A WHISPER OF ETERNIT

Page 66



It didn't appear to be locked, but it wouldn't open.

Frowning, she wandered from room to room, opening the draperies as she went.

The house was bigger than any she had ever seen, including her own. There was a living room with a big stone fireplace, a huge dining room, a library whose walls were lined with shelves filled with books, a large room with a polished oak floor—a ballroom, perhaps? She wandered through the kitchen and pantry, noting they were both stocked with food. There was a music room that held a very old piano, a violin, and a harp. There was another room she thought might be the solarium.

She tried every door, every window—they refused to open. Were they locked from the outside?
Was this place some sort ofTwilight Zone bed and breakfast?

Going back upstairs, she poked her head into the rooms that lined the corridor. They were all bedrooms or sitting rooms furnished with antique oak furniture. She was glad to see that the house seemed to have all the modern conveniences, except a telephone. And mirrors, she thought, frowning. She didn't recall seeing a single mirror in the whole place.

The last room she looked into seemed very much like her studio at home. It contained a long table,a half -dozen empty jars and cans, a small box of rags, a couple of easels, and several blank canvases in a variety of sizes. The case that held her paints and brushes sat just inside the door, along with the blank canvases and the easel she had brought from home.

Returning to the room she had awakened in, she sat on the edge of the bed. How was she going to get out of here? She hit her head with the heel of her hand. Her cell phone! Why hadn't she thought of it sooner?

Grabbing her bag, she rummaged inside, only it wasn't there. Whoever had brought her here must have taken it.

With a sigh, she tossed her bag aside and glanced at her surroundings. It was a pretty room. The walls were covered in old-fashioned paper with pink cabbage roses. The ceiling was high; painted angels and nymphs smiled down at her. There were wrought-iron candelabras on the walls, a small Tiffany lamp on the cherrywood table beside the bed. The bedspread was a deep, dusky rose, as were the heavy draperies at the windows.

Hunger drove her downstairs once again. In the kitchen, she went through the cupboards. They were fully stocked with canned goods, bread, crackers, Jell-O, cake mix, a dozen brands of cereal, hot fudge, marshmallows, flour, sugar, salt and pepper, spices and condiments, a wide variety of candy bars, and practically anything else she could possibly want, including the items she'd had in her car.

The refrigerator held milk, cream, butter, sodas, lunch meat, and several kinds of cheese; the freezer was filled with meat, frozen vegetables, and three kinds of ice cream.

At least she wouldn't starve to death.

But where the devil was she?
And who had brought her here?