Chapter Twenty-Five
Joy burst into the room in the form of floppy-eared, tail-wagging Mookie. It was matched by a happy Yoda. Jones acknowledged both, accepted the licks and sniffs as Pye looked on with dignity. The wrestling match started quickly.
“Okay, boys and girl.” Trey set a bottle of champagne on the island before walking to the door. “Take it outside.”
“You brought champagne.”
“We figured outmatching a crazy dead witch earned the bubbly. Kudos,” Owen added.
“Since you’re filled in on that, I have to say: But wait, there’s more.”
Trey paused in the act of lowering his head to kiss her. “She came at you again?”
“No.” She curled her finger. “And when you finish that thought, I’ll tell you.” She rose on her toes to meet his lips.
“Is the champagne on hold, or am I popping it?” Owen asked.
“Oh, definitely popped.”
“Great. And something smells amazing in here.”
“Several things,” Cleo told him. “I need a cake plate. Son, champagne flutes.”
“On that. Pop that baby, and we’ll get this started.”
The dumbwaiter motored its way from the basement. Sonya immediately thought of red-eyed rats.
“I’ve got it. And the glasses.”
“It’s going to be a cake plate. From Molly. That’s what it’s going to be.” But Sonya kept her distance.
“And that’s what it is.” Trey took out a white pedestal dish with a glass dome.
“That’s perfect.” Cleo took the plate as Owen released the cork with a muted pop. “You can always count on Molly.”
“You can.” Sonya waited until Owen poured all the glasses, then lifted hers. “And here’s to Molly, the magnificent housekeeper of Poole Manor.”
She sipped, then beamed. “I saw her today. I saw her, heard her voice—a lovely, musical Irish voice. I saw Grimes, the head butler when Molly first arrived from Ireland, and Hobson, the head housekeeper, Mrs. Steele, in charge of laundry. I saw Rory—not sure of his position—and two maids, Gracie and Frances.”
“You talked to them?”
She shook her head at Trey. “No, I was the ghost.”
“Took a trip through the mirror,” Owen said.
“Yes, but not like the other times. I was downstairs. I wanted to take another look at where I want the game room, get an idea of exactly what I want, how I want it. Cleo was just coming down—taking a break from creating a magnificent feast—and I was wishing out loud that I could see that space the way it had been so we could, well, pay homage. And wouldn’t it be great if I could see Molly in there. ”
She took another sip, gestured with her glass. “Here’s what happened.”
Once she’d taken them through it, she opened the sketchbook. “This is Molly, the day she came to the manor.”
“Cute kid,” Owen said.
“Yes, a very pretty girl. Clover let us know she worked here for five years before she died. I know she was happy here. She loved the manor.”
“And she still does,” Trey murmured. “The mirror came to you.”
“Yes, and like I said, it wasn’t like the other times. I had a choice, and it felt good.”
She lifted her glass, sipped again.
“It felt as if I was being invited. I wanted it, and it gave me a choice because it wasn’t something I had to see, but wanted to see. But only that much. When I thought I’d look around more, it blocked the way. I got my wish, but that was it.”
“And on this side,” Cleo added, “it was two or three minutes, tops.”
“At least ten, and I think a little more over there. It was a good space, so clean and well-appointed. Lamps lit, a fire simmering low, comfortable-looking chairs, the servants’ bells all shining.”
“You were still a little shaky when you came back.”
“But not for as long, Cleo. And I think you’re right about it sucking up some of my energy. Anyway, it was an amazing experience.”
“You want to do it again.”
She looked at Trey. “I do, but I think—or feel, anyway—that it has to matter. Not just a whim. Today, it was because I wanted to do something for the manor, and wanted to see someone who does so much.”
“It could be a conduit to the rings.”
“Maybe, and I’m hoping maybe. But I don’t want to make a mistake and screw it all up.”
“You need to wait for Astrid’s portrait.” Owen shrugged. “You need all seven, or why the space for the seventh portrait?”
“Manor logic,” Trey muttered. “Yeah, that fits. So we wait. And if you find it when we’re not here?”
“We tell you, then and there,” Sonya finished. “And wait for both of you. All of us hang Astrid’s portrait together.”
“Not just manor logic,” Cleo put in as she checked on the lasagna. “Common sense. About five more on the lasagna.”
“You made lasagna. And a cake. Where’d you get the bread?”
Smiling at Owen, Cleo mimed kneading dough. “From yeast and flour and so on.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, yanked her in for a long kiss. “Lafayette, when the time comes, I’m going to build you one hell of a kitchen.”
“And butler’s pantry. I’ve gotten used to having one.”
“Seriously?”
“Completely.”
“I’ll make a note.”
Sonya let out a sigh. “This has been a beautiful day. A really big, beautiful day.”
