by N. M. Brown
Made of wood rather than plastic, it had textures red bricks on the outside with tall white windows, while the inside was bright, antique wallpaper. McQueen could see three floors, as well as a cramped attic, filling the roof section.
“No.” Mitch said shaking his head adamantly.
“There isn’t something in here?”
McQueen stepped over the abandoned toys and pulled open the doors wider to get a better look. There was a transforming robot currently tucked in the bathtub, as well as a toy car taking a nap in the master bedroom. Crayons had taken up residence in another bedroom, while a broken soldier doll was stuff into the attic. Allowing is eyes to wander over the rooms, McQueen paid more attention to Mitch out of the corner of his eye “This looks like a fun toy to play with. Can I have a look?”
“No, no, no.” Mitch cried tried to close the doors, but McQueen wouldn’t budge his wide shoulders. “No, no, no! You can’t! You can’t!! I promised.” As Mitch’s cries grew louder McQueen could hear the distant thump of foot-steps up the stairs.
He scanned the doll house again. Four rooms downstairs: a hallway, the kitchen, a library and one was a lounge room come dining room. The middle floor was three rooms: a bathroom, and two bedrooms, which repeated on the third floor. Last but no means least, was the attic which was reserved for the maid and the young children’s bedrooms. The broken solider took up all the attic room, while the bedrooms held nothing furniture and the robot took up most of the bathroom. Everywhere was pretty empty except and the longer McQueen looked, he wondered what Mitch could be hiding in here.
With keen eyes, McQueen noticed in the kitchen sat a squat, old fashioned oven with a functioning door and popping slightly out was a piece of paper.
With thunderous steps George, Mary, Hale and Armstrong entered at lightning speed and everyone began shouting at once.
“What the hell is going on in here? What are you doing to my son?” He screamed over everyone else.
Standing briskly, McQueen stepped away from the young boy and in his hand he held three things. One was a bright blue stone wrapped in old looking wax paper, like a hard-boiled sugar sweet. Giving it a fait sniff, McQueen detected sugar and the overpowering smell of something more? A fruit maybe. The other two objects were the same waxy paper, but these were empty.
Holding them up, McQueen faced the family. “Did you give your son these sweets Mr. Bell?” McQueen asked.
“No, I’ve never seen those before. Mary?” He asked but she shook her head coming closer to sooth Mitch.
“You can’t have them. They’re Johnny’s. Give them back.” McQueen’s heart skipped a beat and he quickly pocketed the sweets in an evidence bag he kept just for such an occasion.
“What are they?” Armstrong asked, but neither Hale or McQueen knew. McQueen had a suspicion though.
“We’ll have to search this room for more evidence?” Hale said from the doorway, looking around the room with a reenergizes, wary eye.
“Evidence?” The wife stumbled, and Mitch started to kick wildly. “You think there’s evidence here?”
“There could be.” McQueen sealed the bag tightly. “If they were your son’s and he didn’t get them from you, they could belong to the kidnapper to entice him.” Mr. and Mrs Bell drew in a collective gasp.
“If that is the case, that evidence belongs with me and my case.” Detective Armstrong ordered. “I’ve been assigned Johnny’s case.” McQueen knew what he was doing; pulling case rank, stating under his words his case was more important.
“Actually, Detective Armstrong, the Chief believes our case holds top priority, as I told you before.” Hale spoke up, walking forwards and taking the evidence from McQueen. “If this substance has no correlation to our current case we will of course, pass it on to you. However, until we discover that we will be keeping this.”
“I don’t care who takes them.” Mr. Bell said to no one particular. “Just find Johnny.” He begged.
“Of course, Mr. Bell.” McQueen answered. “We’ll take these and get them tested right away.” But even as McQueen moved to leave, Mitch suddenly thrashed wildly all over again.
“No, you can’t have them! I promised. I promised! Give them back!!” Mitch screamed, making everyone jump.
“Mitch! Calm down.” Mr. Bell ordered. “What do you mean you promised? Promised who?” he asked, but Mitch just continued to squirm.
“He said I could have them when he was done with them. They’re mine. Johnny said they were secret. Give them back!” Mitch ordered
“What…? We didn’t buy him those sweets. We don’t buy them hard boiled sweets.” Mrs. Bell muttered to herself, her voice full of fear. “Where would he get them?”
“Don’t worry Mrs. Bell. We will get to the bottom of this.” McQueen promised, and after soothing the Bell’s worries, McQueen and Hale bid them a-due, only giving Armstrong a passing nod, before making a speedy exit.
Before Hale had even pulled away from the curb, McQueen already had his phone out and was punching in Cassi’s number and luck was on their side, because she picked up after the third ring.
WANDS OF NINE
(Reversed)
Dark thoughts and disturbed feelings.
