It was a laboratory. In my mind I pronounced it “la-bor-a-tory,” and this one felt much more authentic than the one in the museum basement.
Two tables occupied the middle of one long room. Shelves of jars filled with things from horror movies and nightmares lined every other available space. There were no windows. Nothing felt like a fake or a prop.
“Is that a dead bat?” Brigid asked, pointing at a jar.
Louis peered closely at it. “I do believe it is. Grandfather was particularly intrigued by bats. I don’t know if he killed this one or if he found it already dead, but he studied many of them. However, it was my grandmother who dallied with witchcraft for a wee bit. I believe bats were of particular intrigue to her. She wasn’t a blood Chantrelle, but again, people love this stuff.”
I blinked.
“Of course, there’s no such thing as a witch, but she was convinced she had magical powers. My mother once told me that Grandmama wasn’t in fact magical—she was just insanely smart. She believed that everything in nature worked with everything else and if we found the right balance, we would all live better, longer, healthier lives. She thought bats held some of those secrets. She herself died at age one hundred and one.”
“Other than studying bats, did she claim to know anything about how to live a long life?” Brigid asked.
“She was keen on beets,” Louis said. “Bats and beets. I despise them both, and I’m in my late seventies. If I live as long as she and my mother did, we’ll have to discount the bats-and-beets theory.”
“You think she was crazy?” Brigid asked.
I cringed at the non-PC word, but I was glad to have a better grip on Louis’s age.
“A wee bit, but mostly I think she was just smart and bored by the rest of us who simply couldn’t keep up with her.” Louis shrugged and then smiled. “She ran us all quite ragged.”
“How long has she been gone?” I asked.
“Oh, twenty years. My mother just passed last year.”
“Your family does live a long time,” Brigid said.
“So far.”
“Shelagh must love this place,” I said.
“She did, when we were all younger and this was a more active museum. We can’t remember if I introduced her to the book before this room, but it all made an impression on her. Though she still adores Jekyll and Hyde, she hasn’t been here for a long time.”
“How long?” Brigid asked.
“Gracious, I’m not sure, but it’s been years.”
I took a general glance around the room.
“Louis, did you know Oliver McCabe?” I asked.
Brigid looked at me with wide eyes that transformed quickly into approval. Good question.
“I met the man. Aye,” he said.
“Did he get his museum tableau idea from this?” I made a gesture with my hand, but I watched him closely.
“He did,” Louis said quickly. “Well, I don’t know if he got the idea from it, but he certainly wanted to try to duplicate some of it.”
“Did you like him?” I asked.
Louis pursed his lips. “I met him a few times, but I didn’t really know him. I wasn’t fond of his treatment of Shelagh, if that’s what you’re asking. She was devastated when he broke things off with her.”
“You don’t think she killed him, do you?” Brigid asked.
“Of course not!”
“Wasn’t he ten or so years older than her?”
“Aye, he was. They were not a good match, but he led her on, I believe, and then broke her heart. But, like Shelagh’s behavior, that was a long time ago.”
The silence as Brigid and Louis regarded each other stretched a beat too long.
“Yes.” I looked at one of the tables. “The liquids in the beakers. Are they just colored water?”
“Good eye, Delaney. In fact, they are more than that. They are potions concocted by my grandmother. However, none have been ingested by anyone. They are sealed for eternity, but I’ve kept them around.”
“I’m glad they haven’t been tried.”
“I did have one delivered to a local chemist once. He told me that I was ‘messing where I shouldn’t be messing’ and that I should destroy everything in here. I will not do that, willingly at least.”
“Good for you,” Brigid said.
“Feel free to look around.” Louis crossed his arms in front of himself. “It’s pretty amazing.”
Brigid and I toured the basement lab, stopping to peer more closely at some of the creepy jars—there didn’t seem to be any human parts. We also looked at some of the handwritten books. There were three large parchment volumes covered with inked handwriting, most of it illegible to our modern eyes.
“Look at the book on the end there,” Louis instructed.
It was open to two filled pages. At the top of the first page were large calligraphic words, “The Monster in the Man.” Following that was a list of items and then instructions on what to do with them, a recipe.
I looked at Louis. “May I take a picture?”
“Of course. I’ve transcribed that one too. I’ll give you a copy before you leave, but feel free.”
I snapped a picture but looked forward to Louis’s transcription; the calligraphy was difficult to decipher, though I did see the word “cyanide.” I wouldn’t re-create any strange concoctions, but the recipe might be interesting to have.
“This needs to be a museum,” Brigid turned to Louis. “I mean, I know this is a museum, but I bet you could sell all this stuff to a bigger museum.”
“It’s now the stuff of an old, melancholy man. I’ve given it a thought or two, particularly as the years have passed, but I think it’s all working fine.”
“I’ll do a story if you’d like, get more business here first.”
Louis’s faced blanched briefly, but he recovered. “May I think about it, lass? I hope I still have a job with Shelagh. For now the pace of my life is ideal. I’ll let you know, and thank you.”
“Of course.”
We spent a little longer looking at the strange things in the laboratory, but there was nothing in the house that made me think Louis was hiding Shelagh anywhere. Unless he was the best actor on the planet, he didn’t know what had happened to her. If he was putting on an act, I hoped the police could sense it better than it seemed Brigid and I were able to do.
“I’m sure you were here to search for Shelagh, but that’s fine. I have nothing to hide, and I’m pleased to show you the house,” Louis said, keying in on our ulterior motives as we climbed the stairs again.
When we reached the kitchen, Brigid smiled at him. “Well, I’m not sure the three of us are going to be able to figure out what happened to Shelagh. Though that is kind of what I was hoping for, some light blinking on, an epiphany of sorts. It’s not meant to be, but thank you for welcoming us in.”
“I would welcome any answers,” Louis said.
He walked us to the door, giving us each a folded piece of paper from the drawer of a small cabinet, telling us it was the copy of the transcribed potion. We stuck our copies in our coat pockets.
“Farewell,” he said. “Please call me if you hear anything about Shelagh.”
“You too,” Brigid answered.
“Certainly.” Louis closed the door. He was probably glad to have us gone so he could get back to the pace of his life.
“Did you learn what you wanted to learn?” I asked Brigid.
“I don’t think so. He’s a nice enough guy, but that’s one weird place, and people’s histories can mess them up sometimes.”
“Do you suspect him of something?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” She paused. “All right, ready to go to The Banshee Labyrinth?”
“Definitely. It’s almost time for the next bus. Let’s hurry.”