It's Just a Game

Eight: A Clue?

I felt guilty as I let myself into Pauline's place. I also felt free, like a weight had been lifted off my chest. Before I could get into overthinking about whether feeling free caused my guilt, I had the uncomfortable realization that it had nothing to do with an out and out lie to my family.

Was it really a bad thing to do to stretch the truth to protect their feelings? What would it gain me to tell them that I just needed to be away from them for a little bit of time? I had barely been here for a day and already I needed a break. That would hurt their feelings. How could I explain that it had nothing to do, or at least very little to do, with them? It had everything to do with them.

Or with me. But now was not the time to think about that. I stood in the hallway and looked around. So here I was with my highly prized freedom from people. I wanted to be back home in Blue Pond. This place was too sterile. I felt like Goldilocks. Nothing seemed to please me.

The hallway and living room had a generic look. like a staged area for potential renters or buyers to view. There were no personal effects. There was artwork on the wall but there were no personal pictures or mementos. Perhaps Bernadette had removed all of them.

I checked in the kitchen and the fridge had nothing in it other than bottle of dill pickles and three cans of tonic water. I didn't know whether Bernadette had removed all the perishable food and if she did why would she leave the pickles and the tonic water? I would ask her.

Maybe Pauline didn't like to cook and ate out a lot and didn't have a fully supplied kitchen. I was thinking about my own fridge back home. There was butter and cheese. Some onions and various semi perishable items like bread. I had made sure not to leave anything that would go really bad while I was away.

Pauline's cupboards had a few canned items, bags of lentils, and boxes of cereal. There was a cupboard at the end with a single, almost empty, bottle of Baileys. Not much here to entertain myself with, here in the dead woman's place. I felt restless and unfocused.

There were a lot of things I could do when it came to clearing out the place but sooner or later that task would be over and done. There was not much to deal with. Unless, unless...she had a secret stash of memories and sentimental items.

The den would be the place to go. Her bookshelf would provide some insight into her taste, at least her taste in reading material. The third bedroom had been turned into a den. I did not hold out a great deal of hope for insight there. I had glanced in earlier in the day and I knew that's where her television was. And a small bookshelf.

The room was cozy and the wall art and furniture was bright and cheery in shades of orange and yellow. The bookshelf held an array of self-help books, mystery novels, a couple of best sellers from this year and a lot of best sellers from previous years. I wasn't in the mood to read. But I took three books anyway once I opened every book and shook it for hidden notes.

I picked up the remote and turned on the television but there was no signal. Bernadette must have arranged to disconnect whatever cable or satellite feed Pauline had. I turned the television off. There was a desk with no drawers or shelves. It looked like there had been a computer or laptop on it once upon a time because of the way the stapler, sticky note pad and pen holder were arranged along the edge of the desk. A modem cable still hung from a connector on the wall behind the desk.

I went back to Pauline's bedroom to see what else I could sort through. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around and realized that just because I told a lie, it didn't mean that I had to live the lie. No one was watching me. Were they? Still carrying the books, I went into the spare bedroom. Placing the books on the night table, I turned down the bed. The sheets looked pristine, totally unused.

There were two small pillows in matching pillowcases. They weren't the kind of pillows I liked. I like to have three pillows on my bed in varying sizes. That way I can arrange myself with comfort for reading, for sleeping, or for whatever other bedtime activities there are. That used to be watching television, but I no longer watch television in bed. It was too disruptive to my sleep. I would forget to set the sleep timer and then when an ad come on at 3 in the morning, it would scare me awake.

I went back to Pauline's bedroom and took both her big king size pillows. They were a little heavier than I expected and went I tossed them on the bed, I ran my hand over both plump pillows. One of them had something hard inside.

I pulled the pillow free from the case and inspected it. There was a small zipper along one narrow end, and I pulled it open. There was a deep pocket in the body of the pillow, like the stuffed rabbit I used to stash my pajamas in when I was a kid. Inside was a deep rose covered notebook, about a quarter inch thick.