Reins had always thought he didn’t get enough vacation. It was one of the problems with his job. But he had managed finally to set aside some time, and had gotten off work. Now he had made up his mind not to do anything this week but work on his garden and maybe see a play.

He stood in the kitchen of his small home, looking out the window at the garden which was his passion. There were large rosebushes right in front of the window, and past them there was what he considered a field (a small patch by any other standard) of lupins. The sunlight brought out the colours beautifully, as they were in bloom.

The kettle let out a rising whine which jerked him out of his reverie. Why am I having tea in this weather? he wondered. "It’s rather too hot," he continued aloud.

"Pardon?" a voice form the other room asked.

Reins was startled, then realised it must be Mrs. Donney, the cleaning lady. "I was just saying it’s a bit hot for tea this afternoon." What was wrong? He hadn’t heard her come in. "Maybe you would like some?"

"Oh, no thank you." It was definitely her voice.

"Either way," he mumbled, preoccupied with this thing that troubled him. He turned the heat off under the water, and bent down to open the fridge, where he should have some lemonade. There wasn’t any. This is getting disturbing. What am I not seeing here? I thought I was on vacation. "Maybe I’m just expecting to be called back," he muttered.

He grabbed a glass and poured himself some water instead of the lemonade, and walked out into the small yard. As he went to sit, he noticed that his chair wasn’t there. This has got to be a prank. What’ll be next? "Mrs. Donney?" he called.

"Yes?"

"Is this your doing?"

"Is what, Mr. Reins?"

Inspector, he thought with resigned aggravation. "The lemonade and the chair."

"Oh, sorry, I didn’t put them out for you. Someone else must have. Some secret admirer, perhaps." She giggled slightly.

She can be daft sometimes. Well, that’s not fair; how could she have known I meant they weren’t here? Unless she disposed of them. "That’s not what I meant. I meant that they’re both gone."

"Oh dear." She came out the onto the patio in her rubber gloves. He wondered what she had been cleaning, that she wore them. He couldn’t think why she would need them. She had just arrived, and usually began with some straightening, then vacuumed the place. He made a note of this, stored for future reference. "That’s odd," she continued. She took one of the gloves off, and ran her hand through her brown hair. Reins coughed self consciously. He had a feeling she was rather too young and pretty to be cleaning houses for a living. Her husband worked with the local tourist advisory board. That in itself was strange enough. "Do you think you’re just out of lemonade?" Her tone of voice was half sarcastic, but he could never tell with her.

"Well, that I could understand and believe, but where’s my chair gotten to?"

"I’m afraid I don’t know. I’ll have a look about, and bring it out if I find it."

"Thanks." He followed her inside again. He looked around the kitchen. There were two stools. The only other chairs he could think to get were those in the dining room. The image of him sitting in a dining room chair in the garden seemed too preposterous for him, so he took a stool and sat outside, drinking his glass of water. "It’s just not the same, is it?" The air didn’t answer. "Something’s wrong today. I’ll find out what’s happening yet."