Samuel Dunskis: A Serial Novel (pt. 2)

By Alex McComas & Alex Thompson

Week 2 (3/29/10)
Chapter 2: Isabella Rose

Samuel grunted in pain as another shaft of light found its way through the curtains of the buggy. Outside was bright and sunny, and Dunskis had never wished for otherwise so much in his life. Dickens, sitting beside him, leaned forward slightly. “Are ya alright, Samuel?”

Dunskis grimaced in reply, eyes staring straight ahead of him. “Quite frankly, Drake, I’d much rather be home with a nice glass of scotch, drowning the day away in leisure and liquor; like any decent man should do in his free time.”

Drake scoffed. “Honestly, can yew think of nuthin else than when next you’ll have a glass in yer hand?”

Dunskis nodded. “Of course. You find a decent enough distraction and I’ll consider it.” He smiled wryly.

“How ‘bout this case? Tha’ yew agreed to help with?”

Samuel blinked “You got me here, haven’t you?” He sighed. “Sorry. I’ll focus more.” He cracked his neck, relieved to find his headache temporarily lessened.

Drake winced.

The whinny of a horse and the slow momentum of a stop signaled their arrival at their destination. Opening the door of the carriage, Samuel slid out of his seat and stepped out onto a cobblestone walkway. The house in front of him was a wide, beautiful building with a stone face and many pink and red flowers decorating the front in gardens and hanging baskets. The grounds seemed to be very well manicured, obviously maintained by greatly adept hands and equally great sums of money. The scene of beauty was only marred by the appearance of two officers standing at posts in front of the house. This was the home of Damascus Rose, renowned senator, favored polititian, and father to the accused Isabella Rose, who was currently being detained under house arrest.

Drake jumped from the buggy, muttering his thanks to the driver and straitening his jacket. He turned to Samuel. “Ahh, Sam, does my hair look right?”

Sam stared at his companion silently as Drake began to try and remedy his already prim appearance. “Daggonit, Sam, I don need tha’ look from yew. It’s jus-a question!” He stalked off towards the house. For just a moment, Dunskis allowed himself a smirk before following.

The officers turned slightly to watch them approach the house, but they said nothing. As Dunskis reached the front porch, Drake knocked on the door. From inside came the patter of steps and in a moment the door was opened by a nicely dressed butler who sounded like he had a head cold. “Yessirs, how may I help you?”

“Hallo, sir, my name is Drake Dickens, an’ this ‘ere man is detective Samuel Dunskis,” Drake introduced. “We’re here under tha request of Senator Rose. We’re tryin’ to get more information about wha’ happened last night with tha… ahh… Lady… Miss Isabella—“

“Oh, Dickens! It’s you!” Came the call of a female voice from inside the house.  The butler turned around and nodded to the lady, moving out of the way so she could come to the doorway. “Oh, Drake! It’s so wonderful you’re here, my dear, dear friend!”

Sam was pushed to the side as Drake was suddenly kissed and hugged by this woman. Under the embrace of the shapely, dark haired, bright-eyed, young woman, Dickens turned red and was reduced to stammering, bumbling mess. Sam grinned and lifted an eyebrow at his friend, who mouthed in reply, ‘naw now’. Nodding to himself, Sam cleared his throat and said, “Miss Rose, how are you? Nasty business, all this.”

Isabella instantly let go of Drake and turned, her mental train of thought shifting gears faster than any ordinary locomotive. “Oh, oh yes! Lands! what a tragedy! Oh, oh…” she put a hand to her heart, “To think about it again…” Quite dramatically, she began to falter backwards. Drake gasped and grasped the lady’s arm. “Isabella! My dear, you should sit down!”

Miss Rose was escorted back inside where she was sat at a plush couch, a glass of lemonade at her right hand. Drake stared intently at the young lady, watching for any further signs of fatigue. Samuel, on the other hand, began to feel as if he had been escorted into a southern melodrama.

As if on cue, a sob came from Isabella. Dickens obliged the dramatic turn by declaring, aghast, “Oh please, Miss Rose, don’t cry! We’ll sort things out, I give you my word. Right Dunskis?”

Sam nodded vaguely. “Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, it will. Isabella.” He let his eyes wander around the luxiours house’s interior.  The stucco pillars, the keenly painted and carved ceilings and the tall windows were all very overwhelming to the senses.  The interior was dressed in rich, maroon curtains with gold cord ties and two other armchairs at the other wall of the room. To the left was a hallway that seemed to enter into a dining room, and closest to where Dunskis stood there was a staircase. “Hm,” Dunskis nodded his head as he brought his gaze back to Isabella and Dickens.  Rose was babbling some nonsense to an eagerly waiting Dickens who looked as though she was the most adequate speaker in the world telling the most fascinating story.  “Miss Rose,” Samuel broke their hurried conversation, “Why don’t you start from the beginning.  Take your time, there’s no rush… but… just tell us what happened.”

Isabella simpered a moment, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “We never meant any harm! He was just so dashing, so suave, so… So wonderful in every way…” She sighed, her eyes glowing. “We were in love, so in love that we were certain our love could outlast even death itself. Oh, to be together forever in the afterlife, how romantic!”

Sam stared in disbelief. “You mean, you really were going to jump off that tower by the college? You actually were in the name of romance?”

Isabella moaned. “Oh, at first, yes, at first it seemed so delightful. But then, we were up there, and… and…” A fresh wave of anguish overtook her and she again dabbed her face with her handkerchief. To Dunskis’s dismay, he noticed that all sensibility seemed to have left his friend Drake as his face contorted in sympathy and pain. He was being drawn into the romantic nonsense and could not tear his eyes from Isabella.  Moving quickly, Dickens moved to the couch to sit beside Isabella, putting a comforting arm around her.

