In this one the bed was standing, in a knock-kneed sort of way. You

wouldn't have wanted to sit on it, though, even if it hadn't been

completely filthy. There was a deep impression in the center, as

though whoever had slept there was a pretty good size. We bent down

and looked underneath. A lot of the springs were missing. There was

nothing underneath but huge balls of dust, so thick you could hardly

see the floorboards.

There was a thin faded throw rug bunched up in one corner. A night

table with a built-in mirror and a chair. The mirror was broken, but

there was no trace of glass. Otherwise the table looked salvageable,

if you cleaned it up considerably. An empty picture frame lay facedown

on the table, a comb and a brush and two old nylon stockings moldering

beside it.

We opened the drawers. Empty.

Steven pointed to the stockings. "Hers," he muttered.

He opened the closet. There were more wire hangers.

"No mouse."

We walked down the hall past the stairwell to the back of the house.

There was a door dead ahead and one to the right.

To the right was yet another bedroom, completely empty. No bed, no

mattress. Not even a telltale item of junk on the floor or in the

closet.

It was the other door that interested me. The widow's walk.

While the others checked the closet I went out into the hall, found

that the door was open, and walked outside.

They weren't far behind me, but there was a moment at least when I was

out there alone, breathing the tangy sea air, which was so good after

the closed-up, musty smell of the place. The view was really fine.

Only a couple of yards from where I stood the property ended in a

spectacular drop to the sea. Between the drop and the elevation of the

house, you got the feeling of immense height. Far below was the

moonlit sea, ashifting mask of darks and lights. There was no wind,

but there was still the impression of movement underfoot- the sea. You

felt as though you were standing aboard a huge tall raft, just drifting

there, alone.

"Pretty good."

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