The Lark Taps Twice

Chapter 8: A Museum of Familiar Mysteries

Miriam took a few moments to gather her bag and coat from by the door, then led her menagerie into the garage. As promised, her Jeep looked none the worse for the wear, and the animals needed no guidance or help getting into the vehicle or finding places to sit. They graciously left the front seats empty for the humans, as well.

Miriam settled herself behind the wheel to find the keys in the center cupholder, and the garage door still closed inches from the vehicle's rear bumper. With a sigh, she pushed the door open and spun her legs toward the gap. As she slid off the seat to the concrete slab, the large solid barrier to the outside world began to groan and creak and rise toward the roof. A hop and the snick of the seatbelt buckling readied her to drive away, but she hesitated, key in hand, waiting for Jim.

As though summoned from her thoughts, the giant emerged from the house and efficiently planted himself in the vacant passenger seat. How he made the maneuver look so effortless was impressive, considering he now wore an olive green fishing vest covered in small bulging pockets, and his left hand clutched a sawed-off double barrel shotgun. Jim met her astonished expression with a flat stare.

"Can never be too prepared. Some varmints like to walk around in broad daylight, and a couple of them might even be human. Got your map?"

"Here." She retrieved the folded paper from the outside pocket of her leather messenger bag. Everything she might need for the next couple of days was tucked inside the bag's various sections. There was a filtering straw for water, several protein bars, a compact hairbrush, a clean t-shirt and shorts, a solar battery pack that should recharge her phone while it recharged in the sun, and her manual navigation and bird identification tools. In a pinch, she could get by with just her phone and her bag for a week, and she intended to keep it with her at all times until this mystery revealed its solution.

"Looks like there're three routes across town to the museum, but only one that looks safe enough for us to take it. See these red dots?" Jim swept a hot-dog finger across the map of town where three blue lines snaked paths between their location and the yellow triangle over the museum.

Two swarms of red blocked the shortest route, while four intercepted the next shortest. That left the longest line, which wound its way through the outskirts of the village; few dots came near the path, but it would take at least half an hour to traverse, while the shortest looked to be ten minutes or less.

"I know what you're thinking, but it wouldn't be worth it, girl. Any time you save on one of the shorter ways will be eaten up dealing with the packs of unfriendly beasts you see there." He slapped the dash. "Besides, I know your truck is fast and nimble; we'll be there in no time."

And they were. Despite the roads resembling something in a war torn country, they encountered not formidable obstacles, inanimate or otherwise, and the morning shadows still stretched tall from the trees and buildings when Miriam silenced the Jeep's engine. She'd parked in a tiny dirt lot behind the elegant Victorian house bearing a weathered carved wooden sign that read, "Fort FIllmore Museum of Art and Oddities: Free Admission". The cracked and peeling baby blue on the back of the house denoted age and lack of funding, though the siding planks and shingles were in good repair. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the place to suggest why she's been sent here, and Miriam's shoulders slumped.

"Well, we won't solve your puzzle out here, and you know what they say about appearances and book covers. Will your friends be all right here, do you think?"

Jim's words stiffened Miriam's resolve to see this odd journey through to its end, and she flicked the key in the ignition to ACC to roll the front windows down halfway before twisting it back, removing it from the ignition and tucking it into her pocket.