Valhalla Blind Man Mystery
A few days later, I had a distinct feeling that something was different. It wasn’t until I went to bed on Sunday night that it came to me: The blind man had gone. There’d been no sign of him since he left his room on Saturday morning.
I tried calling the front desk and asking about him, but they didn’t know anything. He hadn’t checked out; there were still some items in his closet, so I assumed he must be staying somewhere else—but where? And why? If he was a regular guest at Valhalla Blind Man Mystery Inn, then we should have known who he was.
But when I asked the desk clerk if anyone by that name had ever stayed with us before, she said no. She told me that I could check the hotel’s computer system for information about any guests from two weeks ago, but I knew it would take too long to do that, especially considering how busy things are around here right now.
So instead, I called up the man himself on my cell phone—the signal worked well even inside the building—and I asked him what he thought about all this.
The voice on the other end sounded almost like it belonged to a child. “Why?” he demanded. Then after a pause, he added, “Who is this?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Where are you? Are you safe? We need to talk.”
When I first heard his reply, I couldn’t believe it: “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway.”
He wasn’t answering my questions, so I let it go for a while. After a good half an hour of silence, he finally spoke again.
“You’re lucky that I like you, and that you have people looking out for you. Most of the time, I don’t think about anyone except myself. You should enjoy your luck for as long as it lasts.” His tone grew more threatening. “But don’t get any ideas. When this game ends, you’ll be sorry.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. This guy was crazy, or maybe just plain nuts. He probably didn’t even realize that he’d broken into Valhalla Blind Man Mystery Inn. I decided to try another tack. “Listen,” I pleaded, “you can stay here as long as you want. But if you’ve got any sense—”
Suddenly the line went dead. That wasn’t entirely surprising: I could only assume that the blind man had taken the call outside the building somewhere, where he wouldn’t disturb the staff. I sat back in my chair in the reception area and took a deep breath.
All this meant one thing: I had to find him soon. I needed to ask him exactly what he was playing at. And I wanted to understand what he was trying to hide.
Two nights later, I found myself standing in the lobby of the Valhalla Blind Man Mystery Inn, holding a beer bottle and staring at the door marked “Staff Only.” I looked over at the desk clerk, who was watching me suspiciously from behind her counter. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing wrong with having a drink after work. In fact, it’s pretty much mandatory.”
She shrugged. “As long as you’re not driving home drunk, I suppose it’s okay. I’ll leave you alone, then.” She turned away and started rolling a cigarette.
The cold air off the lake hit me as soon as I stepped outside. I pulled my coat tighter against the wind, then walked around to the back side of the building, where there were several picnic tables set up under the trees. As I approached, I saw that someone was already sitting at one of the tables, his face turned toward the sunset.
For a moment I wondered whether he might be the blind man; he had the same skin color, the same hair and beard, and the same clothes, though he was older than I’d imagined him to be. The man’s eyes weren’t open, which made me wonder if he could see anything at all. I stopped a few feet away and studied him more closely. He was really quite handsome.
For a second I thought about approaching him, but then I remembered that Valhalla Blind Man Mystery Inn didn’t allow smoking on its property, so I didn’t know where he’d gotten the cigarette. Besides, I didn’t need any more trouble, even if he wasn’t the real blind man.
So I headed back to the front of the building. On the way, I glanced back once to make sure the man hadn’t come out, but he was still sitting there in the same position, facing the setting sun. I kept walking until I reached the front of the building, then stopped and leaned against the wall. There was still plenty of daylight left, so I figured I’d keep an eye on the blind man.
After a while, the blind man got up from the table, picked something up, and headed toward the back of the building, presumably to use the bathroom. I followed him, making sure he didn’t see me. Then I waited for a chance to speak to the man, but I never did. I assumed that he was leaving, but when I checked, the blind man was still nowhere to be seen.
A little while later, the desk clerk came out and lit a cigarette herself. “Did you know that guy was there?” she asked me.
“Yeah, he was lying right next to the picnic table. I thought he might be hurt, so I called the police. They showed up a little while ago.”
“Oh.” She put her cigarette out on the grass. “That’s too bad. We should have known better than to let such a creep come in here.”
***
I was sitting at my desk when the phone rang. It was after midnight, so I wasn’t surprised to hear the voice on the other end of the line. “Hello, Valhalla Blind Man Mystery Inn. How may I help you tonight?”
“My name is Brian Van Doren,” said the caller. “I’d like to reserve a room for the night.”
“Certainly. What name should we put down on the reservation?”
“Van Doren. Brian Van Doren.”
