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Should he go in? Giuseppe Tremolorio stood in the doorway of his room on the second floor of Ethel Collins' Bed & Breakfast. Why shouldn't he? Just because the door appeared to have not been locked, and he couldn't identify the noise coming from within the dim room? If he didn't go in, he would have to go back down the stairs, find that talkative proprietor, and, then what? Complain? No, that would not do. Besides, he was exhausted. He kicked the door all the way open and walked into the room.
    He immediately set down his bag and felt on the wall for the light switch. Finding it easily, he pushed it up, and the overhead chandeliers drenched the room in a soft light. He could still hear the sound. Giuseppe held his head at a slight tilt, trying to identify its exact location. There it was! Feeling more annoyed than foolish, he walked over to the open window. A breeze was catching the plastic end on the cord from the blinds and knocking it against the window sill in an irregular rhythm. Sighing, he closed the window. What kind of an establishment was this? An unlocked door, an open window. Perhaps he should have a word with Miss Ethel. But not now. Not after he had seen the bed.
    It was a large bed, covered with a deep blue velvety looking spread. Mounds of pillows were propped against the intricately carved wood headboard. The carving was of grapes on the vine. The bed looked very inviting. He untangled himself form the shoulder strap of his instrument case and placed his mandolin down. He glanced in a mirror above the dresser. The same grape vine motif was carved around the mirror and down the sides of the drawer fronts. A large armoire, also wood, but not matching, stood on one wall. He opened the armoire door and found what he would expect to find in a hotel -- a TV, a remote and cordless phone. Another door revealed a rod and hangers, and in the drawers below, he found a white cotton terry cloth robe, towels, and various sample sized toiletries. A sink stood in the corner, a generously stuffed chair in another. This would do fine. Giuseppe looked at his mandolin, then at the bed. He could practice later, but at the moment, he had to rest. Giuseppe removed his coat and collapsed on the bed.
    Downstairs in the kitchen, Ethel was wondering several things. First: where was Minnie? She almost always was within earshot, but she hadn't turned up the last few times Ethel had called. Second: would the rest of her guests arrive before the cancellation deadline? Several people had called asking for a room, and she had told them all that she had no vacancies. Third: why did she ever decide to make this silly dessert? It had seemed like such a fun project, and at first she thought Mr. Tremelorio would be impressed, but now she was not so sure. The shape looked correct, and the caramel icing was smooth and nice, but the decorating was proving very tricky. She hoped it wouldn't end up looking stupid. Oh, well, it was too late to start something new. Fourth: what music should she put in the CD player for cocktail hour?
    On the third floor of Ethel Collins' Bed and Breakfast, in the Ravel Room, Bernie Bredelow was asking himself some questions. Why had he let Minnie talk him into this fool plan? Spending good money on a room when he lived just a few blocks away. And just because some record producer was supposed to be here. Heck, he might not even show up. But Minnie had been adamant that he would, and that she would fix so he'd be in the next room next door. He'd been practicing his favorite bluegrass tunes on his banjo so much that he knew them backwards and forwards. Minnie would ring him when the guy was on his way to his room. Bernie would leave his door open and be picking at just the right time so that this big shot would hear him. That part might work, but the idea that he would be interested in giving him a record deal, or a CD deal, he guessed you'd call it, . . . well, it was too hard to believe. It would be a miracle if it all worked out, especially since the real reason the guy was in town was to hear some foreigner at a concert. But Minnie had insisted, and it was awfully nice the way she had stopped by to "freshen up" his room this afternoon. That part of the plan worked out great. But who was this Ravel fellow, anyhow?
    On the second floor, in the Beethoven Room, Johnny Jacobson was wondering if his parents would ever get up from their nap. He had finished reading the latest Goosebumps novel, and was anxious to go outside and do something - anything - as long as it was outside, and involved moving, preferably running. He knew his parents were tired after the long drive, but he had managed to nap in the car. Now he had to sit around and wait for them. Maybe, if he was very quiet, he could go downstairs. He could tell that Ethel lady that he'd be out in the yard, in case they woke up and worried. Johnny got up and carefully, slowly tiptoed toward the door. He froze when the floor creaked and glanced toward his parents. They didn't move. Slowly, he unlocked the door and slipped into the hall. Closing the door behind him, he wondered if it locked itself. He turned and started down the hall to the stairs. The voice came out of nowhere, stopping him dead in his tracks. "And just where do you think you're going, young man?"

END OF CHAPTER TWO -- CHAPTER THREE

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