"Nollie, would you care to bring a plate of cookies to your dear aunt Martha?" Emilie asked. We were gathered in the kitchen, eating a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies Emilie had just made.
"I—I guess I could," I murmured nervously. I hadn't been to see Aunt Martha since August—it was December now. I wondered if she'd still be angry with me for going to live with Tintin.
"I'll go, too, if you don't mind." I turned to Tintin, who had chocolate all over his face, and smiled.
"You should clean up, first." I teased, and he raised his eyebrow.
"Same goes for you, dear," we laughed at this, going up to our rooms to clean up.
When I came downstairs, Emilie handed me the plate of cookies wrapped in a clean dishcloth. She helped me into my coat and boots and gloves. After she had done the same to Tintin, save for the plate of cookies, we left.
The flakes of snow were falling softly to the ground. We walked in silence, listening to our boots crunch in the snow and Snowy pant in time with our steps. I could see the snow-covered street marker ahead, standing up beside a young maple tree, reading Pine Lane. We were close.
"125, 127, 129, 131, 133—" I whispered to myself, "Here!" We stopped in front of house number 135.
"Do you want to go in by yourself?" He asked, and I nodded.
"I'll be out in a few minutes." I kissed him gently before bending down to get the spare key beneath the potted plant on the doorstep, taking it, and unlocking the door.
I walked inside the familiar house, shivering as a draft went by. "Aunt Martha?" I called, going into the empty parlor, "Aunt Martha, it's me, Nollie!" I then went into the kitchen, half expecting her to be yelling at the maid, Andrea, but instead found nobody. "Hello?" My last resort was her bedroom. I opened the door, not knowing what I would find inside. "Aunt Martha?" I called gently, opening the door wider. I stepped in and screamed, dropping the cookies.
Tintin was by my side in an instant, holding me against his chest. The room was dim; the lights had been shattered against the walls. Aunt Martha lay on her bed, a knife in her chest, blood still dripping from the wound. Pillows and blankets and furniture were strewn around the room carelessly, like she had put up a fight. Right above her bed, on the wall, was something written in blood.
I will find the girl. And the crest.
I was shaking and crying so hard I could hardly see, let alone stand. "Shh, shh, it's okay," Tintin murmured, looking around the room cautiously.
A few minutes later I sat on a sofa in the parlor while Tintin called the police. "Hello? Hello. Yes, it is an emergency; someone's been murdered. It's too late for her, but—uh, Pine Lane. House number? I think… 135. Yes. All right. Thank you, please hurry!" He hung up and went to go sit next to me on the sofa. I hugged him, frightened. We sat there in silence until two policemen walked in the door and he stood. "Officers," he said, shaking their hands, "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"Is that the girl that was murdered?" One asked, pointing to me.
"What? No, that's my girlfriend, Nollie. Her aunt was murdered. Right this way." Tintin led the two men down the hall, to Aunt Martha's room, and I couldn't help but follow. Tintin put his arm around my shoulders protectively as he explained to the two officers what had happened. One of the officers went to Martha at one point during the explanation and inspected the knife.
"You might want to have her turn away," he told Tintin, and I turned my face into his shoulder as the man pulled the knife from Martha's chest. "Do any of you know what this 'family crest' thing is? I mean, we know who the girl is—obviously it's her." I hesitated, remembering a time I overheard my father and mother talking about a family crest.
"When I was younger, I heard my parents talking about my father's family crest. Apparently it was worth some money…"
"That's it, then!" Tintin said, "He's after the crest."
"If you don't mind us asking, could you two leave so we can do a thorough investigation of the entire house? We'll come by later and tell you what we found."
"116 Oak Drive," Tintin told them, "That's where we live." Before we left, Tintin grabbed a blanket off the sofa and put it around my shoulders.
When we got home, I went up to my room, sniffing. Martha had been my only family, and now she was dead. Where was I to go now, if something ever happened to Tintin? Would I have to go all the way back to Egypt and live with Rawnie? I was so lost in thought I hardly noticed Tintin standing in the doorway, two mugs in his hands. When I looked over at him he walked towards me, handing me one of the mugs and sitting down beside me on my bed.
