Mystery of Mesmer's Manor

"Dear Malcolm Wolf,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know that the detective life keeps you dreadfully busy, running around and sniffing out bad guys, but I wanted to offer you the opportunity to go as my plus-one on a rare vacation getaway. Before you throw this into the nearest garbage pail, allow me to whet your appetite. If my own lovely company is not enough incentive to join me, you should be aware of the location: Mesmer's Manor! That's right, the Mesmer's Manor, owned by the Croft family. We'll have free roam to look at the manor, stay on its grounds, and even speak to the elusive woman of the house herself!

I can only assume I was granted an invite because she is a fan of my mystery novels, which I find quite flattering! Still, it does feel like there is an air of mystery about, does it not? It's so intriguing, it has my heart racing! However, alongside the excitement, I feel just a bit of trepidation. I'd like a travel buddy for peace of mind. I can think of no one more qualified to come with me than you, my old friend, who was so good at solving mysteries, large and small. It has been quite some time, but all the more reason we should reconnect, I feel.

If you are interested, please visit the ferry at the enclosed address. I have informed them to expect you. We are each to ferry across one at a time, for whatever reason, but I will happily meet you at the manor. Write back if you're planning on attending!

Your friend,

Linda"

You stared contemplatively at the mint-green envelope in your hands before placing it into your jacket pocket. At first, you thought it awfully strange that she'd write to you by hand, but when you thought back to what you remembered of your book-nut, mystery-obsessed, childhood-friend-turned-acclaimed-author, Linda Catz, it sort of fit together. You wouldn't be totally surprised to hear she didn't own a cell phone. An old-school writer like her probably saw modern technology as the enemy, making her settings more difficult to concoct at every turn.

Your old friend was correct in her assumptions: you could use a vacation, you would like to reconnect, and you were awfully intrigued about the destination. The one thing you weren't so happy about was the weather. It was far from the ideal day for a ferry, you noticed. Dark, gray clouds were gathering over-head and to hear it said, the weather would be pretty rough Monday through Wednesday. You were supposed to spend a full five days out on the island, so it ought to clear up by Friday. That meant that while the ride over would be choppy, it'd all be clear by time to leave. You sighed heavily as you adjusted the flaps of your trenchcoat against the cold, trying to ignore the chilled outline of your own breath. It really was a shitty day for a ferry ride.

To distract yourself from the cold, you pondered the circumstances of your visit. The entire island you were now heading to by ferry was the private property of Wanda Croft, the 21-year-old heir to her family's legacy: the world's most prestigious collection of occult artifacts. Rumors described her as "eccentric," but that descriptor was almost unnecessary. What other kind of person besides an "eccentric" would have a collection of purported magical items?

The fact that she was rounding up people to view her collection was strange enough, but the fact that she was letting them bring their own plus ones without any vetting process was even stranger. Odd behavior from such a private person, anyway.

On top of that, Linda was making a sort of a bold move herself. You two hadn't seen each other since you were kids in high school; you'd been inseparable back then, until her desire for higher education ultimately undid that. You thought she was pretty back then and imagined-- perhaps hoped-- that she'd grown up to be a real beauty now. You wondered if she would appreciate the way you were now, so thoroughly transformed from those years ago? You were still essentially a "good" person, you thought, but over a foot taller, broad-shouldered, and relatively grizzled for your age, not out of your twenties. You'd been on some tough cases already and those had cast their own shadow-- sights and findings you'd rather forget. She might be a little frightened of you.

Even if she wasn't concerned about that part, she ought to think about what the others were going to say... a plus one to a location like this is at minimum a boyfriend, more commonly a husband, and you'd be surprised if there weren't card-carrying members of the press in attendance. A famous writer like her shouldn't be seen chumming around with a bum detective like you.

Despite the ominous weather, the ferry ride went without incident, besides the elderly captain of the boat-- its one occupant-- seeming oddly cold and untalkative. Before you knew it, you were walking past the iconic "M M" gates, which were overgrown with ivy in an almost intentional artistic fashion. The path to Mesmer's Manor seemed as though it might have been gardened and trimmed back at one point, but now, the vines and branches were overgrown on all sides, kept only as short as they needed to be to provide a lengthy footpath. Even if there were cars or vehicles on the island, there would be no place to drive them.

