CHAPTER II. NOT TOO LATE, I HOPE?
Lieutenant Columbo pulled up to the front gates of Haven Abbey in his trusty, battle-worn Peugeot 403 convertible as the engine promptly erupted into a violent protest of smoke and sputters; it had served him loyally through many cases, but even its ancient engine seemed intimidated by such grandiose architecture.
He muttered a colorful string of curses as he disentangled himself from the car. His rumpled tan raincoat made him look like a billowing teabag as it flapped in the waning early morning light, and he took in the imposing sight of the Abbey with awe, lifting a hand to shield his droopy, ever inquisitive brown eyes from the sun.
The massive brick walls of burnt clay looked like they had been standing since the very dawn of time, illuminated by a sun that shone down like a great celestial eye from directly overhead. Craggy and rough, with bits of silvery-green moss growing between the cracks, each brick was weathered by time and the numerous bandit attacks the walled sanctuary had suffered over the years.
Just outside the enormous wooden gates, a withered old gatekeeper stood with a grizzled beard and an ever-present scowl fixed firmly upon his wrinkled face. His saggy robes hung from his bony frame like an old coat on a tall, thin hanger—stirring little in the breeze. He almost looked like a living, breathing scarecrow.
As Columbo slowly trundled up, the old man curled his lip in mild displeasure and grumbled, right outta the gate, "And what do
you want?"
With the tenacity of a weathered city copper and his voice laced with the unmistakable cadence of a real New Yorker, Columbo raised an arm in greeting, a soft smile dancing on lips freckled with a day's worth of stubble.
"Hey there, pal. Lieutenant Columbo, Arcadia Police Department," he said, hastily fumbling for his police badge in an absentminded fashion from his pocket.
Lt. Columbo brandished his badge, the silver glinting sharply in the sunlight before vanishing again into the depths of his stained, splotched raincoat.
His eyes roved over the old man's craggy features, really taking in the gate guardian's demeanor, and immediately dismissed whatever initial judgments he might've formulated based on appearance alone. Couldn't be too hasty, now.
"Was hoping to see the Abbess Oriole," Columbo went on, smoothly transitioning into the topic of his visit. He kept his gaze steady and maintained an easygoing, disarming air, even when faced with the gatekeeper's gruff attitude. "I'm here to check out some strange goings-on in the abbey. Dreams...
nightmares they're sayin'. Maybe you'd know something about it...?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at the man.
The question was posed in a manner that indicated this was no idle inquiry, despite its innocuous tone.
Columbo's gaze turned, surveying the dismal, moss-strewn woodland all around them, the long, spindly shadows cast by the trees encompassing the western entrance's gates. With an absentminded gesture, he reached up and ruffled his unruly mop of tousled brown hair, a few gnats that had been buzzing around his head frightened away at the gesture.
The gruff old man seemed slightly surprised, lifting one bushy grey eyebrow. "The Arcadian
police? What part of the police are you with, then?"
"Well, the APD," Columbo bumbled, as if the answer was a no-brainer and particularly trivial. But then he quickly corrected his statement with a sheepish, tell-tale apologetic grimace that twisted the corners of his mouth. "Well,
actually, you see, I'm with the
homicide department. But this ain't about a murder, no siree."
The detective paused, scrutinizing the gatekeeper with his keen eyes. He noted how the surprise on the man's face was quickly replaced by a look of guarded wariness. Columbo filed away this interesting reaction away for future reference; his quick mind processing the subtle shift as it happened.
He didn't think this feeble old man was sinister or anything, but he thought he likely knew
something. Old folks always did.
"Now, I know what you're thinking, sir," the lieutenant continued, tone filled with a comforting, dusty ease, as if he was simply chatting with an old friend and not interrogating a potential witness. "Who ever heard of a homicide detective investigating something that ain't a murder? But you see, my
wife, she grew up around these parts, and when she heard about the nightmares terrorizing the folks here... well, she asked if I could take a look."
Privately, Columbo had to admit that, despite the favor he was doing for his wife, he was strangely fascinated by the mystery of the strange nightmares. He couldn't resist a good puzzle. After all, puzzles were his absolute favorites.
Curiosity etched in his warm chocolate eyes, he spread his arms in a subtle gesture of openness, of honesty.
"It's been giving her a real bad time, thinking about it," he added, putting all his emotional weight in that last attempt at reaching the stoic gatekeeper's sympathies. The mention of his wife had worked on many a suspect before, often serving as the proverbial tip of the conversational iceberg.
For an age, the gatekeeper fixed Columbo with a sharp, hard stare, his gnarled, tremblingly arthritic hand stroking through his long, unkempt beard. Said beard reached almost to the ground, gathering dust and dead leaves as it went; Columbo wondered if the old man often struggled not to trip over it.
In the dim shade of the abbey's walls, Columbo noticed that the old man's beard was liberally speckled with red around his lips, and his eyes had the glassy look of someone who'd recently quaffed some truly magnificent wine, and perhaps slept it off for about twenty minutes afterward. He'd likely been disturbed from said nap by the racket of Columbo's car.
“Hmph, very well then,” grumbled the gatekeeper as he set to work opening the large cross-braced gates of the abbey. With a mighty creak and groan the doors yielded just enough space for the old man to pass through before Columbo. “The Abbess will be inside the main hall, up that cobbled path, there. Make sure to stick to it— and no funny business!”