"Hot chocolate," he murmured, "Emilie says it makes everything better."
"Thanks," I murmured, taking a sip. Emilie was right. It did make everything better. Well, some of it. It couldn't bring my parents or Aunt Martha back.
"What happened that night—to your parents?" I was shocked he was asking such an odd question at this horrible time.
"I don't remember that well… Just that I came home from the grocery to find policemen outside of my house, and when I walked inside, they wouldn't let me see them; they wouldn't let me see anything. One policeman took me outside of the house and told me, 'sweetheart, your parents are dead,' and I just…" I closed my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. He was silent for a minute, as I tried to get myself back together.
"And after that?"
"I went to the orphanage, and the Aunt Martha came and took me home and—"
"The house. Where's the house?"
"What about the house?"
"Where is it? Maybe there's something inside…"
"It's probably been sold by now, Tintin."
"But everything's worth a shot." I was going to say something when Emilie called for us from the stairs.
"Mister Tintin! Miss Nollie! Two policemen are here for you!" She was talking to them in the entryway of the house when we came down the stairs, saying something about how we were perfectly good kids and probably didn't do anything wrong.
"I can take it from here, Emilie," Tintin said, relieving her back to the kitchen. "Gentlemen, did you find anything more?"
"We found two other bodies in the cellar of the house, a man and a woman." I gasped and put my hands to my mouth in shock. Andrea and Josef. "I believe she knows who they are," he pointed at me.
"Andrea and Josef…The maid and the butler…Oh, God…" I stumbled, and Tintin caught me, walking me into the parlor and easing me into a chair.
"What are their full names?"
"I don't know. Aunt Martha only used their first names."
"Well, there's most likely a record in the house, right?" Tintin asked, and the other policeman nodded.
"I must ask," I murmured, "Was there a body of a cat anywhere in the house?"
"Afraid not, miss, though we did find where the murderer entered and escaped," one officer said, "Why?"
"My aunt had a cat—Perkins. I was just wondering." For some reason, I was glad Perkins was still alive, though I never liked that fat cat.
"So how did the assassin enter and escape the house?" Tintin asked. It gave me chills, the word assassin, especially used when talking about my aunt's killer.
"Through a window. It's a unique window; too, he came through the back of the house, in the hallway. There's only been one other time we've seen a killer get in this way, in a murder about three years ago—" I cut the officer off, hardly breathing.
"In my parent's murder," I gasped, standing, "It's the same guy…" The world started spinning then, and I crumpled to the floor. Right before I completely blacked out I heard Tintin calling my name and shaking me.
I awoke in my bed, the back of my head aching from hitting it on the floor. I saw Tintin sitting on my window-seat, reading a book. He heard me groan and looked up, snapping the book shut and going to my side.
"Feeling better after your unexpected nap?" He chuckled, and I grimaced. "Sorry, dear. You okay?" He helped me sit up against my pillows, doing the same for himself.
"Not really. My head's still sort of spinning and gosh it hurts."
"It's normal, don't worry. For it to hurt, that is. You really ought to start breathing better."
"Oh, stop it," I laughed.
"I was thinking once you've recovered we could go to your old house."
"What happened to the policemen?"
"They left not too long after you passed out. Went back to the house to see if there was anything else that told them who did it."
"How long was I out?"
"About twenty-five minutes. Not too long, certainly not long enough to call an ambulance to see if you were in a coma."
"I'm sorry if I scared you."
"You did, for a few minutes, before one of the officers said you had just fainted."
"It just scared me so much to know the same guy that killed my parents killed my aunt and is looking for me, too."
"Understood."
Two days later, I was sitting in the parlor, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, reading. Tintin had gone out, leaving Emilie alone with me.
"How are you, Miss Nollie?" Emilie asked, ambling into the parlor with a feather duster.
