“John and I met in the library,” Audrey explained. “I couldn’t believe my luck.”
“First time for me too,” Old John explained. “I usually pick up girls in the Krogers.”
“Anyway, I promised him a few drinks in exchange for some information.”
“She could have saved her money. All I wanted was…”
“John! We talked about that. I’m a good girl from a good family,” Audrey said beet red.
Mike leaned over and whispered, “Old John’s been hitting on her since we arrived. He’s my hero.”
Mia cleared her voice, but it still came out squeaky, “Excuse me, John, I don’t mean to pressure you, but a friend of ours is missing, and I think you can help us out.”
“Yes, miss, I will do my best.”
“Tell us your story.”
“I was at work when the storm hit. We all ran out to see…”
Mia sensed the man was lying, but why? She slid off a glove and reached over and grabbed his hand before Mike and Ted could stop her.
The warm summer breeze seemed to push John along as he walked towards the Tear Drop Tavern. He waved at Mrs. Brewster as she swept off the steps of the Dew Drop Inn across the road. She shook her finger at him, calling out, “Isn’t it a bit early?”
“It’s after twelve,” he called back.
“Maybe in Rhode Island!” she admonished before she walked back into the inn.
He shook his head, imagining the refreshing, icy cold beer that awaited him. He was a hard worker; didn’t he deserve a little tipple now and again?
A strange whistling sound disturbed his thoughts. He looked down the road expecting to see some G Damn hot-rodder racing up Mason Street, but the road was clear. The sound became louder as a cacophony of other strange sounds joined it. He heard a crash and an explosion before he saw a fireball sail over the roof of the Dew Drop Inn. It was followed by two other fireballs. His first thought was Russians! His second was meteorites. Didn’t they say the whatchamacallit asteroid field was passing by earth on the news last night? Another screamed overhead. He didn’t know whether it was safer in the bar or in the inn. He weighed the prospect of weathering the storm with a pot of tea at the inn in the company of Mrs. Brewster against sharing a pitcher of beer with a bar fly, and ran towards the bar. He had his hand on the door when he stopped to look back at the inn. The roar from an impacting meteorite shook the panes of glass in the tavern’s door. Dust billowed down the road. When it cleared, the inn was gone.
Mia was ready to pull out of his mind when she thought she would try something. “Slower, give me your memories slower,” she projected into John’s mind.
She watched as a rock no larger than a basketball landed. The ground shook and a shockwave pushed towards the inn, it moved the building off its foundation several yards. The building skidded along the freshly mowed lawn and disappeared into a shimmer. Another meteorite landed extinguishing the shimmer. Through Old John’s memories, Mia saw the inn and the ley line disappear.
She unclasped her hand and pulled on her glove.
“And there I was battling the flames. I pulled all the orphans to safety,” Old John said triumphantly.
Audrey got up and patted John on the back, looking at Mia apologetically. “That was some story, John. If you will excuse me, nature calls. Mia?”
“Me too,” Mia said, getting the hint that Audrey wanted to talk to her.
“Those gals, got to pee in packs,” Old John crowed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was a liar,” Audrey began.
Mia grabbed her hand and stopped her. “He was a witness, Audrey, but the truth was harder to tell. I think I have to apologize to Ted and talk to the others. Burt may just be in a Fata Morgana, created by the 1973 meteor shower.”
Burt left his room and walked along the upper hall, keeping an eye out for the reemergence of the front door. He had on his coat, gloves and two pairs of socks. His mind may not be accepting the cold, but his body was showing signs of hypothermia. Fortunately, Mia made every member of the team carry a bottle of water with them since her adventures in Sentinel Woods. He sipped the water and began to feel better. He was less irritable and his mind sharpened.
If he was in a building, and it was traveling around and about southern Wisconsin in the winter, there would be no fireflies of summer. There would be no herbs growing in the garden. All that, like the food, was a mirage. It stood to reason that the next step off the porch wouldn’t be the death of him. It would just be a step. The reality was that the inn wasn’t moving fifty yards in the air, it was moving along the ground. It only wanted him to think it was a death leap instead of a step. Why did it waffle between winter and summer? Was that important? Were the occupants in the inn spirits or mirages? He suspected the formidable Mrs. Brewster was more than your garden variety ghost, but Millie was another matter.
Why did the inn keep him but let the others go?
“Can I help you, Mr. Hicks?” Mrs. Brewster said from behind him.
He turned around. His eyes saw a kindly older woman, but his instincts told him that he was dealing with something that wasn’t female or male. What it was… was another matter.
“Why me?”
“Why you, what?” the woman asked.
“Why have you detained me, when you let the others go?”
“Others?” The woman seemed puzzled, but realization soon came over her. “They needed help, and we helped them. You, you came to make trouble and…”
“What if I apologize?”
Mrs. Brewster thought a moment. “I’ll consider it. You’ll have to apologize to Millie. She is in a snit.”
“Is Millie like you or like me?”
“You’re a clever creature, Mr. Hicks. Millie is and isn’t. Figure that out.”
“What exactly is happening here?”
“I don’t exactly know myself. All I know is that I run an inn. I provide a service to those lost and have nowhere to sleep at night. I take no payment. We leave, and it all repeats. Like the shampoo bottle. Rinse and repeat,” she laughed.
Burt found he liked the sound of her laughter.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“I don’t know. It’s all the repeating, makes one forget time.”
“This is so much like a Doctor Who…”
“Doctor who?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Who.” He stopped and explained, “It’s a television show called Doctor Who.”
“Television, we have one in the corner of the parlor, but it doesn’t work.”
Burt, fearing that his hostess was losing her concentration, changed the subject. “If I apologize to you and to Millie and promise never to return, will you let me go?”
“I’ll consider it. I’ve grown to like you, Mr. Hicks. You’d make an excellent addition to the inn…”
Burt put his hands, palms out, between them. “Please let me go. I’m a grumpy moody bastard. You’ll tire of me.”
“So you say. Give me time to mull this over. In the meantime, Millie has prepared crepes.” Mrs. Brewster walked past him and down the stairs. She looked back and said, “Come along, I believe you have an apology to make.”
Burt followed her down the stairs, disappointed to see the front door had not returned.
Chapter Four
Murphy didn’t frequent drinking establishments when he was living. His mother, who had a strong dislike of liquor, ruled the roost until he married, and then it just didn’t seem like a good use of his time. Sure, he had imbibed from time to time, but being in the company of other drinkers was a new experience. The trio of spirits he had drawn away from Mia hadn’t all died at the same time. Each had slipped away under the influence and seemed happy to stay within the confines of the Tear Drop Tavern. Two of the men seemed too young to have experienced an alcohol related death; the other had the rheumy eyes and broken capillaries that bespoke of a life tied to the bottle.