Back at home, Maeve puzzled aloud over the riddle from the box, “Above the beams, beneath the sky, the puzzle holder keeps me dry.” Turning to look at Ghost, she questioned, “What’s above the ceiling but beneath the sky?”
The cat answered with the one word he knew.
Maeve laughed. “I suppose ‘meow’ could be above the ceiling, if you were up in a tree, but technically, would you be in the sky? Where does regular air stop and sky begin?”
Ghost meowed with insistence, as if he possessed the answer and was frustrated he couldn’t relay it to her in English.
Maeve lifted her gaze to the beams crossing far above her head. “Above the beams. The attic?”
Ghost jumped down from the arm of the chair. In a flash, he zipped across the room and out of sight.
Maeve let out a sigh. “I guess this means I have to go up there alone.” She cringed at the thought of digging through the cobweb-riddled space. “Better put on gloves in case of spider bites.”
She had just begun sliding her left hand into a glove when a thud outside jarred her. A thump followed, this one louder than the first.
She crept to the curtain to peer out at the source. Larry had backed his truck up against her stoop and was unloading a mound of pumpkins!
Pulling open the door, she stuck her head out and asked, “What are you doing?”
He barely glanced up at her as he continued gourding her porch. “Making the place look more festive. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Maeve didn’t know what to say. She liked pumpkins, but she didn’t want to be stuck with discarding their carcasses once they began to rot away in a few weeks.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come back and get them after they’re past their prime. I need the seeds, anyway.”
Well, then. She supposed she had no objection. It just seemed more than a little weird for a neighbor she’d only met once to come and decorate her porch for autumn. But she didn’t want to point this out and risk upsetting him. Maeve generally played along with whatever odd thing a stranger did in order to escape their presence unharmed. “Okay. Well, thank you.”
Larry had lined up orange, white, green, and blue-gray pumpkins down either side of the entryway before he spoke again. “I’ll be seeing you.” He saluted her, then hopped in his truck and drove down the road. He eventually turned left onto a narrow dirt road leading beside the cornfield.
“What a strange man,” she mused.
A cold gust blew through, causing her hair to slap her cheeks. At the same time, her mind whispered a thought that chilled her insides, “He knows.”
She rubbed her arms to calm the goosebumps. “Where did that idea come from?” She shuddered once before going back inside.
Putting the thought from her mind, she said, “Now, where was I?” She spied the waiting gloves and moved forward to ease her hands into them. With significant amount of dread, she approached the pull string for the attic and tugged the ladder down to the floor. Staring up at the dust sparkling in the filtered rays of sun, she said, “Here goes nothing.”
The ladder creaked with each step. Maeve was not a large woman by any means, but the aged rungs would’ve protested under the weight of even the cat.
As the attic came into view, she gasped, “It’s so much neater in here than I thought it’d be.” Items were spaced out to allow walking room between them. Nothing was heaped upon anything else. “Maybe I won’t have to dig through spiders, after all.”
Maeve let out an aggressive sneeze as dust tickled her nose. “Probably should’ve worn a mask.”
In three leaps, Ghost ascended. He raced over to Maeve’s legs, rubbed around them in a semicircle, then caught sight of a mouse in the corner and vanished as quickly as he’d arrived.
“You keep those rodents busy while I look for my next clue.” She stepped carefully around the room, mumbling, “The treasure holder keeps me dry. What looks like it would hold treasure?” Somehow she doubted what she sought would be tucked inside an ordinary cardboard box.
One row away from the wall, she spotted a wooden chest about the size of a microwave. “Bingo.” She expected it to be locked, but when she lifted up on the clasp, the lid sprang open, the sound echoing through the space with appropriate drama.
A very soft red blanket lay folded at the bottom. Upon it rested a black satin cinched bag and another piece of paper. Maeve struggled to decide which to open first. She settled on the paper, just in case it contained a warning about what waited inside the bag.
The paper looked and felt like that in the first box. She unfolded it and read the words, “Not a candle, but a flame. Santa’s passage is the same.” She dropped the paper onto the blanket below. “Well, that’s obviously the fireplace.” With gloved fingers, she delicately opened the drawstring bag. She dumped the contents onto the soft blanket for examination.
Three flawless rubies tumbled out. Unlike the emerald, they weren’t inserted into any pieces of jewelry. Vivid red and deeper blood tones resided within the same gemstone. The flashlight revealed the beauty of the facets.
Maeve whispered, “This house is going to pay for itself, and then some!”
The sound of a door shutting below jolted Maeve. Ghost crept to the edge of the ladder to look down.
After placing the precious gems back inside the treasure chest, Maeve tiptoed across the beam to the exit. She couldn’t see further than a few feet from up here. She needed to get out of the attic, but she was determined to do so facing the open room. Plopping her bottom onto the board right in front of the hole, she placed her feet carefully on the top rung. With shaking legs, she climbed down.
She could see no one. The door was shut, so she hadn’t left it ajar for the wind to have blown it open and closed. She glimpsed out the curtain. No one on the porch, and no deliveries.
She double checked the lock to find it secure. The back door appeared undisturbed, as well.
She shivered at the chill in the air. She really should start a fire after she searched the spot for treasure. She’d already stacked a pile of logs next to the hearth earlier in the week in anticipation of the coming cold.
Ghost had joined her downstairs and now perched in stalker position atop the couch, tail twitching as he faced the firebox. Maeve sniffed the air, noting tones of hickory reminiscent of grilled food. She commented, “Funny how just the thought of building a fire can make you smell smoke.”
Her amused expression sobered as her eyes fell upon the low orange flames already licking the logs. Someone had beat her to it.