"Fine, thank you, Emilie."
"And that book?"
"It's good."
"Same one you were reading before the murder?"
"Oh, no, Emilie, I finished that one long ago."
"Is that so? Aye, girl, you're a fast reader! I may have to put another order in for some more books!" I blushed. "Ever since you moved in here I've made four whole orders for books! Four!" She chuckled.
"Sorry, Emilie—I don't mean to be a bother…"
"Oh, you're not a bother at all, dearie. It's rather nice having another girl in the house, 'specially when you help with the dishes!" She left the room. Emilie was a rather nice woman, but she could be nosy and sarcastic and suspicious sometimes, and Tintin was always rather edgy around her. But if I had to choose between Emilie and Aunt Martha's late maid Andrea, I'd have chosen Emilie in a flash. I turned back to my book, War and Peace. I gazed at the front cover and remembered sitting on the double-decker bus a few weeks ago, before the murder, with Tintin, telling him how excited I was to read it. After I had finished talking, I heard a few girls behind us whispering how crazy I must be, reading a book like that.
I was snapped out of my flashback when the front door slammed. "Nollie!" Tintin called before he noticed me in the chair by the window, "Ah, there you are. I got you something." I sat up, looking at him, dazed.
"Something for me? But how can we afford it?"
"Let's just say it's your early Christmas present." He sat down on the small ottoman in front of me and pulled a tiny box wrapped in fine paper decorated in Christmas trees from his overcoat pocket. I sat up even more and looked from the box to Tintin, astonished.
"You don't mean—I… Tintin, I'm only sixteen—" I sputtered, but he just laughed and shook his head.
"Be patient, Noll." He opened the box slowly and pulled out a small ring with a heart made from diamonds on it and slipped it onto my finger.
"Oh, it's beautiful," I gushed.
"It's a promise ring," he explained, "As long as you have it, I will always be with you." He kissed me gently before getting up and going upstairs. I slumped back in my chair, dumbfounded. As long as you have it, I will always be with you? What did that mean? Was he leaving me? Or was he sending me away?
"Well that was sweet," Emilie said from the kitchen door. I nodded, rubbing my index finger over the ring. I got up at once and ran upstairs, throwing open Tintin's office door.
"What does it mean?" I asked, trying not to sound harsh. He looked at me, confused.
"What does what mean?"
"The ring! As long as I have it, you'll always be with me? Are you leaving? Am I leaving?"
"I'm leaving."
"You are," I said, hiding the anger and question and hurt in my voice.
"I am. I have to figure out who this guy is—the one who killed your aunt. I have to stop him before he gets to you, Noll." He walked out of the room and descended down the stairs.
"And what about me?" I went to the top of the stairs. He was already at the bottom, "Am I just going to sit at home with Emilie and wait, like a princess in a fairytale?" He stopped.
"Call it whatever you want, but that's what I intended on happening." I bit my lip and crossed my arms, furious.
"How soon are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morn—" I let out a cry of anguish, turning half-away. "What were you trying to do, sneak out so I wouldn't notice?"
"I was going to tell you at dinner."
"So you were. And how long did you know about this whole leaving thing?"
"I decided on it this morning." I scoffed and walked to my room, so frustrated I almost burst. I came back out a minute later. He was in the parlor, looking at the newspaper.
"I'm coming, too." He looked up.
"No you're not."
"Yes, I am. It'll do me no good to sit at home with only Emilie as a guard. Do you realize how easy it would be for that man to just break down the door and kill me?" I saw Tintin's hand tighten around the side of the newspaper, something he did when he realized I might be in danger.
"All right, all right. You can come." I smiled a little smile before going back to my room. I stared at myself in the mirror, touching my face, thinking. I walked downstairs slowly; Tintin was still reading the newspaper. I went to him and gently kissed him, relieved when he kissed me back. When we broke, our noses were against each other. I felt his breath on my face as he murmured, "Promise me you'll stay safe."
"I promise," I whispered, kissing him again.