Chapter 1
“Nice view.” Patricia McKay stared out the window of her hotel room that was nestled in the Hyatt House, located in downtown Seattle. From the window, she could see the famous Space Needle; an elevator attached to it was rising upward, carrying people into the sky. “This is a lot better than that rat house I stayed at in Paris...and Paris is not the city of love.”
Patricia turned from the window and scanned a room that was riddled with modern art. Although the room was clean and stylish, well, Patricia was old-fashioned and preferred the 1940s look. Hotels, she found, were starting to look like doctors’ offices rather than family-friendly getaways. Not that she was putting down the Hyatt House—the young girl who had checked Patricia in was very friendly. The hotel itself was spotless and well organized, but it felt like a museum, at least to Patricia. She liked old dorky hotels like the Barn Yard Inn or the Green Guitar Hotel. “Still, at least this room isn’t a rat trap. I’m certainly not complaining. This place may not be to my taste, but it’s clean and has hot water.” It’s also free, thanks to Edna, she thought.
A gray cell phone sitting on a king-sized bed told Patricia it was a little after four o’clock. Feeling exhausted from a long flight and still sad about her old Winnebago being burned to a crisp, Patricia decided to hang out in her room until dinnertime. She tossed her cell phone down onto the bed, then removed a brown leather jacket, revealing a lovely pink blouse that was flowing over a white dress. She sighed. Wonder what Edna’s up to? She hadn’t told her why she’d sent her to Seattle, and it wasn’t like Edna to put her up in such a fancy place. “I guess I’ll find out. But first I need to use the lady’s room.”
Patricia made her way into a fancy bathroom, passing a mirror along the way. The mirror caught a glimpse of a beautiful, breathtaking travel writer who didn’t seem very excited about being in Seattle. Short, autumn-colored hair rested on a pair of frail shoulders that simply seemed too tired to care. “I hate it when Brian and I fight,” she said, walking into a fancy bathroom. And fight they did. Oh, that Brian makes me so mad sometimes I could just punch him in the nose! Of course he saved my life...nearly being killed by a psycho in a corn maze wasn’t exactly thrilling. I’m grateful to Brian, but sometimes...oh, he just makes me so mad.
The gray cell phone lying on the bed started singing “Amazing Grace.” Patricia let out another sigh, hurried out of the bathroom, and raced to the cell phone to find Brian calling.
“What do you want?” Patricia answered in an icy voice.
“Why didn’t you call me when you arrived at the airport? I’ve been waiting,” Brian fussed, standing in a messy office.
“I don’t have to tell you my every move, Brian Johnson,” Patricia scolded. “I’m a grown, free woman. I’m not shackled to your wrist.”
Brian rolled his eyes. Patricia was in one of her moods. “Will you stop acting like a two-year-old,” he fussed. “So we argued a little about your last assignment—”
“You argued—”
“All I said was that maybe you might have seen something that your mind made up was all,” Brian insisted.
“I saw a man vanish right before my eyes, you...jerk!” Patricia plowed into Brian. “Foggy Rocks, Oregon is a cursed town, and I was trapped in a deadly mystery that was no laughing matter.”
“A ghost story, right?” Brian mocked.
Patricia winced. “Well...yeah...no... There was a real murder, and I did manage to figure out a few clues.” Patricia marched over to the window and looked out at the Space Needle again. She was back in the real world, and the mysterious town of Foggy Rocks seemed far, far away. In the real world, people were too busy trying to find enlightenment to notice the beauty of a real mystery. Social media sites, cell phones, computers...people talked in electronic voices that controlled their minds, no longer capable of appreciating the days of Perry Mason. “Look, I saw what I saw, okay? I know the mystery of Foggy Rocks was hard to believe.”
Brian rubbed his eyes with a tired left hand. “Look, Patricia, let’s just forget—”
“No, you insinuated that I didn’t see what I know I saw,” Patricia snapped, holding her ground. “Apologize.”
“For what?” Brian exclaimed. “Patricia, your tale of Foggy Rocks, Oregon is far-fetched, okay?”
