Morning arrived right on schedule. Rusty returned to work. He had a lot to do after taking half a day off. I thought he’d work late. I locked all the doors and prepared for a boring day indoors. I was determined, Rusty was going to have a worry free day at work and arrive home to a perfect house and a happy wife. I started at the front door and examined each room for what needed cleaning. In the living room I looked for a way to rearrange the furniture. The room was never used. It was stiff and uncomfortable, so I was looking for a way to loosen it up. I scooted the furniture around and no matter what I did it still felt stuffy. Maybe that’s because it had the old brown couch for competition. The old brown couch was just the opposite. It was comfortable, in a lumpy sort of way. It was familiar. It was home. I looked at the living room couch. It didn’t feel stuffy just looking at it. Maybe it was the room itself? I couldn’t pinpoint it. It was like the pictures Mark Mireau had taken of Dangerous Tracker Woman. We couldn’t tell why I changed from one set of pictures to the other but something was different. There was something different about this room that couldn’t be seen, only felt. I tried to remember how the furniture was arranged when we bought the house from its previous owner. The placement seemed odd. I pulled and tugged my furniture into the same configuration. I sat on the stuffy couch trying to figure out why they liked it that way. I couldn’t spend all day on the living room. I decided the furniture was fine. The room was just stuffy, that’s all there was to it. I’d always prefer the den. I could live with that. I vacuumed the floor and dusted the furniture and pictures. I moved to the windowsills and doorframes. The molding around the front door was odd. It was different from the rest of the house. It was wider. And it felt loose. I knew this house held secrets. I’d already found a secret room in the back of my closet. So when the molding felt loose I began working at it. It was stubborn until I found just the right motion and when I did the molding swung away like a little door, revealing a long thin compartment behind. Inside hung an ancient rifle. I went to the garage and found the box of rubber gloves. Rusty always had a pair of rubber gloves handy when he went to work. As I pulled the gloves on I thought I’d seen too many investigations. There was no reason to use rubber gloves on this rifle. It wasn’t involved in any crime. I pulled the gloves on out of habit, or maybe because of my training.
I knew who the rifle had belonged to, a man named Gustaf Morgan. We had bought the house from his widow, Bernice. Gustaf must have been an interesting character. With the gloves on I took down the old rifle. I checked the magazine. It was still loaded, though the magazine wasn’t full. Gustaf wasn’t taking any chances. So much for a boring day at home. I was curious what other secrets this house held. It turned from a cleaning day into a hunt.
I moved from the living room to the dining room. Not much to do there. One table, six chairs. I vacuumed the floor and went on to the den. There was no help for the old brown couch. It took over the room and it was as old as dirt, but I wouldn’t part with it until it became one with the earth. It was our comfort zone. It was L shaped, so if we sat in one section of it we faced the TV, and if we sat in another section of it we faced the fireplace. I dusted and vacuumed, then I went over the room with a fine toothed comb. Any odd moldings around windows? By the back door? It seemed to me that if Gustaf was worried about people who came to the door he’d be equally concerned about people who came to the back door. I searched the entire room, but nothing seemed unusual. I was beginning to see Gustaf in a new light though. He was a thinker. What was in that mind of his?
The guestroom held another surprise. The shelf separating the clothes bar from the top of the closet wasn’t just a shelf. It was a box and inside I found documents. I wasn’t nosey enough that day to read them, but it was interesting. Gustaf was getting more and more eccentric the more I knew about him.
Other shelves that appeared to be wide in a decorative sort of way were actually hidden compartments. I found one other hiding place. It was one I expected to find. In fact I was disappointed that it was so simple and I hadn’t seen it earlier. I knew the window seat in my bedroom opened for storage. I kept blankets in there, but after all the other things I had found that day I thought further investigation was called for. I removed all the blankets and examined the inside. It appeared to be a wooden box, neatly lined with cedar. What I found was that each of those cedar panels came out and behind them was a neat compartment. It was a little disappointing that of all three panels all I found inside was one key, but what was the key to? After the house was clean I started dinner. Rusty came home to a big pot of spaghetti.
“How was your day?” he asked hesitantly.
“After dinner I have something to show you.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It was…interesting.”
“Interesting? You stayed home and cleaned house and it was interesting?”
“Yeah, I’ll show you why after dinner.” We sat down to eat dinner. “What do you know about Gustaf Morgan?” I asked as I scooped out a serving of noodles.
“I know as much as you do. He built the house, he liked to sit in the bay window and watch the wildlife. He owned Morgan horses,” he answered adding a scoop of sauce.
“He’s an interesting character. That’s all you know?” I said dishing up noodles and sauce for me, too.
“That’s all Mrs. Morgan told us. Why?” He shook Parmesan cheese all over his sauce, then stirred it all up. He cut it up with his fork. He was a cutter. I was a twirler.
“I think I found more questions than answers.”
“Okay…it’s a door,” Rusty observed.
“What’s different about it?” I asked. “If I can find it dusting, you can find it on your own. He opened and examined the front door. He knocked around on it. It was good solid wood. He ran his hands over the molding.”
“Cassidy, it’s a door. It’s completely normal.”
“That’s what Gus would like you to think. The molding is way too wide.”
“Why? What’s wrong with wide molding? It’s decorative.”
“Then why didn’t he continue it throughout the house? Look.”
I swung the molding open revealing the rifle behind it. Rusty stepped back, a sheepish grin on his face. He, too, put the gloves on before taking the rifle down.
“It’s loaded,” I warned him.
He looked the weapon over with an analytical mind. I watched him make mental notes about it. He hefted it. Felt the balance. He read the labels on it. Checked the magazine. Looked down the barrel.
“Nice piece, but not enough to keep you occupied for a day. What else did you find?”
“I wonder why Gustaf would feel like he needs a rifle at his front door. I know he was a bit paranoid just to have dug the secret room but he seems to have planned ahead for some type of trouble to come. The other things are just odd. I don’t know that there is anything of interest in them. One contains documents and the other only held a key.”
I showed him the two other hiding places I found and he just shook his head.
“I never in a million years would have thought to take apart the window seat or look inside a closet shelf. So it was too thick for a closet shelf. It was attractive and functional.”
“Now I’m curious what the key unlocks. I didn’t find any hidden locks.”
“Have you checked out the barn?”
“No, but that’s an idea.”
“Any sign of Dirk?”
“No, it’s been quiet all day.”
“Maybe we should put your rifle in that compartment by the front door.”