Stain of the Berry by Anthony Bidulka Read Free Book Online Page B

smile. "Thank you. May I come in?" I wasn't sure if I really wanted to anymore. I smelled something off about this guy.
    "Where are my manners?" he said with a blush, but still did not step aside. "Of course you may enter.
    My name is Furberry, Newton Furberry. Good afternoon."
    I looked down at my watch. It was nearing twelve-thirty. "Oh my gosh, Mr. Furberry, I didn't realize the time. I must be interrupting your lunch. I can come back another time."
    He chuckled a practiced chuckle. "No, no, my dear boy. I don't sit for lunch until two. We've plenty of time. Please," and now he stepped aside, "come in."
    I brushed by Mr. Furberry, getting a healthy dose of freshly spritzed aftershave-barbershop quality.
    "Please, just down the hall and to your left."
    I followed the instructions and found myself in a world of...well, I wasn't sure what it was meant to be...perhaps a mix between old world grandeur and garage sale kitsch. Other than a small television in one corner of the room, it looked as if Mr. Furberry hadn't been shopping in several decades. Not that anything looked particularly worn or dirty or ruined, just...old. The walls were covered in a velvet-flocked wallpaper of deep, ruby colours, and sepia-toned portraits of distinguished-looking people. The floor was hidden beneath thinning Oriental area rugs and heavy, dark wood furniture. Every surface was littered with books, photographs (some in albums, some just lying about), and tchotchkes of glass and bronze and crystal. On the ceiling was a chandelier that could have used dusting and mottled light came through windows muted by layers of silk and organza. There were no fewer than three fresh flower arrangements in great vases throughout the room, and next to a grandly stuffed armchair was a trolley on which was a bud vase with a single red rose, a half-eaten plate of chocolates and a recently used tea service. This must have been where Mr. Furberry had been sitting in repose when I'd come a'calling. The room smelled of mint and mothballs and was so dim it was hard to believe that on the other side of the wall was bright summer sunshine. In the background I could just hear the strains of some foreign language opera from a...CD? Radio? Gramophone? All in all, the atmosphere wasn't unpleasant, just...peculiar.
    "Please, take a seat over here," Mr. Furberry told me in his quiet, gently nasal voice, indicating a low slung couch covered in rich, burgundy velvet. "I'll return shortly. If you'll excuse me." And with that he left the room, rolling the tea trolley in front of him.
    After a couple minutes, I contemplated either leaving or snooping. I can usually be counted on to do the latter, so the debate was short-lived. I stood up, feeling a bit like a bull in a china shop, stretched and began to look around. All of Mr. Furberry's things were aged, but fine and well taken care of, possibly cherished keepsakes passed down from ancestors. I flipped through some photos, mostly grainy black and whites, but they meant little to me. I checked out one of the bookcases and found the contents curious and indicative of an eclectic taste in literature. Mr. Furberry enjoyed non-fiction-biographies mostly-of silver screen legends, political heroes and infamous criminals. He also read travel books, adventure tales and historical accounts on a wide variety of subjects. There was not a paperback amongst the bunch. I heard the trolley's wiggle-waggling wheels and plopped myself back on the sofa just in time.
    "Did you enjoy looking at my things while I was away?" the man said lightly as he began to pour tea, his 27 of 163
    3/15/2011 10:56 PM
    D: BOOKS/Anthony Bidulka - Russell Quant Mystery/Anthony B...
    expressive eyebrow once again perched high on his head.
    Whoops. Busted. But how? Did he have one of those paintings with the eyes that move? I looked around for one and picked out a couple that easily fit the bill. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
    "No, no, my good fellow, I didn't mean you