He frankly told her his world would be a better place to live if she would leave him alone while he unpacked!
She had acted hurt, and scurried off, and he hadn’t seen her until about eight o’clock, when she had offered him tea.
Mrs. Hilger came back into the parlor, carrying a silver sugar bowl. She handed Marvin an unusual sterling sugar spoon with what appeared to be real rubies set into the handle.
He took the spoon and looked at it closely. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he mused.
“That’s because it’s one of a kind,” she replied.
He used the spoon to sugar his tea, then set it on the side of his saucer.
“There’ll be another party coming in this evening,” the woman informed him. “A couple with their young son.”
About to take a sip of the tea, Marvin looked at her sharply. “But you advertised ‘no children,’Ю” he complained.
“Yes, I know,” the woman said, “but this poor family is caught out in the storm without hotel accommodations.”
“So I’m to be inconvenienced because some dumb hicks didn’t have the common sense to make reservations?”
There was a brief silence. Then Mrs. Hilger said, “If that’s how you feel, Mr. Butz, your stay with us will be complimentary.”
Marvin smiled.
And Mrs. Hilger smiled back, but he wasn’t at all sure that the smile was friendly.
Mr. Hilger’s large form filled the doorway to the parlor. He looked more like a handyman than the proprietor of a bed and breakfast, in his plaid shirt and overalls.
Marvin had had a brief conversation with the bald, bespectacled man earlier, when Marvin had gone into the kitchen to admire an old butcher’s block. Mr. Hilger had come up from the basement.
“It’s from our store,” Mr. Hilger had said. “We had a little corner grocery before County Market came in and put us out of business.”
“What a pity,” Marvin had said, shrugging. “But, personally, I don’t believe anybody gets ‘put out of business’ by anybody else.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You do it to yourself, by not keeping up. Survival of the fittest.”
“You’re probably right,” Mr. Hilger had said, getting a butcher’s apron out of a narrow closet by the pantry. The big man slipped it on and went back down into the basement.
Marvin had frowned — was food preparation going on down there? If so, he hoped conditions were sanitary.
“Those folks with the child are here,” Mr. Hilger was saying to his wife. The apron was gone, now. “I’m going to help them with their luggage.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Hilger replied.
Marvin quickly finished the last of his tea and stood up. “I’ll be retiring, now,” he informed her. He’d rather die than spend one minute in boring, pointless small talk with these new people. “Please inform that family I will be using the bathroom at six in the morning. And I’d like my breakfast served promptly at seven, out in the garden.”
“Yes, Mr. Butz,” Mrs. Hilger nodded. “Good night.”
Marvin left the parlor, through the main foyer and past a large, hand-carved grandfather clock. He climbed the grand oak staircase to the second floor.
To the left was the Gold Room, where an elderly couple from Iowa was staying. They had gone to bed already, the little woman not feeling well, and so their door was shut. But behind the door was a grandiose three-piece Victorian bedroom set of butternut and walnut, with a carved fruit cluster at the top of the headboard and dresser. (He had peeked in, earlier, when they were momentarily out.) He wished he had that room, because it had its own bath... but the old farts had gotten there first.
At the end of the hall on the left was the White Room. The bridal suite. Everything in it was white — from the painted four-poster bed with lace canopy to the white marble-topped dresser. It also had its own bathroom. He’d gotten to see the exquisite room when he first arrived, and wouldn’t have minded his company paying a little extra for such fine accommodations...
Some newlyweds on a cross-country honeymoon were in there right now — doing God only knows what behind their closed door.
Across the hall from the White Room, was the Blue Room, the least impressive (or so he thought). It was decorated in wicker, with a Battenburg lace comforter, and a collection of old cast-iron toys showcased on the ledges of the beveled glass windows. Mrs. Hilger had tried to put him in there, but he protested (the furnishings were so informal, it would have been like sleeping on a porch!). He demanded a different room.
The door to the Blue Room stood open, awaiting the inconsiderate family that would soon be clomping nosily up the steps.
To the immediate right was the Red Room, his room, which had a massive oak bedroom set with eight-inch columns and carved capitals, and a beautiful red oriental rug on the floor. It was satisfactory.
Marvin used an old skeleton key to open his door; he had locked it, to protect his belongings, even though the other skeleton room keys could also open his door. He would have to speak to Mrs. Hilger, later, about this little breach in security.
He entered the room, leaving the door open. He was planning on getting his shaving kit and using the bathroom, which he shared with the Blue Room, before turning in for the night, but he stopped at a small mahogany table next to the door. On the table was a lovely cranberry lamp with a thumbprint shade and dropped crystals.
Marvin dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out the sweet little sugar spoon, and leaned over and turned on the lamp to examine the spoon better. Its red ruby handle sparkled in the light.
A nice addition to his spoon collection.
Suddenly, something caught his attention in the hallway. Flustered, caught off-guard, Marvin shoved the spoon back into his pocket and looked up from the light.
A young boy stood in the hall, not six feet away. How long the kid had been there, watching, Marvin didn’t know.
Marvin reached out with one hand and slammed his door in the boy’s face.
How he hated children! They were a bunch of sneaky, snooping, immature brats.
Marvin yawned, for the first time aware of how tired he was. He got his toiletries and went off to the bathroom, then came back and got into a pair of silk burgundy pajamas.
He crawled under the beige crocheted bedspread and lace-trimmed sheets. He wanted to read awhile, but his eyes were too heavy. He got out of bed, and turned off the pushbutton light switch on the wall by the door.
Then he went back to bed.
Soon, Marvin was fast asleep.
It was a deep sleep. So deep he didn’t hear the skeleton key working in the keyhole of his door. Or see the dark form of Mr. Hilger poised over him, large hands out-stretched.
But not so deep that he didn’t feel those hands tighten around his neck like a vise, slowly squeezing him into the deepest of all deep sleeps.
A noise woke Andy. It was a bump, or a thump, or something. He lay quietly in the dark on the cot Mrs. Hilger fixed up for him, and listened.
All was silent, now, except for the soft breathing of his parents across the room in that great big bed. Whatever the noise had been, Andy was glad it woke him. He’d been having a nightmare. A bad dream where he’d been sucked into the video game, Splatterhouse, he’d been playing. And ghouls and monsters were chasing him with butcher knives and stuff.
Andy reached under the cot and got his glasses and put them on. A fancy clock on a table read a quarter to three in the morning. He sat up further and looked at the window next to him. On the ledge was a row of small toys — little cars, and airplanes and trains. His mother told him they were antiques, and not to touch them.