They extended it with Cleo’s celebration dinner.
After his second helping of lasagna, Owen looked at her. “It’s a good thing you’ve got another job or I’d be building you a restaurant.”
“This was fun. I don’t think a restaurant would be nearly as much fun as cooking for family.”
“Grateful family,” Trey added. “Everything was terrific.”
“Why don’t we walk some of the terrific off?” Sonya suggested. “I’d really like to show you what I have in mind downstairs.”
With the pets joining in, they went down.
“This is how it looked.” Again, Sonya opened her sketchbook. “I think all the lights, the lamps, the wall sconces, were gaslight. Whenever they put in electricity, they changed the fixtures.”
“You don’t want to go back to gaslight,” Trey said. “Just something that reflects that era?”
“Exactly. I want that vibe. The floors are in really good shape, and so’s the wall paneling. I like style. Actual wood panels. I’d put art up there, and leave the bells.”
“Get down to the reason.” Owen put his hands in his pockets. “Screen for the gaming. Best place for the pinball.”
“Pool table where they had their big, long table. It was bigger and longer than a regulation pool table. Screen, sofa, a couple of chairs over there. Pinball, jukebox over there.”
“Jukebox.” Owen flashed a grin. “Now we’re talking.”
“Card/board game table and chairs there, cabinet for games, shelves for display.”
“You can probably come up with the rest of the furniture from inventory.”
Cleo pointed at Trey. “I’m with you on that. Let’s do a quick pass down here. We can always go through the attic again, but there’s more down here. I’m not saying the Pooles were hoarders, but they sure didn’t let go easy.”
“Let’s backtrack a minute. Do you know anything about vintage pinball?” Owen asked.
“No.”
“That’s going to be our thing, me and Trey.”
“You can trust us,” Trey assured her. “I know a guy.”
“He knows a guy,” Owen verified.
“Friend of my dad’s. He used to own a bowling alley back when, and he still has a bunch of old machines. He restores them, repairs them—like a hobby now. He’s got Gorgar.”
“And that’s what I’m talking about.”
Sonya looked from Owen’s happy face to Trey’s. “Who or what is Gorgar?”
“The first voice-synthesized pinball machine. I’ve already tapped him. It’ll be ready when you are.”
“Happy to take that off my list.”
“He might have, or have a line on, vintage jukeboxes.”
“I can cross that off, too, if so.”
“You might put a foosball table over there.” Owen gestured. “Because, really, what’s a game room without foosball?”
“Sadly lacking, obviously. I’ll add that on.”
They went through as a group, separated, wandered. The house always held more than Sonya remembered. But nothing seemed quite right to her until she uncovered another area.
“Well, God, these are the chairs! These are the chairs that were around the long table. Look, look at my sketch!”
Trey looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, they are.”
“I see six, no, seven. There were more, and maybe they’re still here. But we could put four of them around the table, store the others for when or if we have more people. They’ll go back where they were. That’s just what I wanted to do.”
“There’s a nice chair here—if you wanted something like this. Fabric’s worn some,” Cleo added. “But you know, Son, it looks like one of the two you had in the sketch.”
Sonya worked her way over. “Cleo! It’s the one Mrs. Steele was sit- ting in. There were two flanking a table with a globe lamp on it. This is her chair.”
Owen stepped over. “The fabric’s worn on the arms.” He gave the cushion a push, sat a minute. “Pretty sure that’s horsehair.”
“We could have it redone. If we find the other, we could have them redone. New fabric, new cushioning. It’s in good shape.”
“You’ve got this sofa drawn in over here.” Trey tapped the sketch, frowned. “I think I’ve seen that before, somewhere.”
“If we can find it, we can put it over in the gaming section, flanked with the chairs, add a coffee table, buy a TV, and that’s perfect.”
They went back to the hunt.
“Here’s the other chair.” Owen signaled. “I’m guessing when they shut the place down, they just pushed everything wherever down here. The table in your sketch? No way that’s hiding down here, so that’s something they must’ve gotten rid of. Too bad. I’d like to’ve seen how it was made.”
“Stains on this one. But we can pick a pretty fabric, Sonya. Something with the same feel.”
“It’s a game room,” Owen reminded her. “No going too pretty.”
“There, you have to trust us,” Sonya told him as she studied the chair. “This is just what I hoped for, and more? I think it’s what we’re meant to do. Do you know a guy, or gal, who reupholsters?”
“Got me there. I’ll ask Mom. And here’s that sofa. I knew I’d seen it.”
Owen studied it. “Fabric’s toast, cushions are crap. But it’s got good bones.”
“That’s settled. We get them fixed, put them back into use. This is honoring what came before.”
“And when it’s done?” Cleo continued. “Ownership of another room.”