The mudroom opened to a dim kitchen, also large. There were dinner leavings forgotten on the table in the dining room on our left. The parlor was the next room over, visible through an open door; a comedy show played on the radio.
In silence, Mabel led us to a plain hall with stairs going up. The house had been built for a large family with a lot of servants, all long gone and moved on. It seemed a shame to have it wasted on two thieves, but I was just the hired help and not entitled to an opinion about the wisdom of Grandma Bawks’s bequest.
There were walls between us and the parlor, but I heard Rochester making a comment to Jack Benny and getting a huge laugh despite static from the storm affecting reception. The noise would mask our own movements, and just as well—the old wooden stairs squeaked.
We took them slow. Mabel would stop and listen, anxious, then move up a few more steps. She finally made the landing, and then padded down the hall on tiptoe. Escott kept up with her, not quite so silent as I, but damned close. He had the small flashlight in one hand, but enough ambient glow from an uncurtained window allowed them to navigate. The lightning flashes were getting more frequent, the thunder insistently louder. Mother Nature wanted to let everyone know who was in charge tonight.
Mabel stopped before a door and pointed. Escott gave her the flashlight and dropped to one knee, reaching for his inside coat pocket. He drew out his lock-pick case, opened it, and went to work.
I eased toward a second staircase that curved down to the entry foyer. White marble, lofty columns, paneled walls—nice place, but I couldn’t see myself ever living in anything this fancy. Maybe Grandma Bawks hadn’t done Agnes any favors. The property taxes would be steep, and with a husband who was allergic to work . . . I suddenly wanted a look at those two.
It was easy to build a mental picture of them from Mabel’s talk, but I knew better than to trust such things. The parlor was temptingly close, just off the entry to judge by the radio volume.
Escott performed his magic, listening and feeling his way as he attacked the lock. With the thunder and rain, it was taking longer than usual. Mabel held the flashlight, her fingers covering most of the beam, letting just enough escape so Escott could work. Neither noticed when I vanished.
Escott would know I’d be reconnoitering and not worry, but he’d have a tough time convincing Mabel to do the same. What the hell, he could use the practice.
Formless, I drifted downstairs, hugging the wall for orientation. When I ran out of wall, I bumbled toward the radio noise. When invisible, I can’t see and my hearing’s muffled, but I’ve no shins to crack. I flowed gently along, working around, and sometimes under, furniture until I was in the parlor next to the radio.
It crossed my mind that this would be a perfect night to suddenly go solid and yell boo, but I restrained myself.
A quick circuit gave me a sense of where various obstacles like chairs were located, as well as where Agnes and Clive had roosted. She sat close to the radio; he stood by a wall.
Pushing away, I found what I hoped was the opposite wall and forced myself to go high until I hovered against the ceiling.
I hate heights, but most people don’t look up. If luck was with me, Clive and Agnes would be doing what I did myself: watching the radio. The thing isn’t a movie screen, but you get into the habit of staring at the glowing dial as though it’s a face.
Slowly I took on solidity and got some of my sight back, though the view was faded and foggy. The more solid, the better my vision, but the more weight. If I didn’t hold to a semitransparent state, I’d drop like a brick.
Agnes flipped through a picture magazine, her head down. She had dark hair and looked more lightly built than Mabel.
Clive was at a window, holding the curtain to one side. Maybe he liked storms, but my money was on the gem collector’s arrival being the object of his interest. He was a square-looking specimen, clear featured, nothing unpleasant about him. They were not the shifty-eyed, snarling crooks with pinched and ugly mugs my mental picture had conjured. They were as ordinary as could be, enough so I doubted Mabel’s assessment.
An important message interrupted Jack Benny’s show. Before the announcer could make his point over the increasing static, Agnes shut the sound down. “He won’t arrive faster for you watching,” she said, flipping a magazine page.
Clive grunted. “I’m sure I saw a car turn in.”
“If it did, then it went out again. We’re near the end of the lane. They use the drive for that all the time. It’s too early, anyway.”
“What if that was Mabel coming back?”
“She’d be inside by now, and we’d have heard her big feet clomping up the stairs. I’ll be glad when she goes.”
“Taking her rent money with her.”
Agnes looked up. “You’re a funny one. The money we’re making tonight and you’re worried about her five-and-dime rent?”
“The deal’s not a sure thing, I’ve told you a hundred times.”
“Then why’s he coming over if not to buy? Once he sees the diamond, he’ll want it.”
“Don’t be too confident about that.”
She slapped the magazine shut. “And you don’t be too anxious to sell or he won’t make a good offer. I know what the thing’s worth, and if he isn’t up for that, then you’ll just have to find another man.”
“Listen, crazy collectors who don’t ask questions aren’t falling out of trees. I had to hustle to find this one.”
“But it’s not like we’re in a hurry. Mabel’s not caught on yet, and she never will.”
He chuckled. “Did you see her going out?”
“You know I did. I nearly broke something trying not to laugh. The way she was sweeping around like some queen in the crown jewels, the big snob. One of these days I’m going to tell her about this.”
There was a white flash from the window, and thunder boomed like a cannon a bare second after. Agnes yelped, Clive jumped, the lights flickered, and I vanished altogether. It startled me, too. Just as well—people tend to look up when that happens.
“Come away from the window before you get electrocuted,” Agnes said, shaken. “It’s right over us. Did you feel that? Shook the whole house.”
“I’ll get a candle before we blow a fuse.” She passed under me, using the doorway into the dining room. She fumbled around and returned. “That’s better,” she said some moments later. “Makes it cozy. Want a drink?”
“Not until this is over.”
“Then I’ll wait, too.”
“What are you doing?”
“Grandma was always gabbing on about the good old days and how it looked by candlelight. I want to see.”
“Put it up.”
“The yellow goes away in this light. The old bat was right. It looks like a real diamond now—come see.”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t tell me you believe that crock about the curse.”
“You were just telling me not to be too anxious. What’s Taylor going to think when he walks in and sees you waving that thing around like a Cracker Jack prize?”
“That maybe I have some sentimental attachment to it and will be reluctant to sell. I’ll make sure he hears my heart breaking.”
“Go easy on the Sarah Bernhardt act—this isn’t his first time. He’ll know if you’re trying to—” I missed the rest, being too busy finding and shooting back up the stairs. I moved along the hall, bumping into someone who gave a sudden shiver. Escott once compared the kind of cold I inflict in this form to that feeling you get when someone waltzes on your grave.
“Problem?” Escott whispered, evidently recognizing the chill. I hung back, not knowing where Mabel might be. “Miss Weaver isn’t here.”