Chapter 13

Oh My God ... it's Chapter 13 ... something terrible must happen.

It did.

When Andy found the Rolls, it was raining. It was dark. The wind was howling.

Ah ... It was a dark and stormy night. There was a loud band ... A scream rang out! Horror stories and murder mysteries should all start with those seven words. This one did.

Andrea was on a winding muddy road when lightning struck a tree behind her ... she screamed. In the flash she only saw a silhouette of a kneeling lady. The Sprit of Ecstasy! Eleanor! The kneeling Eleanor was the mascot devised for the Phantom III of 1936-1939.

After the first Rolls mascot, Eleanor was standing but bent, head to the wind, arms back, robe tightly formed against a marvelous body ... pure ecstasy. In the interest of streamlining, the company asked for a less obtrusive Eleanor ... the change lasted four years. After the war, the standing Eleanor was back.

When Rolls Royce built a car and you bought it ... you got a finished chassis. The body was up to you. There were 'approved' coach builders but...

The house was on a promontory rise. Not so much as a height, but taller than the surrounding lowlands. It was well lit and there were cars parked haphazardly about the circular drive. Most of the cars were tokens of wealth ... and position.

Not wishing to intrude but more than curious concerning the Phantom III, Andrea gathered her Ph.D. about her like a cloak of armor and pulled the bell. (No plain jane electrical for these folks ... this was a genuine pull rope bell.)

The door opened like the welcoming petals of a Venus Flytrap and she was sucked inside.

'This has to be the best soundproofed house in the world, ' Andie thought. 'I never heard a sound outside!' The noise level was only a smidgeon less than a thousand jackhammers in a sealed metal compartment. Andie's hands went to her ears ... it didn't help.

A stiff, lemon faced, man ... white gloves, black tie and tails ... bowed and began ... but he was interrupted by a twenties something young lady ... dressed to the nines.

"She's expected ... buzz off, James," shouted the lady.

Amazingly ... he heard.

"Yes, Madam." He went off to wherever butlers go to butle ... although he couldn't be heard lip readers would have no problem catching the, "Expected, my ass," comments he made as he hurried to his underworld.

A drink was snatched off the passing waiters tray and thrust into Andie's hand..."Drink up! You're behind."

At least that's what it looked like she said. The drink went into the nearest potted palm.

A bolt of lightning struck practically outside the door ... the crash of thunder silenced the crowd for a split second ... just long enough for Andie to shout... "Who owns the Phantom III in the Barn!!!" The recommenced dim drowned out any possibility of a heard reply.

For the next half hour, Andie did her best to promote public drunkenness in the potted plant population ... waiters kept following her and capturing her empty glass and handing her a new one. Eventually, James, the butler tracked her down. He had a pad and pen. Follow me, he wrote. The noise lessened as each door and corridor was entered. When it was down to a dull roar, the butler removed wax pads from his ears and said,