park, in the northwest quadrant of Washington, D.C. It was horribly wonderful.
Riley led the way along the stone path to an elaborate iron and glass structure topped with a Victorian-era cupola. It was almost as large as the main house, and it contained a jungle of exotic tropical plants and fruit trees. It was, on one hand, a magical place. On the other hand, it was a living minefield. Spiders dropped from trees, birds shot through the air, assorted rodents and small animals scurried across walkways, and a larcenous colony of monkeys howled and screeched at visitors.
Benches were sprinkled throughout the conservatory, usually beside a small fountain or hummingbird feeder. A larger sitting area had been placed in the middle of the greenhouse, under the cupola. A pretty wrought iron table with four chairs held court in the center. More fancy wrought iron chairs and benches were stationed along the perimeter.
Riley watched for mice and spiders as she made her way to the sitting area, and Vernon held on to his hat for fear a monkey would steal it.
“I don’t know why Emmie likes this place so much,” Vernon said. “Looks to me like a swamp. And I don’t know why he puts up with the monkeys. They’re all a pack of thieves. Esp
ecially that Mr. Manfrengensen. He’s the worst. He takes anything not nailed down, and he don’t even care if you yell at him.”
“He listens to Emerson.”
“I reckon. Emmie has a way with dumb animals.”
Riley squelched a grimace. She hoped she didn’t fall into that category.
Emerson and Wayan Bagus looked up from their breakfast when Riley and Vernon stepped into the clearing. Mr. Manfrengensen was on a nearby bench, eating a slice of dragon fruit.
