The Pinch of Death – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

Chapter 9. A Clue

“Excuse me,” Jacquetta said in a strangled voice, slipping past her inquisitioners and into the hall. The house was decorated in a mishmash of competing styles: “depressed Americana” which she attributed to George – and “aspiring billionaire” which she assumed was Avalon’s – or perhaps her designer’s — contribution.

She chose the first door under the stairs but it was not a bathroom. On the contrary, it was so much like a nun’s cell Jacquetta stood in slack-jawed surprise. No windows. A single bed – more like a cot, really, and a white-painted chest of drawers. A bookcase. In place of a cross over the bed, a travel poster for France featuring Monet’s ubiquitous waterlilies. Ordinarily when faced with something like this Jacquetta read the book titles to understand their owner. Too late – Rose-Alice came surging up behind her.

“Sorry,” said Jacquetta. “Bathroom?”

Sunny-natured Rose-Alice seemed not in the least put out. “Right next door,” she offered cheerfully, opening the required door. “Make yourself to home.”

Make yourself ”to” home…what part of the country said that? It wouldn’t be rude to inquire – but there was too much to do what with blushing, bowing, changing places and doors opening and closing. One of the contemplated pleasures of the monastery was an end to interactions like these. Blessed hours of silence! A blessed set occupations – study and prayer – a blessed “knowing for certain where things were.”

This, for example, was obviously Rose-Alice’s bathroom! There was probably a gaudy powder room decorated with a bald eagle motif situated somewhere else for guests – but Rose-Alice had invited her to use this. So presumably it was all right. She, too, must have felt the current that passed between them. So why feel so awkward? Like an invader?

It couldn’t be the bullfighting poster that invited her to visit Spain – or even the silver-papered ceiling – that could be Avalon’s contribution. It was the detritus of a hopeful, even romantic young woman, “Love’s Babysoft perfume”, curling wand and hairspray on the sink and a litter of downscale drugstore cosmetics.

It was when Jacquetta sat on the commode that she saw something interesting. A book was stuffed down behind the water pipes. Not hidden, exactly – possibly just held in place. The Romance of Stained Glass and not in good condition either – the entire mid-portion had been ripped away, bleeding glue and binding string. Yes, the book-plate placed it in the “Iridium” library.

That means it’s mine, thought Jacquetta. Surely, she was too close to the convent to be feeling this much of a thrill of ownership. Still, it’s always exciting to receive a book – even if it was something she would never have chosen.

After she washed her hands and exited carrying the book, she was surprised to bump into Rose-Alice. Yet again. This time, the other girl who blushed.

“I guess that’s yours now,” she said. “I got it out of the trash. I suppose they threw it away because it wasn’t perfect.”

Jacquetta soon found out why Rose-Alice hadn’t re-entered the library. There was a full-scale verbal battle in progress – complete with the smashing of glass.