XI
Echo’s stomach was warm and when she placed her hand on it, furry. Wilson purred peacefully, curling himself into a tighter ball not wanting to be awoken either. Daylight streamed through the large floor-to-ceiling window, and Echo cursed why she had never bought curtains. Then she reminded herself that someone else was sleeping in her bed and sun light wasn’t a problem buried deep under covers.
Groaning Echo tried to rest for a little longer but alas, the skies were burning, the world awaited, and she was ready to make some trouble. Sitting up, Wilson dug his claws in as protest, but slinked off into a shadowed corner when she battered him away. Stretching high, she ran the events of last night ran through her mind.
Never had she known Gala to have bought a bad batch of anything. Even the sushi he imported from Japan that travelled across the globe had always arrived in exquisite condition.
A muffled groan resonated from Echo’s bed as Anna rolled over, her thighs flashing from under the covers. Watching her move, Echo prayed the woman wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t want to deal with being friendly. She’d have to kick the woman out in a few short hours, she imagined that wasn’t going to go down well.
Looking back at the outside world through her window, Echo estimated it was early morning, the sun blazing away above the silhouette of Rippling. She had a few hours to kill before returning at night fall and suddenly she was in the need for some serious retail therapy.
◆◆◆
The sleepy town of Rippling wasn’t huge, but it did lay claim to high end, exclusive boutiques that sold nothing less than the three-figure items and Echo’s latest find, was just stunning. The skirt was fitting, starting at a natural waistline in a vibrant gold, blending down into a thick black frill of oily feathers just above the knee. It was a bit livelier than what Echo normally went for, but then again, she wasn’t going to buy it per-say; why would she, she could simply take?
As Echo scrutinised the skirt out of the corner of her eye, the woman she watched turned and Echo flicked her eyes away. She’d been following a variety of different women shop to shop, checking out what they were wearing, and this woman was her best candidate so far.
Examining the skirt some more, Echo watched how it curved around the woman’s ass and the iridescent feathers gleamed in the shop lights. As she moved, the skirt didn’t stretch or bunch, meaning good quality and it slimmed her legs. Echo wanted that skirt. Yet, stealing it would take a touch of finesse that common folk just didn’t have. Twilight, however had taught her better.
The woman in question wore large designer shades and a one-of-a-kind handbag. She did not do cheap. However, she wore a blouse that hung off her pointed shoulders doing nothing for her outline and a scarf that Echo knew was five seasons old: Twilight had burnt
it. So, a fashionista by money, not knowledge. She bought what was expensive and designer because then she was wearing an expensive, designer outfit. This was the easiest kind of mark to work with.
Moving closer, Echo ignored her completely, slowly passing and plucked a pair of pink heels up to examine. “Ugh. How do they think they can get away with selling off last season’s designs?” Echo huffed loudly under her breath before placing the shoe back down.
As expected, the designer woman twisted her head ever so slightly to take Echo in; who was this mysterious woman who knew of the seasons fashion? Of course, Echo was also dressed for the occasion. Digging to the back of her closet - so deep even Anna hadn’t found it - Echo had pulled out her most expensive clothes. Nothing she wore was less than two-grand.
“Excuse me.” Echo called out, dragging the sales assistant over from where she hovered. “These trousers, when did the come in?”
“Only last week Ms.” The assistant smiled. “It’s the latest winter range. We were one of the few stores to be sent stock.”
“How… interesting.” Echo said, mocking the poor girl. Money meant power, power meant respect and respect meant you could disrespect anyone below you. “And what sizes do you have these in?” The sales assistant rattled off a few numbers and Echo just nodded. Out the corner of her eyes she saw that the designer woman in the gold and black skirt, looking over the same blouse she had been for the past few minutes.
“I’ll take these two trousers – my size - and the three skirts overt there. I also want everything for the recent Winter collection and don’t tell me you don’t have it; I know how big your storage room is.” Echo ordered. “I’ll also take those shoes in all the colours available. Take them to a dressing room and I shall see which I prefer.”
Walking away, Echo could see in one of the many mirrors the woman was still watching her with envy. Good.
Sealing herself in the spacious dressing area with the curtain, Echo couldn’t watch her prey anymore, but she didn’t worry. Five minutes later she heard the ring of metal loops slid from the dressing room next to her and Echo knew her guest of honour had arrived.
Stepping from the dressing room and onto the raised platform, Echo examined herself in the long mirror, turning so she got every angle. The trousers weren’t that bad, high wasted, and fit snuggly around her hips. They looked like they were made from tartan and Echo had no doubt the material was imported. After another few minutes, the woman stepped out of her own dressing room and feigned surprise when, low-and-behold, they were wearing the same trousers.
