Page 7 of One Last Step

The door opens before Sophie can answer.She pales and sinks back in her desk as Elena walks into the room.Elena gives Sophie a quizzical smile.“Hello, little fairy.Why are you looking at me like that?Have you been giving Miss Mary a hard time?”

She shakes her head.“No, I’m being good.”

“Is that true, Mary?”Elena asks, lifting an eyebrow.

I smile at Sophie.“She’s been wonderful.”

Elena beams.“Good.I’m so glad.”She looks Sophie up and down.“Why do you look so afraid?”

Sophie pales another shade.“I’m not afraid.”

“You’re white as a sheet.”Elena looks at me, now frowning with concern.“Is everything all right?”

“Everything is great,” I tell her.“I believe our young lady is just anxious for the school day to be over.”

Sophie’s eyes widen.She bobs her head up and down eagerly.“Yes.That’s it.Miss Mary, can I be done today?”

I want to talk to her more about the old messages people used to send through this museum, but I keep it to myself.“You may be excused,” I tell her.“You did very—”

She’s out of her chair and out of the room in a flash.“—Well,” I finish ruefully.

Elena rolls her eyes.“She’s into video games lately.That one where you make things out of bricks.What is it?”

I shake my head.“I haven’t played a video game since I was six years old.”

She shrugs.“Well, she’ll be in her room until dinner.Unless you think we should roust her out and make her do something more productive.”

I absolutely do think that children should occupy themselves with more productive pursuits than video games, but I want to learn more about the history of this place, so I reply, “I’ll ease her into the new routine.She did very well with school today, so I’ll allow her video games today.Tomorrow, we’ll try to go on a walk outside after school before we shut ourselves in our room.”

Elena nods approvingly.“That’s what my parents used to tell me.Then they made me work in the shop restoring the clocks.”She chuckles.“If I asked Sophie to work on clocks with Francois, she’d probably die of boredom.”

I smile politely.“She mentioned something about—”

Elena’s phone buzzes.She sees the number and sighs.“I have to take this, I’m afraid.This is Francois.He’s calling to follow up on the incident last night.I should get down to the museum too.I don’t like leaving it in the hands of the teenagers I hired to run the gift shop.I’ll see you for dinner, Mary.”

She leaves the study, and I sigh, slightly frustrated.It seems I’ll have to wait to ask my questions.

Or maybe not.I haven’t spent much time with the exhibits.Maybe if I look more closely, I’ll be able to satisfy my curiosity.

I stop by Sophie’s room and confirm that she is zoned out with her television.The game she’s playing now is a cartoon racing game of some sort.The objective appears to be to throw turtle shells at the other racers.

“Sophie,” I call.“I’m going downstairs to the museum.If you need something, you can find me there.”

She gives me a thumbs up without taking her eyes off of the screen.We mustabsolutelydo something about that tomorrow.

I head downstairs, stopping at the ground floor.Considering that most of the clocks in the modern exhibit have a rather open minimalist design, I feel that I’m most likely to discover hidden compartments here, especially among the grandfather clocks and cabinet clocks.

I start in the first exhibit containing all of the spring-powered clocks.Four other patrons occupy the space, a young couple and a middle-aged man.The couple seems more interested in whispering in each other’s ears and pawing at each other to the very limit of propriety.I used to turn my nose up at such behavior, but now that I’ve found my own lover in the golden years of my life, I feel happy for the two of them.It’s a fine thing to be in love.

The middle-aged man captures more of my attention, not because he is my age but because I see him peering very closely at the large cabinet clock that malfunctioned the night before.Elena has somehow managed to close its cabinets, but it is these cabinets that interest him.He mutters to himself every few seconds as his eyes scan the cabinet relentlessly.

He catches my eye and smiles at me.“An excellent automaton clock.It’s a shame that Tristan Rousseau scoffed at such designs.He had true talent.Should he have dedicated himself to this pursuit, he could have constructed some of the best clocks of this sort in history.”

I return his smile.“I did hear that he preferred simplicity in his designs.”

“He extolled it.He was renowned for his dedication to the functionality of a timepiece.As for the art, he considered a beautifully made sturdy cabinet that provided proper housing and support for its mechanism to be the best art to which an horologist could aspire.But I am being rude.”He extends his hand.“Hans Weber.”

I take his hand and am pleased to feel a firm grip.Sean tells me that you can tell a lot about a man by his handshake.Perhaps that is true, and perhaps it isn’t, but I know that I prefer strength to weakness.“Mary Wilcox.”

---