The Boarding House Horror

5. Salted Toothbrush

Once downstairs, I nearly piled into Madame Groot's ample backside as she clomped out of the kitchen door and into my path. She bawled into the common room as she passed it, "I go. I will be back when I can. Dinner will be late."

Conversation in the big room quieted for a moment, then resumed. Groot steamed ahead for the front door, and I followed for a moment, trying to think if I needed anything from the surly proprietress.

Sunlight streamed into the common room from French doors that led onto the back garden and its huge oak. I blinked. I found the change from rain to sun unsettling in its suddenness. The new light made the piano glow gold and brought out floral reds and greens in the upholstery of some of the chairs. But faded spots and stains became visible, too, and mouse holes dotted the wall baseboards.

I did not follow Groot down the hall to the front door, but as she reached it, it popped open. A dark hunched shape filled the doorway, outlined in bright light.

"Hey!" she said.

"Ah!" Flip squeaked. Never did I dream to hear Flip unnerved, but I heard it in this moment of startling encounter. He clutched a paper bag tighter as he grimaced at Madame Groot.

"Get out of my way." Groot waved thick arms.

Flip backed up and watched the sand colored woman march away toward the street. I joined him on the porch. "Hello, Constable. Stroopwafels?"

"Ja. And a wheel of Edam." His eyes still followed Madame Groot as she banged through the gate and disappeared into the lonely neighborhood. Wind ruffled our hair.

"Good. Thanks."

He handed over his bag. "You're all right, then? Not poisoned?"

"Fine, thanks." I did not care to describe the brutal intensity of my pounding headache to him.

"All right. See you."

"Bye."

I watched his comforting bulk recede. A cloud came over, plunging the neighborhood into shadow. I choked back an urge to call out to him as he got into his car. It sagged under his weight.

I sighed and turned. A soft impact at my ankle made me look down with a start. A cat, striped with gray, bumped its hip into my leg, tail high.

"Oh!" I breathed. "Silly cat."

I pivoted for the house, but the cat followed.

"Shoo! Go on! This is not your home. Go!"

I shut the door on the stare of its patient greenish eyes. "What is it with the cats?"

"Inspector Visser?" The new voice made me whirl around. The moth stare of Alice Bree's dark glasses replaced the cat stare, and I didn't think it was an improvement.

"Miss Bree."

"I'd like to recheck your pulse. Could you come here, please?"

The lower half of her face seemed calm as still waters, though the color resembled polished bronze. Those were scars angling down her left cheek, tracking some unknown length up behind her dark glasses and black bangs. I saw no reason to protest. "Well, all right. Are you a doctor?"

She fanned her hand in the air until her fingertips brushed my forearm. In an instant, her cool fingers lay across my wrist. Her lips twitched into an ironic smile. "That's an unexpectedly difficult question. The first of many, I expect. You'll be wanting all sorts of personal details about each witness."

"It's difficult to know if you're a doctor or not?"

"Not difficult to know. Difficult to share. Do you have any shortness of breath?"