OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Chapter 5

Claire lay in bed thinking of the sinful dessert served at dinner. She licked her lips and regarded the canopy of her girlhood bed, remembering the taste of the decadent mousse. The distraction of the strange events of that evening lured her mind away. Her bed seemed so small, so unfitting, and it shrank with every visit. Yet her father refused to change a thing in her old room. Perhaps he yearned for the past more than he disregarded it. But given his indifferent attitude toward her, she thought the latter. Claire rested her head on her arm and pulled the blankets tighter about her shoulders. She was crushed.

Fighting to find a comfortable way to lie on the narrow bed, Claire faced the other side. The moonlight streamed through the window. It glared so brightly Claire wondered how she could quiet her thoughts and get any rest with a spotlight on her. She threw the covers back and made her way to the window. The sky spread out clear and the ground lay drying in a vigorous breeze.

Now that she had risen, the craving for another dessert nagged her. She resisted, feeling like a stranger in her old home. She suspected she wasn't welcome to walk about as in times long ago. Besides, she'd learned Carsten lived in the house and he had no business seeing her in her dressing gown. She needed to settle her mind so she could sleep. She sighed, focusing on the small ticking clock on the nightstand. It read three o'clock in the morning. Sleep seemed very unlikely.

Something sweet would surely console her worries, or at least provide a distraction from them. Since she came home to New York, Aunt often wondered openly at how she kept so thin with her appetite. Claire's stomach growled and she no longer fought the urge. Sleep would most certainly elude her with a mind so full and a stomach so empty. Claire spun around and pulled on her dressing gown. She tied the sash, adjusting the fabric of the filmy garment to be sure she was well covered. Exiting her room, Claire moved down the hall like a gazelle. Her eyes nervously scanned the upper hallway, hoping no one would pop out to see her.

The house was dark, with only a few lamps still lit. She rushed down the stairs, concentrating on the treat that waited for her in the kitchen. But the softly mumbled tones of a man's voice halted her. It was Carsten's. Claire peeked back over her shoulder and saw that no one stood in the hall. As Claire carefully walked back the way she came, her eyes settled on the open door of her father's office. A puddle of light spilled into the shadowy hall. Carsten spoke again in words she didn't recognize, perhaps his native tongue. Claire peeped through the opening.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by a small lamp. Carsten stood behind her father's impressive desk, which was situated to the left of the door. The rest of the office was like a sitting room and library, where her father met his appointments in ease and comfort. Carsten stood half inside of what resembled a phone booth. A cloud of smoke formed a halo above his head. Claire didn't remember anything like that in the house as long as she had lived there. It appeared to be constructed inside the wall behind the bookcase as its own secret compartment. Papers and photos had been pinned to the wall. A small shelf littered with scraps, a radio and an odd little typewriter served as a desk, complete with a paltry stool. Carsten spoke into a black phone hung on the wall above the slipshod workspace her father provided him.

Claire spied on Carsten, carefully hanging back so he wouldn't notice her. He stopped talking, listening to whoever was on the other end, and puffing on some rank tobacco. She held her breath, afraid he would hear her draw it in as the smell choked her. Then he spoke again. Claire darted away, fearing he would catch her spying on him. Her slippers whispered against the wood floor, though they seemed loud in her panic. She went back to her original plan, passing through the narrowing hall toward the back of the house.

The kitchen was the darkest room of the house at night. Claire pushed through the swinging door, coming to an abrupt stop. She felt along the cold tile for the switch, flicking it on when she found it. Claire walked to the counter at the far end. Her eyes blankly searched the sterile surface.