“Very good. One moment please.” I listened briefly to the rest of his message, then hung up. I couldn’t believe it. The man was coming to Valhalla! I grabbed my keys off the desk and hurried out. I had no idea what to expect, so I decided that I’d better get some information before going inside.
I drove around the corner and parked near the hotel entrance. The parking lot was completely dark, so I knew that the man would be able to enter without tripping over anything. I stayed in the car for a while, listening to the sounds of traffic on the main road; then I slowly opened the door and got out, feeling along the edge of the pavement with my foot.
The steps were a bit high, so I took them two at a time. When I reached the top, I saw that the man was just getting out of his truck. He held a cigarette between his lips and smoked it as he walked toward the front doors. I made sure to stay out of sight as much as possible.
He went straight to the desk and asked for me by name. “Donna, this is Mr. Brian Van Doren. I’m staying here tonight.”
The woman behind the counter nodded. “One moment please,” she told him. “I’ll check the schedule.” She picked up a clipboard and shuffled through a stack of papers. After a minute, she looked up and smiled. “We can accommodate your request, Mr. Van Doren. Would you like a single or a double?”
“Double, please. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“Your room will be ready shortly. Can you wait in the lobby? That way, we won’t disturb you while you’re getting settled in.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you very much.”
It was only then that I realized how tired I actually was. I really needed a few hours of sleep before this evening’s activities. As soon as the man was gone, I locked the front doors, shut off all lights, and turned off the intercom system. Then I sat down on the couch across from the fireplace and closed my eyes.
But after a short while, I noticed that I wasn’t sleeping. My mind was racing, thinking about the events of the day, and how the man could possibly be involved. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, I heard someone knocking at the front door. I jumped up and ran to unlock the front doors.
The man stood there waiting for me, staring at me with one side of his face covered in darkness. His glasses glowed red; his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in black.
“Mr. Van Doren?” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
His voice was deep, raspy, and almost musical. Even though he appeared to be in his late thirties, I sensed that he was older than that. He was wearing a suit jacket and slacks, but the tie was undone and hanging loosely around his neck. His hands were folded together in front of him.
He didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons, although I was certain that he could open every lock in the building if he wanted to. In fact, I was positive that he was an expert at breaking into places. It was just that I had never seen him before.
“How did you find us?” I asked.
“I read your book.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because I love your books. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever since I finished reading The Dead Don’t Die.”
“You…you’ve read The Dead Don’t Die?” I asked, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, thank you for saying so. But how could you have found out about Valhalla?”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he replied. “And now I understand what I need to know. A man like you, who writes stories of murder and mayhem, well, you’re not the type to remain hidden forever. And your wife—how could she resist my invitation? It’s quite simple, really.
We both knew where to look. You didn’t even realize that you were being followed. How many times did you stop to ask directions?”
“Now hold on!” I said. “Where’s my wife? Where are you taking her?”
The man laughed. “Oh, Donna, darling, don’t be afraid. I’m simply going to take you somewhere nice and cozy. Somewhere safe, away from all of this.”
“But why—” I began, but he interrupted me.
“Once we arrive, we can talk more about Valhalla,” he told me, reaching out and touching my shoulder. “It will be fun, Donna. Really. Trust me.”
A sudden wave of nausea passed over me. I felt dizzy and lightheaded. For a moment, I thought I might faint. His touch was cold, like ice. His fingers were rough and callused. I tried to shake off the feeling, but it was too strong. “No! Please, no!” I cried.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I promise you. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Or should I say ‘enjoys?'”
There was something strange about his tone. It sounded as if he was laughing at me, but I couldn’t figure out why. With that, his hand dropped away and he left through the front doors. I hurried to follow him. Once outside, I ran to the street and looked both ways.
There was no sign of him. I started to feel a sense of panic, but I forced myself to calm down. It took me several minutes before I finally calmed down enough to go back inside.
I locked all of the doors, turned off all the lights, and made sure everything was secure. Then I went upstairs and put on some old clothes. I changed into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. I also grabbed a sweater and a coat. I stopped in the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee.
I sat down on the countertop and sipped it slowly. After drinking half of the coffee, I decided that I would finish the rest later. I went downstairs and checked all of the closets and cabinets. I even opened up a few drawers, although most of them contained only cleaning supplies or other household items. All the rooms were empty. No Donna. She wasn’t anywhere. At least, not here.
When I was satisfied that nothing was missing, I got dressed again. Then I walked to the front doors and locked them behind me. When I returned to the kitchen, I picked up my coffee and finished it off. I put the empty cup in the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water run until it was gone.
