Jazz knew that something was bothering Sam by the way she kept staring at the sheet music. She debated with herself about whether she ought to say something like she desperately wanted to or just leave it be. Curiosity finally got the best of her.
"Sam?" she asked, "You okay?"
"Huh?" Sam responded, still staring at the music.
"I said are you okay."
"Yeah, yeah, sure" Sam muttered in reply, "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. Why are you looking so shocked at the music? Is something wrong?"
"Huh? What?" Sam finally snapped out of her bewildered daze and noticed Jazz looking at her in both confusion and concern, "Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry. I- I could have sworn I've seen this sheet music before."
"Really? Where?"
"With- with-"
Sam suddenly grew very quiet. She stared at the music in her hand again in confusion. Then her eyes widened and she made a small gasp as if she had just remembered something. She then started muttering quietly to herself, obviously bewildered about something. Exactly what, Jazz wasn't sure. She worriedly watched Sam muttering, catching only a few words.
"Can't be... How...Doesn't make sense... Who..."
"Okay, you know what," Jazz gently took Sam's arm and started leading her out of the room, "I think you might be catching something. How about you lie down and rest for a while. I'll take you to your room."
"I'm fine," Sam yanked her arm away, "Now let's get see what Dan hid in the piano."
"Sam, I think you should really-"
"I said I'm fine!" Sam insisted, looking rather irritated at Jazz, "I was just thinking about some stuff, that's all. Now let's go."
Jazz looked at Sam skeptically, but didn't pursue the matter any further. She still didn't quite believe Sam, but figured she wouldn't get anywhere if she just outright asked what was going on. She followed Sam into the parlor, making sure to keep an eye on her just in case she started acting weird again. Sam sat down at the piano and propped up the sheet music on the music rack. She then moved over to one side of the piano bench and patted the new empty space beside her.
"Come on," she urged, "This says it needs two people to play."
"But," Jazz protested as she sat down, "I don't know how to play the piano. Or even read music for that matter."
"It's not that hard. You just need to remember a few things. Here. Let me show you."
For the next fifteen minutes, Sam gave a brief lesson about which keys were what and how to read the notes on the sheet music and decipher them until they make a song. While Jazz barely understood what was being taught to her, she did manage to learn just enough to get through the piece. She slowly started to play and pressed down upon the keyboard, hesitating quite often in search of the correct key whenever it was time to play her part. Meanwhile, Sam sat patiently as Jazz struggled with the music. She would play a few notes of her part f the song, wait for Jazz to catch up, then played a few more notes and waited for Jazz again. The two girls played like this together for twenty minutes, which was quite unusually long since the piece itself normally only takes five minutes to play.
When at long last the song was finally done, Jazz breathed a sigh of relief. Whew! That was a lot more work than she thought. How did musicians do it? She'd probably never know. Oh well. At least that task was done with. Now, onward to the next clue. The girls stared at the piano in anticipation of their reward. At first, nothing happened. Jazz began to worry that she had messed up somewhere during the song. But a moment later, they heard a soft click! and a panel behind the music rack slid open just a crack. Sam reached behind the music rack and slid the panel door all the way open before taking out another scrap of paper and what looked like a golden knob.
"What's that?" Jazz asked as Sam pulled it out.
"Don't know," Sam shrugged and read the note out loud.
Turn your mother to the west at our picnic spot and I'll give you a little gift. Dan.
"Turn your mother to the west?" Jazz wondered out loud, "What the hell does that mean?"
"And where's his picnic spot?" Sam asked.
"Maybe he left some sort of hint somewhere? I mean, he can't have just said picnic spot without leaving a hint. Is there anything left in that panel?"
"No, there's nothing left in that little panel. So, how are we supposed to find his picnic spot?"
Jazz didn't have an answer for that. Normally when she didn't have any answers, she would go searching for them in books or on the internet. But somehow she doubted any book or website would have the answer to something as personal as somebody's favorite picnic spot. Or even a tiny hint as to where Dan had hidden the clue to his picnic spot. Were there even any picnic spots nearby? Jazz did just arrive last night and wasn't really able to explore the town, thanks to that blasted snowstorm. Hell, she could be in the middle of nowhere for all she knew.
"You got any picnic spots around here? Maybe we could at all of them and be able-" Jazz started.
"Let me stop you right there," Sam interrupted, "No, there aren't any picnic spots at this inn. And no, there aren't any picnic spots anywhere else around here."
"So," Jazz sighed, "We're at a dead end. Hey, wait a second! Didn't you say earlier that my room used to be Dan's?"
"I think so. At least, that's what Mother's log book said. Why?"
