Free Fool's Journey by Mary Chase Comstock

evening by herself. "Big case?"
                "Boring case. Excitement's mainly in the movies.
Come on," he said, standing up.
                The partially opened box sat on the coffee table, an edge
of the wreath visible. Manny frowned as he caught sight of it. He picked up a
pencil and slid the lid back gingerly.
                "You never know. We may want to dust for prints
later," he explained. "No sense in adding mine. Anyone touch it
besides you?"
                Deirdre shook her head.
                "Good. Just the one door?"
                "There's one in my storage room that used to lead
down to the rest of the house. A back stairway, I guess, but it was nailed shut
when they turned this floor into an apartment."
                "Does anyone live on that side?"
                "I think it's used for storage." She shrugged.
"There are three other apartments in the house, but they're all on the
first and second floors, and they all enter through the main foyer."
                "Where do you park?"
                No use lying about this one, she decided. Her answer
would be unusual, but unlikely to raise too much suspicion.
    "I
don't drive."
                He looked at her a moment, then blinked and went on.
"You're sure there's only the one entrance to yours?" he asked.
                 "That's
all. The window in my bedroom is big and it opens onto a low roof, so I guess
it meets fire code. I'm sure I could get out that way if I ever needed
to."
                Manny leaned against the wall for a moment with his arms
folded. "This is an interesting layout. What's back here?" he asked,
nodding in the other direction.
                "Storage. My bedroom. This used to be the servants'
quarters. Sometimes I wonder what they were like, the people who once lived up
here. I wonder what they dreamed about, or if they dreamed at all after a long
day's work.   It couldn't have been an
easy life."
                "It never is," he smiled at her, "but
usually a person can find ways to be happy, if they look."
                "When I was a little girl," she said, "I
used to escape to the kitchen whenever I could. Our cook, Magdalena, would give
me a cup of milk and coffee with lots of sugar. I never thought what her life
was like. I just treasured the time I could spend with her, watching her knead
dough or assemble trays of canapés if my parents were entertaining. She used to
make a plate just for me, and she'd use little olive slices and slivers of
celery to make little faces on them, smiling faces. She'd say 'Smile, Miss
–'"
                Deirdre stopped herself and let the silence fall between
them for a moment. "You'd better let me get the lights," she said,
leading the way. "They're hard to find."
                He followed her through the cluttered storage rooms to
her bedroom. "There isn't much room for anyone to hide," he commented
as he looked around.
                Her eyes followed his. She always played a little game
with herself when someone saw her home for the first time, looking through
their eyes at every picture and book for clues about her personality and past.
What did her surroundings tell him? What did he make of the clutter of books
and paper, the narrow twin bed? Deirdre was suddenly more aware of her senses.
She could smell her own cologne and his leather jacket. Street noises drifted
up.
                "The window concerns me," Manny said after a
few silent moments.   He gave the frame a
slight push and the window swung easily open. "Doesn't this thing
lock?"
                "It's been painted so often I can't ever get it to
shut all the way," Deirdre explained. "Do you think it's a
problem?"
                "Come here and take a look."
                Deirdre crossed over to him and together they leaned