All of this added to the mystique of the reclusive collector's three-story mansion, which happily came into view after a brisk walk through the cold, late-autumn air. It was thankfully better kept than the garden, but still seemed to show signs of age-- the architecture was antique in a charming way, but there were other aspects like discoloration to the walls and roof that were less endearing. If she truly was preserving these artifacts, she ought to do a better job preserving the house in which she displays them, you thought to yourself.

At the front of the house, a butler was waiting. The elderly man was something of a caricature of the butler lifestyle, dressed in a full black tuxedo. Even his tie was black, like he was prepared for a funeral. His hair was gray and wispy and his face, nose, and chin were all just.... long. Like someone had grabbed each point of his face and pulled it outward. The cold didn't seem to be agreeing with him either, judging by the red tip of his nose, but he was being a real professional, statue-like and unmoving as a member of the queen's royal guard at Buckingham Palace. "Good day, Master Wolf. We have been expecting you. You are the last to arrive at the lady's assembly."

It sounded almost like an accusation, you thought, but if that's what was intended, it wasn't a fair attack. Someone had to be last and you'd been told that no one was allowed to ride the ferry together-- there was no reason to get there early. You'd make a note to try to suss out the reason for the butler's undue hospitality later. For now, you smiled and thanked him for his hospitality, then asked what you should call him.

"My name is Eric. Eric Waterbury, if it pleases you." That was as much of an introduction as you were going to get. "Miss Croft has special instructions for you, sir. You are not to proceed to the foyer with the others. Instead, I have been instructed to take you to through the servant's quarters up to the lady's study. The rest of the staff will handle your luggage while you meet with the lady."

That was highly unusual. You began to understand that there was surely some mischief at play here on the part of your hostess. As you followed Eric, you asked what sort of staff the lady kept on hand.

"I am the head butler. The lady keeps a personal maid, who is the only one allowed to serve her on her private floor. The rest of us tend to the other floors, myself and nine other gentlemen."

You noted that for later... another oddity. Ten male butlers and just one woman assigned to the entire third floor? The lady was eccentric indeed.

Your luggage parcels and overcoat were handed off to some of the aforementioned manservants as you passed through the servant's quarters. Under the overcoat, you'd worn another, lighter coat, which you insisted on keeping. The place was damn chilly.

The path took you through the kitchen, then to the staircase they used-- no frills, old wood with a winding railing. The old butler was relatively slow ascending the staircase, but you followed behind him, courteously quiet to match his own behavior. He stepped off and stopped at the second floor, then gave you a half-bow as you proceeded up the staircase past him. "You'll find a set of double doors, engraved with the image of a bear on each handle. This will take you into the lady's study. Please, do not stray from the path and do not touch anything you are not instructed to touch, good sir."

Old Eric just did not seem to be warming up to you. Continuing your efforts to be the bigger man, or at least the more amiable one, you gave him a two finger salute and a smile, then continued up the staircase.

You'd yet to see the whole of the house's interior for comparison, but the state of the third floor made you think that the single maid assigned to its upkeep was hard-working, but ill-equipped for her task. Dusting and mopping appeared to be mostly taken care of, but paintings here and there appeared to be off-center, bookshelves poorly arranged, and there were several rather obvious waterstains on the floor. It was clear that she was the clumsy type and that made you wonder what the lady's interest was in keeping the maid around. There were already plenty of mysteries wedging themselves in your overactive detective's mind-- you were more at home thinking about those than the social decorum warranted by your situation.

Still, you were capable enough to remember a bit of it. You gave a polite double knock on the double doors, marked with bears in profile on each brass knob.

"It's open! Please, come and join me by the fire, Mister Wolf," a surprisingly energetic, youthful voice announced. "I've eagerly anticipated your arrival."

You'd been expecting the hermit-like woman who owned the manor to be gloomy like her butler, so you were pleased at the energy in her voice. You thanked her, gave your hair a quick slick back with your hands to fix what the autumn wind had done to it, then slid inside and shut the door behind you.

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