Just as he'd stepped through the threshold, Columbo glanced back at his car, his eye drawn to the smeared glass windows where Dog was flumphing about in the backseat. His brow furrowed gravely, and the detective turned back to the gatekeeper with a thoughtful look on his face.
"Hey, mind if I ask you a favor?" he started speaking nonchalantly, his eyes dancing with mischief as he shot a swift look at Dog. The basset hound, living up to the indolent reputation of his breed, sprawled in the backseat. His mottled head hung limply over the edge of the seat and he snored softly, dozing off in-between bouts of sleepy twitching.
"I ain't sure how long I'll be, and I got my buddy here," Columbo continued as he jerked a thumb in the direction of the Peugeot. "Wouldn't want him to get overcooked in the heat or go sour some old relics, if you know what I mean. Would it be too much trouble to let him hang around here with you?"
He knew his request was a little outrageous, but perhaps the gruff gatekeeper and lazy hound could become kindred spirits. Maybe it'd even give the detective a reason to come sniffin' around later on, but for now he just hoped their camaraderie would win him some favor.
"And don't worry," he hurriedly added, noticing the old man's skeptical gaze. "He won't cause any trouble. Mostly likes to sleep, really. Ain't that right, pal?"
He glanced at Dog, who responded with a sluggish yawn before lazily flopping his head down again. Columbo offered a hopeful smile to the gatekeeper, his eyes twinkling with merriment.
The old man hummed a little under his breath, squinting blearily at the droopy old hound dog. After a moment, he nodded, gesturing for Columbo to go on and let the dog out of the car. "Alright, I'll watch 'im for you. No harm in it, I s'pose."
"Ah, fantastic!" Columbo exclaimed, smiling as he walked back over to his trusty old car. Dog's saggy ears shot up at the creak of the car door as it swung open.
Lt. Columbo whistled once, short and quick, and it was as if a switch had been flipped.
The Basset Hound shot up, bounding out the seat with one languid leap, thudding at Columbo's feet. The Lieutenant grinned, giving the pup a pat and rearranging his ruffled ears before nodding in approval. Whistling lowly a few times under his breath, he beckoned for Dog to follow him to the gatekeeper.
Columbo chuckled, a touch of fondness coloring his tone as Dog approached the gatekeeper, tail wagging and ears trailing in the dust. "And don't worry, sir, he doesn't bite. Dog's just a big ol' pushover, really. Aren't you, boy?"
Digging around inside his coat pocket, the lieutenant retrieved some sort of bone-shaped biscuit. He presented the morsel to the gatekeeper, his eyes twinkling and his smile wry. "Here, use this to win him over. You know, if the mood takes him. He can be a bit of a stubborn old mutt, sometimes, especially if he's found a real comfortable spot."
After thanking the gatekeeper profusely, Columbo turned towards the path that awaited. His trusty brown raincoat flapped behind him as he walked, his scuffed shoes and shambolic hair lending a bit to his charm. Throwing a final glance and a jovial wave over his shoulder (mostly for Dog's benefit), Columbo ventured off.
As he plodded along the winding, dusty cobbles towards the massive building looming up ahead, Columbo couldn't help but feel humbled. Haven Abbey's prolonged and solemn history was truly a sight to behold, from the glistening, kaleidoscopic brilliance of the stained-glass windows to the grandeur of its old brick buildings. Ancient, all of it—but the air of tranquility and the people that inhabited the place breathed life into the storied surroundings.
Everywhere he looked, there was life. He could see gardeners squatting in the dirt of the garden patch, coaxing sprouts from the ground, a few of the abbey's inhabitants overlooking the fishpond, and even a couple kids climbing ladders to fetch fresh, glistening apples from the low-hanging branches of the orchard's dense fruit trees, all bustling through their routine tasks.
The air hung heavy with an almost
eerie silence that simply could not have been heard in the hustle-bustle of Arcadia, nor within the unhappy symphony of sirens, gunshots and screams that Lt. Columbo was so accustomed to. Here, instead, was an almost supernatural peace, calmness, and spiritual solitude... these concepts were almost as mysterious to the seasoned detective as the very mystery he'd come here to solve. He really understood why his wife liked this place so much, now.
His signature cigar perched between his teeth, he made his way past the bustling activity of orchard workers, washerwomen, and youngsters playing, a thread of lazy smoke curling from just under his nose. At times, the sunny echo of a child's playful laughter floated on the breeze to meet his ears, making the wrinkles of Columbo's face deepen further in a soft grin.
That was, until he remembered that these children were the unfortunate victims of inexplicably terrifying dreams.
The gravity of his mission slammed into the bumbling detective, and the bright smile that had been playing at his lips evaporated. In its place was his usual expression of deep contemplation, of thoughtfulness, his dark eyes scanning the grounds in a new light.
Remembering the gatekeeper's instructions, Lt. Columbo kept on walking up the cobblestone path, his steady pace taking him past the hustle of the various inhabitants and charges that called Haven Abbey home—his gaze determinedly set on the grand silhouette of the main hall.
"Well," he muttered to himself, puffing on his cigar. "Let's see what we can find out about these troubling dreams."
Lieutenant Columbo has joined the NPC cast.