By then, the sun had risen. I left the kitchen and headed toward the garage. As I stepped into the entrance of the building, I saw a dark figure crouched near the steps leading into the basement. I froze, but the figure reached out and touched my arm. I jumped and screamed.
“Donna?” I asked, shaking her shoulders. “Are you there?”
She seemed startled by my question. Her eyes widened, and she quickly backed away. “David? David, what are you doing down here?”
“What am I doing down here?” I repeated. “Why, I’m looking for you. What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you. You must be exhausted. I’m sorry. How long has it been since we talked?”
“Nearly two hours,” I said.
“Then you were very tired. This place is creepy at night. Did you see anything?”
“Not exactly. I saw someone watching me. A man. He was tall and thin. He wore a black trench coat. I think he might have been wearing a hat, but I couldn’t tell for certain because of the glare from the headlights.”
“That sounds like Professor Zimbalist,” Donna said. “He likes to watch people. He thinks it makes him seem mysterious.”
“Who’s Professor Zimbalist?” I asked. “Is he the janitor?”
“No,” she said. “Actually, he’s one of our teachers. He teaches ancient history. You’ll get to meet him soon.”
“So how did you know where to find me?” I asked. “You could have just called me. We’ve talked on the phone dozens of times.”
“Well, I knew you’d come here eventually. The last time we spoke, you mentioned that you might move in with me someday. So I thought I would give you a little push. And besides, this way you don’t have to worry about leaving your wife alone on the streets late at night.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I insisted. “I love Karen. I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t,” she replied. “But you have to understand. One day, you’re going to be very busy, and it won’t always work out so well for your family. I need to make sure you’re happy, David. Not just for now, but for the future.”
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to Karen,” I pleaded. “I can’t lose her too. I love her more than life itself.”
“I know,” Donna said. “And I’m glad. But sometimes things change. People die. Things are lost. That’s life. I would rather deal with a problem when it comes up instead of waiting for it to become an issue. Don’t you agree?”
“If you’re not worried about getting caught spying on me,” I said, “you shouldn’t mind telling me who Professor Zimbalist really is.”
“Professor Zimbalist?” Donna said. She looked puzzled. “Oh, right. He’s the janitor. He does all of the maintenance around here. He cleans the floors, mops the hallways, and takes care of the outside grounds. Oh, and he also keeps the trash bins emptied.
He knows everything that happens in this building. He’s quite a character. He loves to tell stories about his childhood, although I’m sure they’re mostly fictional. He also tells jokes, although most of those are pretty corny, too.”
“Did you notice something else?” I asked. “He doesn’t wear shoes in the house. At least, he hadn’t when I arrived.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” Donna agreed. “It bothered me at first, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s kind of nice having a barefoot janitor. It gives the place character.”
“Character?” I asked. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “This building has been here for over a hundred years. There’s no telling what sort of creatures and spirits used to haunt the halls. Believe it or not, some of them still linger here. It’s best if we don’t disturb them. Besides, I think bare feet are sexy. They remind me of a young John Travolta. He was great in Saturday Night Fever. Are you familiar with that movie?”
“Sure,” I replied. “He had a white suit and a disco ball. I loved that thing. He spun the whole time he danced. He was awesome!”
“Me too! Me too!” she exclaimed. “Anyway, maybe Professor Zimbalist was trying to mimic that. Maybe he wanted to look like he belonged here. Like he was born in this place. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess it might be possible. He certainly fits the bill.”
“Don’t forget about the ghost of Charlie,” Donna added. “Charlie is also rumored to walk these halls. Some say he killed a woman here. Others claim he was a thief who stole money from his customers. Whatever the case may be, Charlie is a bit of a troublemaker, and he likes to wander. He never stays in one place for long. Just keep your eyes open, David. You’re bound to see him sooner or later.”
The next morning, Donna left for work early. She always got there before eight o’clock. When I got to the school, I went directly to my classroom, took a seat on the first row, and waited for class to begin. I pulled out my laptop and began searching for the truth behind Charlie’s story.
In doing so, I discovered that Charles P. Harkness was a real person. Born in 1831, he became known as the first industrialist in America, which was quite an accomplishment for a man his age. By the time of his death in 1914, he owned hundreds of mills across the country.
His company was named after him because it made money hand over fist; however, he didn’t create any of the products himself. Instead, he hired experts to run the factories, and then he simply charged his employee’s exorbitant amounts of money. He preferred to hire men and women who were desperate to earn enough cash to feed their families.
When the first mill opened in Lawrenceburg, Kentucky, the entire community rejoiced. It brought jobs and prosperity to its residents. Everyone thought the new factory would bring even more people to town. However, that wasn’t the case. The novelty wore off quickly, and business declined.
The End