Autumn

Chapter 4

"Is the chicken cooked through?" I inquired.

He rose his head and nodded mutely. His chewing loud amongst the uncomfortable silence.

"So, how's business?" I asked noncommittally.

"Good." He replied, and I frowned. Why did he agree to this dinner if he wasn't going to talk? He was an odd man, just as I thought we had bonded over the robbery, the sleeping next to my door, the ghost and the tunnel, he was back to his old self. What was it about the daytime that made him so weird? I wondered. I was Ms. McLaren by day and Autumn by night.

I resigned to study him.

He had a firm set mouth with a full lower lip and large almond shaped eyes that were surrounded by thick cow-like lashes. The color was green as the evening light drifted through the iris. His form was long and of medium build. He wasn't an especially muscular man, but there was a way he held himself that spoke on it being of little consequence. His words were more powerful. I must have caught his attention then, which garnered a guarded look.

"What?"

"I was zoning out thinking about this place I found earlier." I blurted and paled, realizing I'd said the one thing I was trying to hide from him in my hurry to change the topic.

"What place?"

"Well, I found this clearing in the forest next to the house and I wondered if some building used to be there." I related, avoiding mentioning the tunnel.

"Clearing?" He repeated, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Well, they form naturally."

His eyebrows were a little too full.

"Then why did a path lead to it, only to disappear?"

He looked down. "Could be an old building site. I wouldn't go near it."

I squinted. "Why not?"

"The ground could cave in or something, trust me."

Not as far as I could throw you, I wanted to concede. Just as I thought I could trust the man, he threw a wrench in it.

--

George was _definitely_ up to something, I affirmed later as I stood in the shower. If there was anything to be said about forgetfulness, mine lay only in preventing me from passing college algebra and remembering people's birthdays. But I remembered locking that back door the night of the break in. I grabbed a handful of my special conditioner and concentrated it near the mids and ends of my hair. I noticed I needed another hand full as my hair came down to my belly these days and couldn't justify any less than half a bottle with every wash. My mind was admittedly blank for a while as I rinsed it out, and I closed my eyes against the spray, melting into the softness with a contented sigh. Then with violence, two things occurred to me; Whoever broke into my house that night used the tunnel entrance and George was involved. Why else was he there at the same time as the robber? Why was he so insistent on staying the night with me? He certainly had a motive with his hatred of the McLarens. The whole town had cause to be wary. And what was this mood shift every five seconds? These random intrusions... 

It was him.

I came back to reality with a jolt, and in my mind's eye I pictured my current state in the shower; eyes, black with leftover mascara and legs, coated in a jagged layer of leg hair, begging to be shaved as I unraveled a mystery.

I laughed at that in spite of the circumstances. Surely Nancy Drew had solved a case or two from the toilet, I continued. The bathroom is where everyone does their best thinking after all.

--

The robotic jingle of my phone snapping a picture echoed in the decrepit cellar and I found the clash of eras ironic. I found some old perfumes, dolls, receipts, documents enough random wood boards to redo the face of the house. I was in heaven. It was like I had my own personal antique shop right in my basement, and it was all free!