The Mystery Continues

Caitlin arrived in the town center. The fountain burbbled happily as she surveyed the scene. Ringing the fountain were comfortable wooden benches, handmade by Jud, the local police-man, in his woodshop. Arrayed in a square about the fountain were the businesses of Eddington Hollow. To her right her was the post office and police-station, next to the veterinary clinic and the doctor's/dentist's office. Behind her was Eddigton Hollows Artists Collective, neighboring the yarn shop, above which was mister Livingston's private lending library. Next door to the yarn shop was Eddigton Hollow Grocers. Behind her was Hollow Records and the offices of the Cartesian Theater Publishing Com[any. The second level on that block was Hollow Recording's studio. Next door to Cartesian Theater's offices was Therapie, the bakery. On the block in front of Caitlin were her own Hollow Pages and Eddington's Beans (the coffee shop), and the neighboring Livingston's Fine Books. As mister Livingston appeared not to have opened up shop for the day yet, Caitlin decided to check his apartment and make sure everything was ok.

Mister Livingston lived above his shop, and as Caitlin owned the buildings on that block, she had a set of keys to his apartment--so when he didn't answer his doorbell after 5 rings and ten minutes, she decided to go on up. She opened the door and called "hello" to let him know she was there and walked up the stairs, listening for a response. But mister Livingston did not reply. As she reached the top of the stairs and entered mister Livingston's foyer, Caitlin noticed Saturday's mail sitting on a side-table, unopened. She walked into the first room on her right, the kitchen. On the small table was Saturday's newspaper, still folded. The coffee maker on the counter was half-full, but cold (as she assessed that fact, she also noticed the distinct aroma of mister Livingston's favorite Costa Rican blend from Eddington's Beans).

Caitlin continued to the living/diningroom. The dining table was empty. On the coffee table in front of the couch was a old oversize art book, probably one of Mister Livingston's collection of rare books that he kept for himself, rather than put on sale. On a small table next to the large armchair was an open letter and a pair of reading glasses, as well as a cup of coffee, mostly full and cold. Next to the letter was a picture of what appeared to be a family--a middle-aged man and woman and two young men, clearly brothers--but none of the people in the picture were familiar to Caitlin. She checked the bathroom and bedroom, but no one was there. It was, odd, though. Things lay about the house as if mister Livingston had just been there. Where could he be?