"Maybe Dan left something behind. Some sort of clue that could point towards his picnic spot!"
Sam looked at Jazz skeptically and asked, "I don't think so. One: how do you know he left something behind in the first place. And two: if he did leave something behind, the maids probably cleaned it up already. If it's been a while since he checked out, it's probably gone."
Jazz had to admit, Sam did have a good point. Too much time had passed between Dan's stay back in the 1870s with his father and today. If he did leave something behind, it was most likely already gone. But then again, he did leave that message in a bottle behind and no one seemed to have noticed that. Not until last night. So maybe a more thorough search of her room might uncover some other hidden treasure.
"Well," Jazz shrugged, "It's worth a try, right? I mean, what else is there to do in this blizzard? Besides listening to my dad shouting at everything and destroy stuff looking for the so-called ghost."
Sam shrugged and pocketed the note and knob as the girls stood up from the bench. They started to head out of the room when they heard a loud crash from behind. Startled, they turned around and saw that the bookcase had toppled over, spilling all of its contents onto the floor. The bookcase had been propped up against the wall looking perfectly fine just a moment ago, so the girls were rather puzzled as to how it fell over.
"Was someone here?" Jazz asked.
"I don't think so," Sam shook her head.
They stared at the bookcase, looked at each other, then looked back. Jazz suddenly felt this sense of someone watching the back of her neck. She turned around only to find no one there. Yet, she could still feel this person. He, or she, was in the room with her, watching and waiting. Jazz started to shake unwittingly while her stomach started to feel like a bottomless hole.
"Maybe," Sam said, startling Jazz out of her thoughts, "It wasn't stable."
"Huh? Oh. Right. Yeah," Jazz chuckled, nervously, "It just had a wobbly leg or something."
They both continued to stare at the bookcase, bracing themselves for the next bit of movement. Nothing happened. At long last, Sam finally got up and starting picking up the books.
"I'd better clean this up before Mother finds it," she said, a little uneasy.
Jazz soon joined in. They cleaned up the mess in silence, still a little wary of each new movement and sound. As Jazz picked up another stack of books, she felt a push from behind. Not a hard push. Simply a slight push normally reserved when one wishes to get someone's attention. No matter how slight the push was, however, it was enough to make her stumble to the floor and drop the books, scattering both them and loose pieces of paper all over. Thinking that Sam was the one responsible for her fall, Jazz shot an irritated look behind her only to discover that Sam was on the opposite side of the room. She had just finished picking up the books and was on the way out to search for someone to turn the bookcase back upright when Jazz had fallen.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Did you see what pushed me?" Jazz replied.
"Pushed? You were pushed?"
"You didn't see it?"
"See what? All I see is you and all these books."
"But-" Jazz looked behind her and stared in bewilderment at the empty space, "But I was pushed! Something-"
She stopped when she noticed Sam staring at her as if she had suddenly sprouted three heads. Jazz shook her head. Dear god, she was becoming her father and talking crazy about invisible people shoving her from behind. If she didn't watch it, she'd be right next to Dad chasing and threatening Jeremy with a Foamer. She got up and started picking up the books around her when the mayor Vlad Masters' photograph slipped out of one of the books. Jazz picked it up and discovered it was part of a clipped newspaper article. The article itself wasn't very interesting. It was something about the mayor's new tax proposal. It was really the picture she was interested in. In there, Vlad was standing in what looked like someone's flower garden and was talking to somebody off-camera, looking very serious. Meanwhile, a young man with long dark hair and a goatee was right behind him in the background looking extremely bored. Apparently, tax proposals weren't very interesting to him either.
"Hey," Sam said from behind Jazz, "That's our garden."
Jazz looked up in surprise as Sam snatched the article out of her hand and examined it closely. She watched as Sam's eyes grew wide and her face suddenly turned pale.
"That's him," she said, not noticing Jazz staring at her, "That's same man from-"
She paused and continued staring in confusion and panic while her face grew paler by the second. Jazz was quite certain Sam was about to faint and ran up to her and prepared to catch her. In an attempt to keep her awake, and wondering what in the world was going on with Sam, Jazz asked what she was talking about.
"What? You mean Vlad Masters? Yeah, you saw him from before. He was in that book, remember."
"No," Sam pointed at the young man, "Him. Dan. That's Dan. I know that's Dan!"
"That's Dan?" Jazz repeated, completely surprised, "Hey, wait. He's not mentioned in the caption underneath the photograph. How do you know that's Dan?"
"I- I-" Sam became quiet for a moment before looking at Jazz and shaking her head, "I don't know."
