a continuation of the serial mystery by Beth Dearinger

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Johnny Jacobson turned slowly around in the hall to greet the owner of the voice that had startled him. "Oh, Hi!, uhh..., I was just going downstairs for, a...a..." He couldn't think of a reason fast enough. The skinny woman was staring at him, obviously waiting for an answer, but he was wondering where she had come from and why he hadn't heard her. He instinctively lowered his eyes. He felt like he did so often in school, when the teacher would call his name for an answer. He looked at the woman's tiny feet. She was wearing Nikes with her dress. "Hey! cool shoes, lady."
    "Thanks. Now, tell me. Do your parents know where you are going?"
    "Well, they..." He gave in. "No, they're asleep. But I need something to do. I'll just be outside." She looked at him with that stare again.
     "I don't think that is such a good idea. I'll tell you what. You can help me. Run down to the basement and get the stack of towels off the top of the dryer. Then take them up to the third floor. Put two in the Faure Room and two in the Stravinsky Room."
    "But what if ..."
    "Knock first and if no one answers, take them in the room. They won't be locked if they haven't checked in yet."
    "Yeah, but if they ..."
    "If they're locked and no one answers, leave them on the table in the hall."
    "But why should ..."
    "Because I have things to do on this floor! And didn't you say you needed something to do?" Minnie looked at him with raised eyebrows. Johnny shrugged his shoulders and said, "well, OK, but, who are you?"
    The long face relaxed into a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Minnie," she did a mock formal bow, "and you, sir?"
    "Johnny Jacobson, Jr.," he replied, following her lead, "your official assistant. See ya!" He turned back and headed for the stairs, imagining himself in a Goosebumps novel. "Skinny Minnie's unsuspecting young victim was lured to the depths of the haunted house." Johnny thought this might turn out to be fun - if the basement proved dark and creepy.
    This brief exchange between the housekeeper and the youngest guest was overheard by the occupant of the Haydn Room. She had listened without feeling that she was eavesdropping, because she did it all the time. It had proved useful on so many occasions to remember seemingly inconsequential information. Polly Iverson returned her attention to her recently purchased "unwrinkable" black travel dress. It would be suitable for the concert, she decided. But this evening she would leave on her jeans. After all, she was here to relax and enjoy herself. Her last case had been a long, complicated one, which she had been well rewarded for. This was a much needed and rare long weekend off. Polly realized that it was about time for some of that "Winning Wine" she read about and prepared to head downstairs. Her well trained ear picked up something else in the hall.
    "Minnie! Where in the world have you been? I have been looking for you all afternoon!" Ethel Collins was out of breath from hurrying back and forth from kitchen to parlor.
    "I'm sorry, Miss Ethel, I was just finishing upstairs. Here, let me take that tray. What else needs to go?"     "That's all, except the dessert. I'll bring it in a second. You go ahead." Minnie lifted the tray filled with tiny sandwiches, artfully arranged on delicate china, and headed toward the parlor. Her narrow feet made hardly a sound as she passed from the kitchen, through the front entry hall and into the parlor. When she saw how many guests were already drinking wine and fruit punch, she was embarrassed by her tardiness. A Calace prelude was drifting softly from the stereo speakers, so she raised her voice only a little to call out, "Sandwiches anyone?" She placed the tray on the table. The small crowd herded toward the food. Minnie backed away, gathering a few dirty glasses as she searched for specific attendees. Most of the guests were here, but where was the record producer, Mr. Richards? And that famous mandolin player? From behind her she heard Miss Ethel's voice, "Make way for the sweets!" Ethel Collins nervously carried in a large platter containing the dessert that she had fretted over all day. The crowd watched with anticipation as she placed the platter on the table, and stood back. The compliments to her artistry started immediately, allowing Ethel to relax a little. She looked around, and wondered where Mr. Tremolorio was.
    Mr. Tremolorio was, at that moment, feeling a bit light headed. His warm up was not going very well, either. He'd felt all right after his short nap, and after freshening up down the hall, he had actually felt good. But something was wrong. The scales had been passable, but his arpeggios were coming out too stiff and his rhythm was off. Maybe all the traveling was getting to him. Or maybe... maybe he just needed some food. He looked at the clock and saw it was time for Hors d'oeuvres. He opened his door and heard chatter drifting up from the parlor. The others must have been hungry, and started early. As he descended the stairs, he noticed his reflection being revealed to him in the hall mirror. And with each of his steps, the chatter diminished, so that he walked into a hushed parlor. Miss Ethel Collins practically burst out with, "Mr. Tremolorio, I'm so glad you could join us!"
    Maybe this was not such a good idea, after all. The people seemed to swarm at him. Someone thrust a plate of sandwiches in one hand, someone else a glass of wine in the other hand. They all seemed to be talking at once. He managed to take a sip of wine, and a bite of a sandwich. He made his way to a seat on a small couch and put the plate and wine glass on an end table. He had no longer sat down, than Miss Collins was guiding him up again, and steering him towards a large table.
    "You must have the first piece!" she said as she dramatically indicated the dessert. She picked up a large knife. "Shall I cut, or would you like to?"
    Giuseppe stared at the cake. It was shaped like a mandolin, and decorated quite nicely. The icing actually looked somewhat like woodgrain, and the details were skillfully done with various tiny candies, properly placed. He complimented her, "It is beautiful! You cut it though."
    Ethel did so quickly and handed him the piece on a china plate, with a gold fork. All eyes were on him as he took a bite.
    "Delicious!" he said. Ethel smiled and handed the knife to Minnie who started dividing up the cake. The chattering of the crowd started up again, and Giuseppe really wanted to sit down. He handed the plate back to Ethel and dropped the gold fork on the floor. "I am sorry, very sorry, please excuse me." He headed out the parlor door. Ethel, extremely alarmed, followed him. She reached the hall just in time to see him collapse on his way up the stairs.

Chapter 4