Walking down a lavish corridor lined with plants and exterior windows, I found the dark wood threshold of the Bird Room. Jungle leaves and tropical bird wings splashed outward from the door's surface, a long gold handle weaving its way free of the scene.
The door had no lock, and, after calling for Mr. Wells–to no reply–I let myself in.
The peacock feather curtains had been thrown open such that the faint glow of the moon provided just enough light to navigate the room. By the door, a large brown suitcase was packed, as if ready to go. Reading the tag, I learned it belonged to Fred Wells.
I unlatched the case and pulled it open just enough to see the mess of wadded clothing inside. Searching the inner pockets, I found a puzzling note:
Then, stepping carefully over the shaggy green carpet, I noticed Mrs. Wells's collection of beauty products and wedding ring on the nightstand beside the purple canopied bed.
Atop the desk that faced the window, sat a pen and pad of letter paper. Stamped lightly along the paper's bottom edge was a line of trees. A parrot flapped its wings in the left corner, and a toucan sang in the right.
I searched the desk drawers to find them empty. The dresser was full of Mrs. Wells's effects, but I found nothing belonging to Fred.
As I was turning to leave, I noticed a porcelain dragon figurine that sat on a pedestal against the inner wall. It was tipped over, and the fragile wings had been shattered to expose the empty inner chamber.
Before exiting into the hall, I tried the door to the closet but found it to be locked.