Rosehead

Chapter 14. Jürgen's Paintings

Warm air smelling of liquor enveloped them. They crept in semi- darkness across the hallway, Lilith's ballet slippers making chewing noises. Panther's claws clicked, causing him to freeze every few steps. They made it up the staircase and sidled along the wall. Ed masterfully stepped on boards that didn't creak, arrived first, and pushed open a door. Lilith only had enough time to register that every surface in the room was covered with canvases, when a woman's voice trailed from below.

"Ed, darling, is that you?" It sounded drawn out, like that of a fortune-teller or a dreamy radio announcer.

Ed mimed that he'll be right back and left.

"Well, that was quite a tumble." Lilith tiptoed around a patchy rug. "You and your liquids."

"You're welcome."

"Why, thank you."

"At least now we know how to get out in case we get locked up again and happen to have no water or blood to spare," Panther growled proudly, licking himself dry. "Since my bladder is very small, in case we run out of my urine, you could, you know..."

"No way. Don't even think about it. I did not hear you and you did not say it," Lilith scoffed.

"Why so pedantic? I thought when matters concern life and death, anything goes. Isn't that what a proper detective would do?" 

Lilith played deaf, smoothing her hair and looking around.

Ed's room resembled an artist's studio shaken just enough to have a messy appearance. It smelled of paint, and she liked it immediately. There was something cozy and lived-in about it, in contrast to the incessant order of the mansion, more suitable for a hotel.

A bed heaped with blankets squatted against a wall. Across it, next to a window, stood a desk, its surface covered with a higgledy-piggledy of notepads, papers, brushes, and pencils. Lilith pulled out a chair and plopped down, taking off her sodden bag that miraculously survived their tribulations. She checked inside to make sure nothing got lost.

"I should've packed a change of clothes," she mumbled, eyeing a drawing that looked suspiciously like her portrait. "Ed is quite an artist, don't you think? It's too bad his parents died."

A voice shouted below. Someone slammed something, and someone turned on the radio.

Lilith and Panther exchanged a glance.

"I don't see how this makes him special." Panther sneezed, for emphasis. "I've never even met my parents. What terrible fate could've beheld them? Yet I still talk."

"Panther. This remark was very much uncalled for. You know perfectly well that I love you from the tip of your nose to the tip of your tail, but your jealousy is starting to get old. Ed is my friend, okay?" Certain pride swelled within Lilith's chest. "Besides, we're supposed to be investigating cruel murders and not discuss your doggy feelings. That red gallery, for example, what do you think it's for?"

But Panther wasn't easily swayed. "Have a heart, madam. I still don't see how boys could be cuddlier than dogs."

"Oh, come on, get off it. Admit it, you want him to hug you as much as I do. How could you not? That cookie smell..." said Lilith dreamily.

"Stale cookie smell," Panther rumbled. "Stale hormonal teenage—"

The door opened, letting in the sound of a radio turned up to full volume.

Both girl and dog caught their breath, but it was only Ed.

Lilith jumped up, blushing. She realized she must look absolutely dreadful—her ballet attire turned unrecognizable, leotard wet and muddy, tutu torn and hanging askew. She glanced at Panther who didn't look much better, resembling a wet cat.