Dinner at Eight

The Investigation

I made it to the bottom of the stairs unscathed, but I seriously worried the entire time that something was going to jump out at me. I know, don't laugh, but this place had really gotten to me.

My black Pliners clicked on the Italian marble floor as I walked towards the dinning room doors. The sound echoed through the foyer and traveled up to the high ceilings. Even with the tapestries, the amount of hard surfaces within the main hall made the echo take on a new life.

Click, click, click on to the door. I cringed at every step. For some reason I felt like I was sneaking around. I really didn't want to get caught walking through the halls all by myself, by anyone in this place. My hand reached for the door handle, slowly. Something in my head told me to be cautious.

The dining room had double doors, and at that point they were closed. I tried turning the handle to no avail. Locked out. I leaned forward, trying to listen through the thick wood, which of course was pointless. My stomach dropped, realizing that I hadn't found Shane and still had no idea where she was.

Maybe knocking would yield results. I lifted my hand to knock lightly when I heard a voice.

"Sir, entry to the dining room this early prior to dinner is not permitted."

The booming voice of that household employee rang through the foyer, much louder than the clicking of my shoes. Didn't any women work here? I cleared my throat, determined to get answers about Shane's whereabouts.

"I'm looking for Shane. Has she been down here?" I stood a little taller, trying to show that I wasn't interested in messing with the guy.

"Ms. Shane is indisposed at the moment." He replied with an air of no nonsense about him.

Damn.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I stepped a little closer to him. I wasn't the strongest guy but I could handle myself if I needed to.

"It means she is unavailable for consult. I'm sure you will see her at dinner, when it is prepared and served, at eight." He said with emphasis on the time.

Dead end. No pun intended.

"Fine." I muttered. The guy in his dress suit marched back to wherever he came from. At least they weren't in typical uniforms, but come on, who in this day and age had employees dress so formally? It was odd.

Shane's grandmother, Esther Castillo, seemed like a stuffy old bird who would frown at elbows on the table and belching. I mean, I wasn't that disgusting, but it happened on occasion. She wasn't a warm and fuzzy grandmother, that's for sure.

Ernesto Castillo was a quiet, brooding man. He accompanied us on the first portion of the grand tour but took his leave as soon as his wife mentioned "seventeenth century candelabra". He hadn't said much to me, but he did give Shane a warm welcome. After shaking my hand when we were introduced, he essentially ignored me. I didn't get the impression that he didn't approve of me, more like he didn't or wouldn't approve of anyone.

At least he was looking out for Shane. I had to give him that.

As soon as the uptight butler, or whatever his title was, had turned a corner, I took a look around to survey the location. It was time for a recon mission and my goal was to find Shane and not let her out of my sight for the rest of the trip, separate rooms be damned.

Yeah, I realized that this was her family but enough was enough. The creep factor continued to multiply with each minute we were there.

To the left of the dining room was an enormous living room filled with uncomfortable, museum quality furnishings, none of which anyone was allowed to touch or sit on. That much I remembered from the tour. Mrs. Castillo had emphasized the "no-sitting" rule as she looked me right in the eyes. I don't think she liked me much.