Dunskis sighed.  “Please, Miss Rose, could you continue your story?”

A few more sniffles and Isabella continued in her quavering little voice, “I tried to tell Lawson I didn’t want to go through with it anymore. He seemed really torn about it, he was really upset. He pushed me to the side, even, he must have been so angry.” She sobbed again and then looked skyward. “Oh Mr. Kidder, I’m so sorry! It was all my fault!” she then dropped her head into her hands with a new wave of weeping and sobbing suddenly gripping her frame,  “I admit it, I killed Lawson Kidder.”

Dunskis and Dickens exchanged a quick look. Drake implored, “Miss Rose! Are you saying that you’re guilty?”

She nodded unhappily. “If I wouldn’t have said no, we’d both be together right now! But he was angry, and he… He was even in tears! I never realized he felt so strongly for me!”

Dunskis and Dickens were silent as the young lady cried softly to herself. Sam was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. The lady was obviously a ditz, really the most uncommonly, empty-skulled young woman her head filled with useless romantic thoughts from those writers in England. However, at this moment, she was beginning to seem sincere in her pain. He noted her shoulders were slumped, and that her face was red. Her muscles were not tensed, and she didn’t seem… nervous? Was that the word he was looking for?

He frowned, and asked for her to continue, though much gentler than he had before. “Please, Miss Rose, what happened after he pushed you? He didn’t try to push you off, did he?”

She shook her head. “Actually, no. Just sort of to the side, enough to make me take a step or two for sure! Well, anyway, I guess when he pushed me he lost his balance or something, because that’s when he fell.” She shuddered. “I feel so terrible. Oh, it was all my fault, wasn’t it?” She sighed, her eyes tearing up more.

This time, Drake spoke. “Oh, please, Miss Rose. No, I don think it was yer fault at all! Please don cry, Miss Rose.” He took a handkerchief from his own pocket and wiped under her eyes. She smiled winsomely at him. “Really, Drake, what would I do without you as my friend?”

Sam looked around the room.  He noticed a bookshelf at the right wall and walked over. He picked out a book at random and looked at the title.

“The Samoan Desperado’s Mistress’?” He picked another two from the shelf. “’The Turquoise Man’. ’The Gaelic Suitor’.” He opened the book and glanced over the first few pages. “Miss Rose, do you read these?”

Isabella nodded. “Yes, aren’t they just so wonderful?”

Sam frowned. “Well, if you like this sort of thing, I guess… One last thing, Miss Rose, you say you were going to jump off Glatfelter tower. Why? Where’d you get such an idea?”

She sighed. “Well, it was my idea, I think. Lawson told me about this legend those men at the college talk about, how this couple went there to escape their parents and decided to jump off so that they could be with each other forever. It’s really quite wonderful, isn’t it. Well, we were sitting outside under that tree over in the field, and it was so pretty outside… He looked at me and wondered, ‘Oh, Miss Rose, you’re just so lovely like this beautiful day, and wouldn’t it be nice if we could be together forever?’ I agreed about how nice it would be, and he asked, ‘Miss Rose, I just love you so much, will you always be mine? And I don’t know, I guess I was just so swept up in the wonder of it all, and I said, yes, yes Mr. Kidder, let’s make sure we’re always together!” She sighed once more. “Oh, I remember it now, and it seems so foolish. I know I’m not always so smart, but Mr. Dunskis, I promise you, I never meant any harm.”

Samuel nodded. “I know. I’ll never understand why you’d ever think giving up your life would be so wonderful, but you seem like a nice young lady. You’re under house arrest, I see?”

Isabella nodded. “Yes. I shouldn’t worry, though, Daddy’s doing his best to sort everything out, I’m sure it’ll be fine!” She stood up, Drake quickly standing as well. “Drake, I can’t thank you enough for coming out here! I feel so much better now that I’ve talked to you. Please, come by any time!” She kissed Drake on the check, and walked upstairs. “I’ll tell Daddy you’re here. Thank you again, Drake, and you too Detective!” With that she was upstairs, still dabbing her eyes with Dickens’s handkerchief.

Sam took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Drake beamed as he watched her, the whole series of events that he had just witness obviously blotted out by thoughts of Isabella Rose. “Sam, ain’t she just wonderful?”

Dunskis gave a dry laugh. “Wonderful? Dickens, her mind’s been addled by her sense of romanticism, to say the least.”

Drake gaped. “Addled? Sam, how can ya say some-in like tha’ ‘bout her? Such a sweet young lady!”

Sam sighed. “Drake, I’ll concede, she’s nice and lovely and has every sugarcoated nicety and all of that. But her brain’s are air! She’s nice but she’s so… empty!”  Drake stared in confusion. Dunskis groaned. “Drake, forget I said anything. She’s wonderful, alright?”

Drake nodded happily, his face losing any appearance of sensibility.

Dunskis sat heavily in an armchair. “I will say this much, I think she’s also quite innocent.”

Dickens excitedly nodded. “Yes! Tha’s wha’ I wanted to hear! She wouldn’ hurt a fly, she wouldn’!”

Dunskis grunted his agreement. “She could be acting, but did you see those books over there she reads?”

“There all tha’ romantic stuff, aren’ they? Happy endings and what not.”

“I think the proper term is ‘harlequin romance’.”

“Well, sure. Bu’ wha’s tha’ got to do with anythin’?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, she’s harmless. She sticks her nose in those all day and without a care in her mind she goes about dreaming about nonsense. I’m not saying it’s anything to defend her with, but it’s enough to make me second guess the obvious.”

“Yew mean, it’s enough to make you think she’s not guilty?”

Dunskis nodded impatiently, “Well, it gives me a hunch, sure. I really need to see the scene of the crime, to be sure.”