Chapter 6 - The Letter, Part 2

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The Beginning; Prologue - The Attic

Chapter 6
The Letter
Part 2

James made it to safety first, shaking the rain drops from her uniform; with Stark close behind & together they climbed the stone steps to the oak door. After slipping on gloves & paper coveralls over shoes, Stark unlocked the door with the spare key Miss Puckett had lent them.

On entering James immediately noticed a pile of shopping bags that had been casually dumped in the far corner of the spacious hallway.

“Better we leave things as they are for now, until we looked around a bit.” Stark instructed as he pulled out a note book.
No signs of forced entry.. he wrote as he studied the lock & door frame.

James declared that she would take the upstairs, as she rounded the first corner & made her way to the staircase at the end of the long, dark, wood panelled corridor, which rose above the cloak room. She held the wooden banister as she climbed the stairs paisley carpet under coverall-covered-foot.
                Once she had reached the landing she headed instinctively down the hallway which led to the bedrooms. There she started her search, beginning with the master. Each room boasted en suite bathrooms, but was dimly lit by the failing daylight, except for when occasional flashes of lightning ignited the walls casting furniture shadows. She tried a light switch, but the storm must have taken out a power line, for not a flicker of life was visible as she glanced up at the decretive lampshade, which was suspended from the white circular coving.
 Stark carefully moved through the down stairs rooms searching for anything noticeable, or unusual. From the Hallway he passed the entrance to the study, to the left of the corridor, opposite the double doors to the living room.  He stopped & turned to make his way in as he gripped the highly polished brass door handles & pulled. The opened doors revealed an elegant burgundy dominated decor, middle class in style & taste, predominantly dictated by cost.
A large four-piece suite of leather, cherry coloured furniture lay before him; arranged in front of a large open fire place; so large that it was possible for two grown men to stand shoulder to shoulder in the opening. The extravagant centrepiece which lay empty, but nonetheless dominated the enormous living room, was topped by a high mantelpiece, which dripped with copper & brass ornaments. Displayed on the mahogany living room table, which was located by the large double glazed French windows, was a recent family photograph of the grown up children & their mother & beside it stood a larger solid silver framed picture of the deceased father, he assumed. Stark could see a likeness in the eyes, especially when comparing the father with the son. Miss Puckett had mentioned that the father had died aged 42 & the man photographed was somewhere near that age, he estimated. He crossed the deep pile carpet & gently lifted both framed photographs from the table top; stowing them in separate clear plastic bags. Otherwise, there was nothing out of the ordinary to speak of in any of the down stairs rooms, except that there was the usual closed house, musty smell in the Dining room, living room, but more notably a different, stronger odour in the kitchen. It was a smell of newness, a smell of...

“Either this family travelled light, or they’re planning on buying a load of clothes when they get to where they’re going,” called James as she descended the staircase, interrupting Stark’s train of thought.

She entered the dining room through the already opened doors that adjoined the corridor, opposite the kitchen entrance.

“Also the bathroom cabinet is full; the toothbrushes & all are still in place. Otherwise, not a single sign of anything unusual upstairs, except for a strong smell in the end bedroom.”

“Yeah, it’s the same story down here & there’s also a lingering smell & it’s more apparent in the kitchen than anywhere else.” Stark answered as they made their way into the kitchen.

“Is it the same as upstairs?”He asked.

“Yes, but this is much, much stronger.” James replied as she walked to the centre of the room & stopped, whilst Stark remained rooted to the spot, just inside the doorway.

It was a huge kitchen - there was no doubt & it was rectangular in shape, with a large wooden table in the middle. Empty racks over hung the table, void of any home baked bread & fruit. There was a wrought iron wood burner painted black, in the far left hand corner with a shiny copper hood. A porcelain sink, complete with gold taps & the modern looking draining board were propped against the facing wall, next to the stove. The door to a walk-in larder was to the left & two more doors were directly in front & to Stark’s right: The first leading to a spacious utility room & then on into the back garden; whist the other opened into the cloak room that lay below the staircase; which in turn lead the way to what once was the tradesmen’s entrance. All the cupboards were built of the same wood as the table, in pine & half way between the cloak room door & the far right hand corner stood the large white fridge freezer.

“It’s not a bad smell....It’s a new smell.....It’s a....paint smell,” continued James.

“That’s it!” confirmed Stark.

 “Perhaps from decorating Sir?”

“That’s possible too.” Stark replied.


Written by T.R.Vinnicombe (aka Dr. Peter Hodgkins) ©2009 all rights reserved & none of the contents of this site can be copied or used in any way without the written consent of the author. Published online by MicroHotStar 2009.