Page 2 of Hidden Raphael
"I don't know, miss." The woman walked around her and went back to the bed to gather the sheets. "Ask Master Raphael. I’ll get you clean sheets, as these must have salt and sand from the beach."
He'd probably saved her life. She intended to thank him, but then a chill raced up her spine. Where was the pilot? Was he in a different room? Her voice cracked, and her throat became parched. "Was I the only one brought into the house last night?"
"You're the only survivor that I know about." The maid packed the sheets in the basket. "You'll have to ask him your questions. I have a lot of work to do."
"Where is he, Meg?" Kimberly stared at Meg with her mouth still dry. She hugged her waist. She was probably safe for now, but her mind raced withwhat ifsand more goose bumps grew on her arms. "I’d like to talk to him."
Meg nodded. "Good. Wash up first. I found some clothes for you to wear and hung them in the closet."
Kimberly smiled and rubbed her arms. Mr. Raphael must be in his sixties, like Meg. He probably wore old-fashioned clothes like Meg. They lived in a castle that was straight out of a history book. And Kimberly didn’t care if the clothes offered to her were from the last century, as long as she washed the dried salt of the ocean off her skin with a decent shower. Her skin was caked with grime, and even a bath might help her mind be clear. She sniffed her hair and her face wrinkled. She smelled like a sewer mixed with oil. Meg went to the closet and carried out clean sheets. She made the bed.
Coldness floated through Kimberly. A gust of wind must have come from the slightly opened door. Meg finished her work then pointed to the en suite bathroom. "Wash as best you can, miss. I'll change your bandages if we have to."
Kimberly held her tongue that would have asked why this room had its own bathroom, as castles didn’t seem to have that luxury. It was best not to know details. Then Meg took a step toward the door with the basket of sheets. Kimberly’s blood pressure surged. "Wait. Where you going?"
"I need to set the wash." Meg shook her head. "I'll be back, but you are not my only responsibility today. I've work to do."
Another chill rushed through Kimberly as Meg opened the door to a drafty hallway. How big was this castle? The door thudded closed and the windowpanes shook. She turned and stared at the mist outside. The storm might be worse now. Kimberly held her tongue. She wanted that shower.
She swayed on her feet and stared into the mist. Lightning brightened the sky. Was the pilot out there? Waves crashed against the rocky coastline, and a billow of black smoke emanated right off shore that mixed with the gray mist.
Mr. Raphael must have seen the crash from his windows. Did he have other neighbors? Was there a nearby hospital? She scanned the horizon but couldn’t see past the forest of thorns and evergreens. Her skin pinched like one of the thorns last night had pricked her. She brushed her arm and glanced to see the cut from last night. She ran through that, and the ocean was past the dense woods. She gulped and realized the ocean was a memory, as she couldn’t see anything but trees. She scratched her chin. The pines and firs had a slight glitter that probably held icicles. She had a sense that she was utterly alone.
She walked into the bathroom and the door slammed shut. She hadn't intended for it close so hard, and the loud bang sent tremors in her stomach.
The stone walls continued, but the shower had tempered glass and seemed modern. She stepped into it and the sterling silver knobs released warm water onto her raw skin. The shower was cleansing. The shampoo smelled of cucumbers, and the soap had a hint of coconut that reminded her of her mom’s home in Miami. She lathered twice to ensure that the rawness of the salt wouldn't return to make her itch again.
Kimberly dried off with a huge towel that she wrapped around herself and tied at her chest. She rubbed away steam from the mirror. Where were the police and why wasn't she in a hospital?
She swallowed, studying her face. Her bruise wasn’t so pronounced, but her head still stung. Meg and Mr. Raphael had brought her here and not to emergency personnel.Why?Kimberly closed her eyes and swore not to be so negative. She was alive.
She owed them her thanks. Ali and Eileen’s skulls had bullets through the brains. Kimberly’s legs almost collapsed. It was better not to think about her friends who didn’t make it.
She walked back into her room and studied the vast chamber. With the thick rug, hardwood floors, and handcrafted furniture, this was made for an elegant lady or some rich, elite person. She must have read to many historical stories to imagine something like this.
She clicked her tongue in her mouth and went to the closet.
Her mouth fell open and she stepped into the walk-in closet. These weren’t old-lady clothes. She picked up one black silk shirt and read the label. The shirt cost more than the rent on her small house in the South Seas last year, but then she had lived cheap. Whoever owned these would want them back.
Kimberly realized her chest and average waist wouldn't fit the designer top.
The previous owner probably ate half a salad and never tasted chocolate. Kimberly shook her head and repeated her old mantra:no need to be mean. Then she sifted through skirts and tunic dresses to find something more loose-fitting that might work around her hips.
She gathered every piece that might work and piled them on the door hook. The super-skinny off-to-a-nightclub outfits could be shoved to the end and never touched.
A knock reverberated in the air. She threw on a red cotton dress and walked out of the closet, hoping it was Meg. The maid had already let herself in, and carried fresh towels. Goose bumps grew and the overwhelming sense to run hit Kimberly hard.
"Do you need me to change your bandages, Miss Kimberly?" Meg asked.
Kimberly blinked. She was a miss? No one was so formal with her. "I'm feeling good. If you have some first aid or antibacterial cream for my scratches, though? If not, I’m sure everything will be fine."
"Very well." Meg shook her head then stepped around Kimberly to place the towels in the bathroom and take the soiled one. She placed it in a basket and said, "I'll be right back. Then you can go see Master Raphael. He's expecting you."
The woman had a slight accent, but the proper style of her phrases jarred Kimberly. On the island or in Miami, people spoke warmly and invited others into conversation. Meg did not.
Kimberly picked up a hairbrush, working her way from the ends toward the roots, and detangled the mess.
The door opened, and this time Kimberly didn’t jump. She finished her hair then turned to smile at Meg. "Are you from Boston?"
