After dressing and hailing a cab, I was soon standing outside of Professor Abraham Gunthrie's quaint little home.
A typical Washington home, I discovered: clapboard siding, cute herbal garden, and a stone path through roses.
There was a wooden wraparound porch with views of the University and his equally charming neighbors' homes. I wondered if he ever suspected a creature of the night would be descending upon his idyllic world.
Probably not. Then again, he probably never expected a private eye to come knocking, either.
Which is exactly what I did. Three times, loud enough to be heard throughout the small home. I watched a squirrel make a mad dash out into the storm and cross the manicured lawn. About halfway, it paused, no doubt regretting its decision to leave its cozy, acorn-filled nook somewhere high in the tree. Finally, it continued on, running and hopping alternately.
As it disappeared from view, I heard footsteps creak across a wooden floor and approach the front door. I already had my business card in hand as I waited.
The man who opened the door was older, as I knew he would be. Abraham Gunthrie sported a Van Dyke goatee, pointed at the end, and some errant ear hair. His eyebrows looked bushy enough for that squirrel I'd just seen to hide its acorns in.
"May I help you?" he asked. His voice was stronger than he looked. I briefly imagined him standing before his students, his deep voice easily reaching the back rows.
"Are you Professor Gunthrie?" I asked.
"For you, I'll be anyone you want."
Whoa. There was still some pep to his step. I smiled, perhaps bigger than I'd intended. He smiled, too, and showed me a lot of coffee-stained teeth.
"Professor Gunthrie, I'm a private investigator and I'd like to ask you a few questions about a shipwreck on Skull Island."
He blinked, absorbed what I said, then accepted my proffered business card, which he looked over carefully. He said, "You sound very official, Detective Moon." He winked. "I supposed I'd better invite you in, then."
"Thank you," I said.
And as I stepped past him, the old guy might have - just might have - checked out my ass.
The interior was as warm and cozy as the exterior promised. A fire burned energetically in the fireplace. Pictures of kids and grandkids adorned the wall. An elderly woman was in many of the pictures. The photos were of his deceased wife, I knew, because her spirit was presently standing in the room as well, watching us silently.
I'd gotten used to such spirits. Mostly, they didn't expect me to see them, and mostly, I pretended not to see them. In this case, I gave her a small nod and smile.
The woman, who was composed of hundreds, if not thousands, of particles of white light, seemed to do a double take, then slowly nodded toward me.
"Beautiful home," I said, noting the maritime theme mixed with the family photos.
"Made more beautiful now," he said, winking at me. Slightly embarrassed, I looked over at his departed wife. She simply shook her head and appeared to chuckle, although it was hard to tell because her features weren't fully formed.
"Well, thank you," I said.
"Would you like some tea, Ms.
Moon?"
"Water would be great."
"I can do water. Have a seat." He gestured toward a well-worn couch with a colorful afghan blanket thrown over the back.
Professor Gunthrie shuffled off into the kitchen, where I next heard water dispense from a cooler. Shortly, he returned with two glasses of water, which he set before us on little doily coasters at the coffee table. I sipped from my glass politely. He seemed pleased. In fact, he seemed pleased just to have any company at all.
Even vampire company.
A model of a clipper ship stretched across the length of the coffee table.
Tammy and Anthony would have broken that in two hours. Maybe one hour. Maybe instantly.
"So, what can I do for you, Ms.
Moon?" he asked, glancing at my business card again. He seemed impressed. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.
"I'm looking into a shipwreck that occurred on Skull Island in the late nineteenth century."
"The Sea Merchant," he said, nodding.