A Vase for Nanna

A Short Story

Dust was everywhere; fine particles still whirled lazily about, as if uncertain whether to float up toward the beautifully painted ceiling, or down to the highly polished mahogany floor.  Carla was momentarily stunned; she had not expected to enter Mrs. McAdams’ beautifully furnished antique living room in such a state.

“What the hell happened in here?” Ron was just as surprised as she.

            Carla looked back at Ron, “I have no idea, it’s a disaster—a complete disaster!”  She surveyed the room, the fine furniture, the elegant china, the masterpieces carefully displayed on the walls.  What could have possibly happened?  “It was fine before we left…”  Her voice trailed off helplessly.  Ron pocketed his keys and ran a finger over the fine layer coating the end table.  “I don’t think this is dust”. 

            “What do you mean it isn’t dust?  Of course it’s dust…  Maybe it’s from construction on the main road?”  Carla began checking windows behind the heavy brocade drapes.  All were closed tight. “Mrs. McAdams is going to kill me!  Some house-sitter I am!”

            Ron inspected the particles on his finger, “This is definitely not dust.” 

            “Well what is it then?!?”  She hurled.  Ron looked carefully around the room, searching until finally his eyes settled on a particularly suspicious vase, laying in pieces near the fireplace.  Carla ran to the hearth, picking through the pieces until at last she found the thing she was praying she wouldn’t find:  A brass name plate inscribed with In Loving Memory of Our Beloved Nanna: You Will Ever Be With Us…

            She felt sick. This couldn’t be happening.  Her first house sitting job and now Mrs. McAdams’ Nanna was scattered all across her living room.

Carla crumpled in dramatic style to her knees, moaning about the loss of poor Nanna and her soon-to-be-extinct house-sitting business.  Immune to Carla’s hysterics, Ron looked closely at the vase and the scattered dust around him.  A distinct set of paw prints led from the crime scene to the parlor door.  “It looks like Mr. Buttons is the culprit” he said wryly.

“I knew it! That evil thing had it in for me from the moment I arrived.”  Carla cried.

            Ron rolled his eyes, this was really too much:  a broken family heirloom, a desecrated Nanna, a hysterical house sitter, an evil cat… what next? “It’s not that bad, by tomorrow we’ll have this place as good as...”

            Ron’s prediction was cut short by the phone.  Carla was off like a shot to answer it.  Ring.  “Ron, do you know where the phone is?”.  Ring.  Ron tried to think where he had seen it last.  Ring.  “Try the kitchen counter”.  Ring.   “I already did…” Ring. Click.  The answering machine picked up.  Ron heard Carla’s frustrated sigh as the outgoing message droned on, “…leave your message at the tone…”

            “Carla dear, are you there?”  came the caller’s cultured voice.

             “It’s Mrs. McAdams!”  Carla gasped, running upstairs to find the phantom phone.  “Carla?  Carla…?”  Mrs. McAdams continued, “Well dear, when you get this message, you will be happy to know that I am on my way home.  The estate sale ended earlier than expected so I shall be returning a day early.”  Ron heard a heavy thud from somewhere upstairs. This was bad. Really bad. Mrs. McAdams was on her way home.  She would be home tonight.  If Carla was hysterical before, this bit of news was sure to send her over the edge.  He found Carla at the top of the stairs, her arms and head hanging limply like an abandoned rag doll. She’d obviously heard the message.