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Sage hesitated, like she wasn’t sure she should leave me alone. But it looked like her eagerness to see Sophia harassing her son won out over whatever loyalty she had to the family. “Just follow the ugly suits of armor to find your way back to the reception room.”
With those instructions tossed over her shoulder, she took off down the hall, long legs eating up the distance. She was gone in seconds.
I waited a few more to make sure she didn’t come back, but it looked like the coast was clear. Then I gave the other rooms (a parlor, library, and a bathroom with a tub I could have done laps in) a once-over, but didn’t see anything of interest. I figured if the idol was anywhere, it would be in Magda’s bedroom.
Unless Sage’s half-joking suggestion was true, and Magda had taken the thing with her to the beyond. Maybe that was why her ghost had taken off lickety-split? I’d heard weirder things.
Regardless though, Magda’s bedroom was still probably my best bet. So I eased the big white doors open and slipped inside.
The bedroom was huge (no surprise there), but weirdly stuffy, like it had been shut up for more than three days. It didn’t help that everything was covered in those huge swaths of white fabric. It made me think of a hospital.
The massive four post bed that dominated the room had been stripped of its covering and drapes, leaving just a sad bare mattress. Any paintings or decorations had been packed away, removing any hint of personality of the life lived in this room. It made me sad, that a person could just be erased like this and so quickly.
There was also a ghost hovering over by the windows, wringing her hands as she looked around the room.
“Oh, dear,” she mumbled to herself, shaking her head. “Oh, this isn’t right. This isn’t how it should be.”
I took a few steps into the room and raised a hand to catch the ghost’s attention. “Excuse me?”
The ghost sharpened around the edges, her form a little more distinct than it had been. “Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.”
Cain tensed.
I wasn’t worried. Ghosts could be dangerous, sure. Especially ones that went violent and turned into poltergeists, like that bum Frank. But I didn’t think this dame was going to go all scary spook on us. She looked too prim for any of that.
She was pale, even for a ghost. Her uniform was a bit like Sage’s, but more old fashioned, with a longer skirt and a starched apron. Her fair hair was pulled back into a bun so tight, it pulled her eyebrows up into a permanently surprised look, and her lips were pursed into a little rose bud.
While I was sure she wouldn’t start tossing half the room at me, that didn’t mean the ghost couldn’t make my life difficult if she wanted to. And she looked like a real stickler for the rules, so I slapped on my most professional smile.
“Actually, I am supposed to be here. I’m Darla, Darla Rowe, and I’m working for the Erepto family.”
She gave me a suspicious look, her hands folded primly in front of her. “I’ve never seen you here.”
“I’m new.” I didn’t give her a chance to question that any further, and just kept on talking. “I’ve been hired by the family to search for the missing idol. You’re familiar with it, aren’t you?”
I’d put on my poshest voice, with a hint of an accent, so I sounded like a real snooty broad, and the ghost woman definitely seemed to notice.
“Of course,” she said with great dignity. “I keep the rooms. This is my responsibility, and I know how everything is supposed to go.”
She cast a look around, taking in the stripped bed, the bare walls, and she looked a little frazzled.
“This is wrong. All wrong.”
The boxes trembled like there was a small earthquake, the bed creaking as the few things not packed away rattled and shivered.
Yikes. Maybe I was wrong about that whole ‘not going poltergeist’ thing.
Careful, Cain barked.
“I understand.” The trick was keeping my voice soothing, but brusque. And trying to get on her good side. “You’ve done an excellent job, all things considered.”
That had her attention snapping back to me, and the intensity was a little creepy.
“I do. I do a good job.”
“You do.” I tugged at the hem of my skirt, trying to smooth it out. Some of the woman’s starch must have been catching. “What is your name?”
“Clarice,” the ghost answered.
