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Authors: Laura Giebfried
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Pulling off her jacket and boots and flicking her braided hair behind her back, she wrapped the robe around her form and went to the hallway, hoping for what must have been the only time in her life that she looked like a housewife who had overslept, and slipped behind the staircase just as the door clicked open.
Fields pressed herself closer to the wall, her eyes narrowing through the shadows to watch the intruder. He bypassed her hiding spot and went into the back room that had once been Ambassador Caine's office. When he had disappeared through the door, Fields crept out and followed him.
The office had been piled high with taped up boxes which undoubtedly contained the ambassador's old possessions, and he was pawing through one of them when Fields found him among the mess. He was odd to look at. Even though she stared directly at him, she seemed to not see him at all, and his uniform kept slipping in and out of the shapes that surrounded him as though he wasn't really there at all. She watched him systematically go through several containers of papers, leafing through them in a hurry, and then she slowly sidled into the room.
“Hello.”
He startled at her voice and quickly jumped back, retreating into the shadows as though she might not see him there. Fields smiled at him sweetly, but her eyes were running along his uniform. It was certainly government-issued, but she couldn't place what department.
“Can I help you?” she said, continuing her feigned identity to the best of her ability.
The man stammered.
“No – sorry. I was just … just stopping by.”
“For?”
“For … Well, there was some paperwork that had been in the former ambassador's possession at the time of his death, and we … Well, we didn't want it to get misplaced in all the moving that's going on.”
“Couldn't the new ambassador have returned it to you?”
“I – well – yes. Of course. We just didn't want to … bother him.”
Fields continued to smile. Her face hurt from the unused expression.
“How kind of you: but I'm sure that he'd be more than glad to bring it to you himself – if you tell him what you're looking for.”
“Yes, of course he would,” he said. He stared at her for a long moment as though she was a cat that might be readying to pounce on him at any moment. “I apologize, Mrs. Caine.”
“It's not a problem.”
She stepped back and made a display of showing him to the door. As she stood at the window watching him retreat, his form seemed to meld with his surroundings and he disappeared from her view far before he ought to have. She squinted her eyes over the front yard in consternation, trying to decide how she had lost sight of him, but then shook the concern away to make room for a separate one: what he had come to the house to find.
“You'll never find it,” she murmured, her taunting voice low even though she was quite alone. And they wouldn't, she knew: that much she could be certain of. But the fact that they knew it lay hidden somewhere in the house was enough to fill her with unease.
Turning from the window, she peeled off the patterned robe and tossed it on the kitchen table. The silky fabric had been cold on her skin, as though it knew that she wasn't Marijould Caine and resented her for wearing it. As she stared down at the colorful print that stood in stark contrast to her own clothing and brushed a bit of dirt from the hem that had rubbed off from her muddied boots, her thoughts turned sharply to the plot of dirt outside where Mrs. Caine used to tend to her begonias, suddenly all the more troubled. For if they knew that it was in the house, then it would make sense that Ambassador Caine had found it, yet if that was true, then he would have turned it in – which only left one other possible explanation: he had found what else she had hidden on his estate.
She had never been so relieved to know that someone was dead.
Whipping from the kitchen, she ascended the stairs and turned
Fields pressed herself closer to the wall, her eyes narrowing through the shadows to watch the intruder. He bypassed her hiding spot and went into the back room that had once been Ambassador Caine's office. When he had disappeared through the door, Fields crept out and followed him.
The office had been piled high with taped up boxes which undoubtedly contained the ambassador's old possessions, and he was pawing through one of them when Fields found him among the mess. He was odd to look at. Even though she stared directly at him, she seemed to not see him at all, and his uniform kept slipping in and out of the shapes that surrounded him as though he wasn't really there at all. She watched him systematically go through several containers of papers, leafing through them in a hurry, and then she slowly sidled into the room.
“Hello.”
He startled at her voice and quickly jumped back, retreating into the shadows as though she might not see him there. Fields smiled at him sweetly, but her eyes were running along his uniform. It was certainly government-issued, but she couldn't place what department.
“Can I help you?” she said, continuing her feigned identity to the best of her ability.
The man stammered.
“No – sorry. I was just … just stopping by.”
“For?”
“For … Well, there was some paperwork that had been in the former ambassador's possession at the time of his death, and we … Well, we didn't want it to get misplaced in all the moving that's going on.”
“Couldn't the new ambassador have returned it to you?”
“I – well – yes. Of course. We just didn't want to … bother him.”
Fields continued to smile. Her face hurt from the unused expression.
“How kind of you: but I'm sure that he'd be more than glad to bring it to you himself – if you tell him what you're looking for.”
“Yes, of course he would,” he said. He stared at her for a long moment as though she was a cat that might be readying to pounce on him at any moment. “I apologize, Mrs. Caine.”
“It's not a problem.”
She stepped back and made a display of showing him to the door. As she stood at the window watching him retreat, his form seemed to meld with his surroundings and he disappeared from her view far before he ought to have. She squinted her eyes over the front yard in consternation, trying to decide how she had lost sight of him, but then shook the concern away to make room for a separate one: what he had come to the house to find.
“You'll never find it,” she murmured, her taunting voice low even though she was quite alone. And they wouldn't, she knew: that much she could be certain of. But the fact that they knew it lay hidden somewhere in the house was enough to fill her with unease.
Turning from the window, she peeled off the patterned robe and tossed it on the kitchen table. The silky fabric had been cold on her skin, as though it knew that she wasn't Marijould Caine and resented her for wearing it. As she stared down at the colorful print that stood in stark contrast to her own clothing and brushed a bit of dirt from the hem that had rubbed off from her muddied boots, her thoughts turned sharply to the plot of dirt outside where Mrs. Caine used to tend to her begonias, suddenly all the more troubled. For if they knew that it was in the house, then it would make sense that Ambassador Caine had found it, yet if that was true, then he would have turned it in – which only left one other possible explanation: he had found what else she had hidden on his estate.
She had never been so relieved to know that someone was dead.
Whipping from the kitchen, she ascended the stairs and turned
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