“My, what great taste we have.” The woman said, walking forwards. The trousers didn’t fit her nearly as well, and they crumpled on the floor because she was too short. She’d need some heels to make up the difference, but Echo was sure she’d just sew up the hem, losing the flow of the trousers.
“Don’t we just.” Echo gave a small smile, staying aloft. Putting the woman at her back, she turned to the assistant. “I want those brown leather boots I saw in the window. Bring me a pair and I liked the handbag to match.” Tuning back round, she didn’t look to see if the assistant left. Echo reeked of money. The assistants would lick the floor if she asked, if she spent her pretty pennies there.
“Umm, yes I do think those boots would look splendid.” The woman chimed in, beaming. She, like Echo, stood on a small pedestal in front of a mirror, but the woman just looked at Echo. “You know, I heard there was sale on in a design shop that had the most stylish accessories. One of my girlfriends just bought the most luxurious scarf.”
“You buy sale items?” Echo scoffed in disgust.
The woman at once saw her mistake and backtracked. “Who, me? No, I would never. I would never buy cheap.” Echo smiled at her, throwing her a bone. “Of course, that’s what I told my friend, and well, she’s not my friend anymore.”
“The poor can never understand. She’d probably keep the tag on it, ‘just in case’.” Echo laughed making sure she kept herself elegant, the woman joining her, slowly reaching a hand up to scratch her neck. That, or to hide the tag that was still attached to her own clothes in the hopes Echo wouldn’t see it.
Giving her hips and twist a few more times, Echo sighed. “No. These just won’t do.” Walking off the pedestal, she turned back to the woman, and smile, like they were fast, best friends. “Don’t you just find the fashion here is so… dreary? I’m finding I have to order from France just to feel like I’m not wearing a paper sack, you know?”
The woman smiled, a look of shame creeping on to her face. “Isn’t it just.” She answered, voice cracking.
“It’s such a shame importing is so expensive. Between you and me, it’s good to have a few friends in low places.” Echo winked and walked into a dressing room, taking her time.
The woman would be busy doing calculations in her head. How much allowance did she have? How much had she already blown? How much was international delivery from France, and could she afford it? How many clothes still had labels that she could return? Who at boarder control could she bribe for a lower price…?
Walking out if the dressing room, her large expensive bag over one shoulder, Echo smile one last time at the woman, drinking in her pale face and shaking hands. What greed she could smell off her, and pride. This woman would do anything to be above the rest, too be as stylish and adored.
“You know, those trousers don’t do you justice. I’d try on something else.” Echo said kindly and without looking back she walked out of the shop, not even pausing to speak to the assistant whose arms were ladened with boots.
As the front shop door closed behind her, the sudden whoosh of air whipping past and one, delicate black feather floated out of her bag and onto the floor. So lost in her own mind, the woman didn't notice Echo enter the wrong dressing room, nor that her clothes were within easy reach on the floor. Swiping them up, Echo had dressed, helping herself to the luxurious feathered skirt and the classy, gold heels to match.
With a wicked smile, Echo kept walking. It was only a few blocks before she found her next target who was wearing the most fabulous woollen coat. She may have already had one similar, but hay, she wasn’t buying.
◆◆◆
Echo’s arms strained under the bags she carried. Unfortunately, her handbag could only hold so much, so eventually she was forced to stop, chat, scoop and walk away with random shopping. She had no idea what was in most of them, but the bags would carry what she did want.
Making her way back to the House was slow as Jacob hadn’t appeared, so she’d been forced to walked. Annoying as it might have been, Echo was happy to bask in the dying light after such a fabulous day.
The sun was just dipping below the houses around her, when a strange unease crept into her bones, but she shrugged it off and continued walking. There were several people passing by, all making their own way, and many gave her envious glares. But she happily ignored them and was about halfway home when suddenly, the unease amplified. She tried to shake it off, but her ears were pricked up to listen and her steps had automatically slowed. Turning, she did some windows shopping, admiring an ugly knitted scarf, when really, she looked to the reflections to see who was around.
Most people were late shoppers huddled against the cold, Christmas presents clutched in their arms or take away coffee pulled tight to their chest. She checked the darkened doorsteps and alleyways, but at this distance couldn’t see much. Staying alert, she kept walking but as she did, the crowds thined out and as the sun lowered itself into the earth streetlights started to blink on like lazy teens, and Echo, despite all her brave talk, stuck to the light. She might not fear the dark, but that didn’t mean there weren’t unsightly things in it.
The foot falls behind kept pace, but then so did the footsteps over the road. Glancing back, Echo crossed to the other side while using the time to examine who was behind her. It was a tall man, thin, with a briefcase in one hand and a long woollen coat pulled tight around his face. He checked his watch and sped up
, crossing with her. Stepping out the way, Echo tensed ready for any move made, but breathed when he just moved on past.
