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When a minimum safe distance had been achieved, Dean opened his mouth to apologize yet again and found himself saying instead,“What’s that noise?”

“It’s a cat,” Claire told him. “Laughing.”

Claire refused to be constrained over lunch. So what if Dean kept his gaze locked on the cream of mushroom soup, that was no reason for her to act like a twenty-year-old. Biting into a sandwich quarter, she swept a critical gaze around the dining room.

“This is ugly furniture,” she announced after chewing and swallowing. “In fact, it’s an ugly room.”

Grateful for a change of subject, even though the original subject hadn’t actually been broached, or even defined, Dean acknowledged the pitted chrome and worn Naugahyde with a shrug. “Mr. Smythe wouldn’t buy anything new.”

“It’s not new we need.” Claire tapped a fingernail thoughtfully against the table. “I’ll deny this if you repeat it, but Mrs. Abrams gave me an idea that could bring in more guests.”

“Is that a good idea?” Austin asked, jumping up onto an empty chair. “You’re a Keeper, remember? Youhave a job.”

“And I’ll do my job, thank you very much,” she snapped, turning to glare at him. “But a short break before I face the chaos in that sitting room won’t bring about the end of the world.” She paused and considered it a moment. “No. It won’t. Besides, I have no intention of allowing this hotel to slide any farther into oblivion during my watch. There’s a hundred things that need to be done, that should’ve been done years ago. If Augustus Smythe had kept busy, he’d have been happier.”

The cat snorted.“Have you seen the rest of those postcards? He kept plenty busy.”

“He kept one hand busy at best.” Claire put down her spoon and folded her arms. “He was a disgusting little voyeur. Is that how you suggest I fill my time?”

“Actually, I was about to suggest you share your soup with the cat.”

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“I still don’t understand what we’re doing.” Dean twisted the key around in the attic lock and dragged the door open. “There’s nothing up here but junk.”

“The furniture in the dining room is junk,” Claire amended. “The furniture in the attic is antique.” Switching on the larger of the two flashlights, she ran carefully up the spiral stairs.

Dean watched her climb, telling himself it wasn’t safe to have both of them on the stairs at once and almost believing it. When she stepped off the top tread into the attic, he followed her up.

“Look at all this!” Although sunlight streamed in through the grime on the windows, the volume of stored furniture kept most of the attic in shadow. The flashlight beam picked out iron bedsteads, washstands, stacks of wooden chairs, lamp shades dripping with fringe, and rolls of patterned carpet. “Nothing’s been thrown away since the hotel opened.”

“And nothing’s been cleaned since it was put up here.”

Thankful that they’d found the accident site before they’d had to spend days shifting clutter, Claire turned the flashlight on her companion. “What is it with you and this obsessive cleaning thing?”

“It’s not obsessive.”

“It’s not normal.” She pointed the flashlight beam toward room six, one floor below. “You even wanted to dusther.”

“So?” Reaching down, Dean effortlessly shifted one end of a carpet roll out of his way. “My granddad always said that cleanliness was next to godliness.”

Cleanliness was living next to a hole to Hell, but Claire hadn’t changed her mind about letting him know it. Not even if he flexed that particular combination of muscles again. “See if you can find the old furniture from the dining room.”

“From the look of this place, we’d be as likely to find the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail.”

She shuddered.“Don’t even joke about that.”

Squeezing past a steamer trunk plastered with stickers from a number of cruise ships, including both theTitanic and theLusitania, Claire worked her way toward the back of the building. It was farther than it should have been; one of the earlier Keepers had obviously borrowed a little extra Space.

Well, I hope they kept the receipt.…Out of the corner of one eye, she saw a bit of red race along the top of a wardrobe and disappear behind a pink-and-gray-striped hatbox. “Oh, no.”

“Trouble, Boss?” She could hear furniture shoved aside as Dean struggled toward her.

“Not exactly, but I saw something; moving very fast. Unfortunately, it would take at least two hours of excavation or an Olympic gymnast to get to the spot.”

The sound of distant movement ceased.“It was just a mouse. There’s prints and turds all over up here.”

He sounded so positive, Claire didn’t bother pointing out that mice seldom came in a bright fire-engine red.

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll bring some traps up later.”

So would she, and she rather thought hers would be more successful.

Ignoring the way her reflection moved slightly out of sync, Claire ducked around an elaborate, full-length mirror and finally ended up under the sloping edge of die roof.“This,” she said, turning off the flashlight, “is certainly strange.”