“Far-fetched?” Patricia yelled. “Oh I ought to...” Patricia snapped and ended the call, then threw down her cell phone. “Why I ought to fly home and punch that jerk in his nose!” she yelled, allowing her thick Georgia accent to bleed through. “Maybe I’ll—”
Patricia’s cell phone rang again. Assuming the caller was Brian, she answered the call in a furious voice. “I’m going to punch you right in the nose!”
“Uh, this is Casandra. I checked you in?” a sweet, nervous voice spoke.
“Oh Casandra. I’m so sorry. I thought you were...” Patricia sighed. “My boyfriend and I were having an argument and—”
“I understand,” Casandra promised. “I’m engaged to an idiot. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I just checked in a guest who told me that the Old Timey Museum is hosting a traveling art show today.”
“The Old Timey Museum?” Patricia asked.
“Yeah.” Casandra nodded as a pretty girl with dark red hair checked in a fussy guest. “The museum isn’t as popular as the Seattle Art Museum, but it’s a really neat place. Used to be an old theater back in the 1950s.”
“Oh, well, that sounds interesting.” Patricia had no desire to go visit a dusty old museum. But then she saw a text coming through her phone from Brian: “You’re acting silly. Call me when you can act like an adult.”
Patricia felt her cheeks turn red with anger as she read the text. “You know what, maybe getting some fresh air might do me some good. Where is this museum, Casandra?”
“Oh, not too far,” Casandra promised and gave Patricia the address. “The street the museum sits on is a small side street. It’s very easy to miss.”
“I’m sure I’ll find it. My phone has a GPS on it,” Patricia said. “Thanks for telling me. You’re very sweet.”
“Well, I’m from Canton, Georgia. We Georgia girls have to stick together.” Casandra laughed. “I’ve been living in Seattle for two years, and I’m thinking about going back home. I’ve about had enough of this city and the idiot I’m engaged to. Oh, gotta go—a guest is walking up to the front counter. Bye.”
“Bye, honey.” Patricia grabbed her leather jacket from the bed and looked out of the window. The sky was dark, pregnant with rain. “Better take my umbrella.”
After grabbing a green umbrella, a white purse, and her room key, Patricia left the comfort of her room and headed out into a busy world.
“Okay, this is Broad Street…” She turned left and walked away from the hotel along a damp sidewalk. The Space Needle loomed directly across the street, towering over her head like a shadowy giant. Heavy drops of rain fell from the dark sky as Patricia navigated the path toward the Old Timey Museum. “Great...more rain. Just what I need.”
Patricia popped open her green umbrella and continued on her way, ignoring the scenery. Seattle wasn’t the greatest city in America, at least in Patricia’s opinion. Besides, she had visited the city four times before and each time found the city taking a serious nosedive—just like every other major city. Corporate, political canvases were transforming cities into sewage centers that breed dead ideas to replace originality, charm, and warmth. As a travel writer, Patricia had witnessed cities that were once...somewhat lovely...being overtaken by soulless hands and turned into overpriced dumps. Atlanta, Seattle, Los Angeles, Denver, Minneapolis, St. Louis, Boston...and forget about Baltimore or Detroit. Sadly, America was bleeding to death. Yes, this country is dying, but there’s still beauty to be found. I’m just feeling grumpy because of Brian. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if she tried to find some beauty right there in Seattle? Maybe the museum will be nice? Who knows? What I do know is that I’m not going to let Brian Johnson ruin my trip.
After walking down one street after another, making a sort of zig-zag through town, Patricia finally came upon a little narrow street with a row of run-down buildings. The street, trapped in rainy shadows, seemed empty. There were no cars, delivery trucks, or pedestrians that she could see. She checked her cell phone and saw a red dot floating above her location. “Well, this appears to be the right street.”
Patricia drew in a deep breath and began walking down a crumbling sidewalk. She passed a three-story brick building that had boarded-up windows. “Nice. What’s next?” There was a building with signs identifying it as a closed music school. Next, an old structure fashioned like a 1940s theater appeared. Patricia raised her tired eyes and spotted a weather-torn theater marquee. It held mostly broken light bulbs attached to an old wooden sign painted in brown and what might have been green once. It read “Old Timey Museum” in faded black letters. “This is the place.”
