Or more correctly, I told everyone to meet me in the living room and so they did. I told them we were working on new music and so here we were. I told them to bring their instruments and so Charlie had drumsticks, Ruthie had her Martin D-28 acoustic, Kaitlyn sat at the piano and had a composition notebook on the music stand, and I’d brought a Fender Kingman acoustic bass and the lyric notebooks.
“I haven’t seen Mona, unfortunately. But Leo said she’s not very social, so maybe she just needs time to warm up to us?” Kaitlyn shrugged and turned her attention to the book of my half-finished poetry, as if being antisocial explained Mona’s absence at every meal for the last few days, that she never left the third floor, went outside, or interacted with anyone in a house full of people.
Antisocial didn’t quite cover it.
I’d read Mona’s note, the one she’d left on my side table, the one where she’d asked me—if I had the time and inclination—to meet with her. It was impersonal and polite. It made me angry. I tore it up and tossed it into the big stone fireplace two days ago.
I glanced at the large fire there now, unable to see any trace of the burnt letter. It looked like Melvin made a habit of cleaning out the ashes every day. Good riddance.
“Damn.” Charlie frowned.
“Why damn?” Ruthie strummed lightly on her guitar, trying to replicate a melody Kaitlyn had played earlier on the piano.
“I kinda—you know.” He glanced between Kaitlyn and Ruthie. “I wanted to get to know her.”
“Why?” I asked, the question unplanned. So was the scowl I wore.
Charlie was a nice guy, if not a little cynical and jaded. He was a great drummer, a good friend. I usually liked Charlie.
But I didn’t like Charlie right now.
“Because she’s Mona-fucking-DaVinci, Abram. How often do you get a chance to converse with a literal fucking genius?” Charlie’s attention was on me, so he didn’t see Kaitlyn flinch at his use of the F-word.
But because his attention was on me, I made my expression carefully neutral. “What would there be to talk about, Charlie? She’s a rocket scientist. Encyclopedic knowledge of Star Trek isn’t the same thing.”
That earned me a glare from Kaitlyn even though she was fighting a grin. “Hey now, Star Trek is awesome.”
“No arguments here.” I made live long and prosper signs with both my right and left hands. “But you have to admit Kaitlyn, his statement is illogical,” I added, doing my best Spock impression, making them all chuckle, and once again successfully hiding my preoccupation with Mona DaVinci and her whereabouts.
I’d been searching for her everywhere for the last two days, except the third floor. Her floor. I had no reason to go up there, and I wouldn’t invade her space without an invitation. I’d already invaded her vacation for reasons unclear even to myself.
The house was huge, large enough that you could go all day seeing just two or three of the twenty-seven people currently here until dinner. Everyone ate together at dinner time, except Mona. She hadn’t eaten with us yet and her absence had been noticed by more people than just me.
According to Lila, Mona didn’t want food to be brought up to her room. Over our meal last night, Charlie had asked Allyn if she needed help making a plate for Mona.
With a bright smile for everyone but me, Allyn had said, “No. No need. She’ll come down later and get something if she’s hungry. No worries.” Then she’d picked up a bowl and in a terrible British accent said, “Oh, what excellent boiled potatoes.” Which made a few people laugh.
Taking advantage of the distraction provided by her Mr. Collins reference, Allyn had glared pointedly at me, making me assume two things to be true: Allyn was no longer a fan of mine, and Mona had filled her in on some version of our conversation in the study.