Free Valise in the Attic by Jan Fields

following Alice from one crazy adventure to the next and always coming away with some kind of scrape.
    Though she suspected she was going to be achy in the morning, Annie’s knees felt less stiff by the time they’d walked the short blocks to Maplehurst Inn. The tall colonial-style building seemed to blend into winter with its buff-color siding and stone facade. Only the forest green trim caught the eye.
    Annie was glad to slip inside and out of the cold. She saw that a cozy fire burned in the fireplace of the large lobby. Several people she recognized from the morning’s movie shoot sat in chairs around the fire. She looked carefully, but none of them were the young prop master.
    Alice walked to the front desk and asked if Linda Hunter, the owner of the inn, was around.
    The girl behind the counter nodded, looking concerned. “Is there a problem?”
    “No,” Alice assured her. “Linda is a friend of ours.”
    The girl smiled, more relaxed. “She’s talking with the chef, I believe.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “We’ve had our hands full. We don’t normally have so much business this far into winter, and they’re working on menus out of our normal winter food stocks.”
    While Alice chatted with the young woman, Annie walked closer to the group around the fire. “Do any of you know which room the prop master is in?” she said. “I want to leave this valise with him.”
    An older woman looked Annie up and down, and Annie immediately recognized the thin face from the wardrobe trailer. “Are those ours?” the woman asked, pointing a slightly heavy knuckled finger toward Annie’s stockings.
    “Sorry, yes, they are,” she said. “I fell in the parking lot next to the pier.”
    The woman nodded. “Don’t worry. We have more. They aren’t real silk.”
    The other gray-haired wardrobe lady—this one with a kind round face—leaned forward. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked. “Betty here doesn’t mean to overlook your injury. We just always think about clothes first—occupational hazard.”
    The thin-faced woman blinked. “Oh, you were injured?”
    Annie looked down at the scrapes on her legs. “A little. It’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “I’m glad you have more stockings.”
    Betty stood and took a step closer to Annie, bending slightly to look at her knees. She shook her head. “We’ll have to put something over those scrapes before filming in the morning,” Betty said abruptly. “They might show through the stockings. Can you cover those up, Pat?”
    The round-faced woman rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, we’ll just paint them with liquid bandage. It shouldn’t be a problem. I’m glad you weren’t hurt badly. It’s icy out there. You should be careful. Several of our people have fallen down.”
    “Mostly the young folks,” Betty interjected. “They’re always in such a hurry. Slow and steady is the way to stay safe.”
    Annie smiled a little at that, thinking of the amazing bustle inside the wardrobe trailer, and the way she felt rushed through. These wardrobe ladies certainly weren’t slow when it came to work.
    “I guess we’re not exactly used to ice,” Pat said. “We’re all going to look like the walking wounded by the time we leave at this rate. I even saw Matt Rusher limping earlier; not that he’d ever admit to anything as clumsy as falling down.”
    Betty turned a wicked grin toward her friend. “Maybe that casting director gave him a kick in the shins. I saw him making a pass at her yesterday.”
    “Oh you!” Pat said, shaking her head. “You’re such an old gossip.”
    Betty sniffed. “I’m not that old.”
    “I would imagine the poor man fell. I certainly know how easy it is to fall out there,” Annie said, hoping to head off an argument. “Mostly, I’m looking for the prop master. I want to leave this valise with him.”
    “Ah, Samuel is another of our walking wounded,” Pat said, nodding her head.
    “Did he fall