An old ticket booth was stationed between two large wooden doors that held oval stained-glass windows. The booth looked long deserted and forgotten to lost memories and time. For a few seconds, Patricia could hear laughter and chatter as excited people approached the ticket booth to buy tickets—people dressed in clothes from a time the modern world had left behind; a time when the heart was still somewhat innocent. “Well,” Patricia said, letting out a breath and opening her eyes, “this place looks closed. Maybe Casandra had the wrong day—”
A door off to the right of the ticket booth slowly creeped open. A tall, mean-looking man wearing a gray security guard uniform peeked his head out. “You here for the exhibit?” he called out, spotting a pretty woman standing out on the front walk holding a green umbrella.
“Uh...yeah, I guess,” Patricia called back, startled. “I was told there was a traveling art show today?”
“Art From Around the World,” the security guard called out. “The exhibit is free. You can come on in.”
“Is anyone here?” Patricia dared to ask, stepping under the marquee to get out of the rain.
“Just Mr. Edelstein. Mr. Cameron—he’s the curator—left for the day. We’re closing at six so better hurry if you want to see some of the exhibit.”
Patricia studied the security guard with careful eyes and then looked around. I should turn around and walk back to the hotel. That’s what Brian would tell me. But I’m not a baby. I’m a big girl standing in front of a silly old building that’s been turned into a silly museum. It’s not like she was trapped in a snowy desert, or on a deadly island, or in Paris, or in a scary corn maze, or in a foggy town. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go inside and take a look around.”
“Remember, we close at six,” the security guard reminded Patricia and then opened the door wider for her.
Patricia closed her umbrella, tucked her cell phone away, and walked through the door.
“Oh my…” She gasped as she entered a large, beautiful old-fashioned lobby—very old-fashioned. For a moment Patricia felt as if she’d walked back into the year 1944. Music from the War World II era floated down from overhead speakers that were attached to a vintage wooden ceiling. Red, lush carpet covered the floor, and walls that only a mind from the year 1940 could design bordered the lobby. Countless wooden picture frames were attached to the walls, holding images now locked in an eternal black and white.
“This isn’t what I expected to see.”
“What did you expect to see?” a voice asked.
“What?” Patricia spun around and saw a man walking through a set of thick curtains hanging from the doorway leading into the theater. “Oh, hello. I was commenting on how lovely it is in here. From the outside—”
“You wouldn’t expect much,” Levi Edelstein finished for Patricia, brushing at an old but well-tailored gray suit with hands that belonged to a piano genius.
Patricia watched as the handsome man with dark black hair approached her. “Are you Mr. Edelstein?” she asked.
Levi nodded. “I’m the museum conservator,” he explained. “Roger Cameron, the curator, is not here. I stayed behind to lock up the museum, like always. However, being alone gives me time to work without being bothered. As you can see, we don’t get many visitors.” Levi spoke in a thick, intelligent Jewish accent that was very charming.
“Well, maybe if you improved the exterior—”
“Money,” Levi politely cut Patricia off. “We operate on a very tight budget that flows from donations, I’m afraid. It is Roger’s desire to renovate the exterior but for now, we’re more focused on ensuring the interior is presentable.”
“I have to use the bathroom, Levi,” the security guard barked and wandered away down a long hallway.
“That would be Greg Morton,” Levi said. “Mr. Morton is not a pleasant man. Unfortunately, the security guard company that sent him doesn’t have much to offer in terms of intelligent employees. However, Roger insists that we have security on site any time we are open to the public. He’ll be back shortly.”
“I see.” Patricia started walking her eyes around the lovely lobby. “Well, I think I might look around.”
“These pieces come from Paul Vinovich,” Levi explained. “Mr. Vinovich is dead now, but his work is still legendary—at least to those who can appreciate true art.”
Patricia approached a small wooden frame holding a black and white photo of an ancient city in Europe. “What—” she started to ask but then let out a cry as the wooden frame holding the photo suddenly came loose from the wall and crashed to the floor. To Patricia’s horror, the wooden frame split open...glass broke...and the photo came tumbling out.
“Oh my, I didn’t touch it. Oh my...”
