A Rift in Space and Crime

by R E McLean

  She hoped not to find out. The prospect of visiting other universes than Silicon City excited her, and filled her with an urge to run down to the MIU and hop straight into the Spinner. But going back there didn’t tempt her.

  Lacey cast her a sidelong glance. She grinned. Alex gave her a smile in return. Smart kid.

  Mike was next to her, wearing his police uniform. He’d shaved his bushy golden beard but it was returning already. He kept scratching at it, fingernails rasping on his chin.

  “Hey.”

  Sarita appeared behind them. She slid in between Alex and Mike, her movements fluid, her eyes on the crowd.

  “Well done,” she muttered. “Sorry I wasn’t much help.”

  “Smile!” one of the photographers called. Alex gritted her teeth.

  Sarita grabbed Alex’s hand. “I mean it. You did a great job.” She squeezed. She leaned in toward Alex, their shoulders touching.

  Alex felt the skin on her arm shift, like a ripple running along her skin. Sarita’s hand was warm, her skin soft.

  She pulled her hand away. “Thank you.”

  She shifted away from Sarita and toward Monique, who frowned at her then took a step sideways. Alex forced herself not to look at Sarita.

  Sarita shuffled to follow her. “Don’t be like that. Please.” She fumbled for her hand. Alex held her fingers rigid.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea who you are,” she muttered.

  “I’m Sarita Jones. From Michigan.” She paused. “Only lesbian in my school.”

  Alex turned her head. Their eyes were inches apart. She held Sarita’s gaze, her heart pounding.

  “Which school? Not one three thousand miles east of where I was born.”

  “No, but—”

  Alex pulled her hand away and clutched it in the other.

  “Leave it, Sarita. Just leave it.”

  70

  Star Trek

  Rik sat on Alex’s couch, watching an old episode of Star Trek and eating pizza. Schrödinger sat next to him, rubbing up against his thighs in between eyeing the pizza. Alex’s dad was asleep in the chair by the window, an empty packet of potato chips about to slide off his lap.

  Rik ruffled the fur between Schrödinger’s ears. “So where have you been all this time?”

  “I told you. Working. Advising the police.”

  “You were working on a court case. Expert witness, or something. I thought that was done. And what about that Mike guy?”

  “Mike?”

  Alex tried to remember how much she’d told Rik. It was harder dealing in half-truths than complete lies.

  “Yeah. The one who went missing.”

  “Shush.” She eyed her dad. The bag of chips was on the floor now, spilling its contents. Duncan had dropped his head back in his sleep and was presenting a wide open mouth to the ceiling. She briefly considered throwing a chip into it.

  “Mike’s fine,” she muttered. “He was at the press conference with me.”

  “Ah. And that gorgeous woman who kept sidling up to you. What’s her name?”

  “None of your business.”

  He laughed. “Indeed. Well, I hope she treats you right.”

  He stood up, making Schrödinger meow loudly. He bent to grab a potato chip and swallowed it. “I need to head home. Kate’s out tonight, and it’s all hands on deck to get the kids in any sort of state where I can deal with them on my own.”

  Alex shrugged. “Good luck.”

  “You can join me if you want. Pizza and Trek on my couch?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “I think I do.”

  “Nah. Not a clue.”

  He dusted remains of the pizza off his hands and grabbed his jacket. As he swung it over his shoulders, Alex’s phone rang.

  “Just a minute.”

  It was an unfamiliar number, but a Scottish one.

  “Hello?”

  “Alex, hen. How are ye?”

  “Auntie Morag? How are you?” She waved at Rik to leave, hating herself. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch. Are you still in hospital?”

  “Aye. They’re letting me out in the morning though.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Hmm. Not so sure how I’m going to get my knickers on for myself, with my arm in a sling.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry, Auntie.”

  “Don’t worry yourself. You’re thousands of miles away, what can you do? It’s a tonic to hear your voice.”

  “You too. I’m really sorry about what happened to you.”

  “That’s what I’m calling you about. I wanted to get you here, from the hospital, without my daughters breathing down my neck.”

  Alex thought of her five cousins: Aileen, Saoirse, Rhona, Netta and Iona. They were all flame-haired like her, with personalities as big as that of their mother. Alex was terrified of them.

  “Auntie, what happened? Did you fall or something?”

  “Duncan not told ye?”

  “No. Sorry. Jetlag.”

  “Tell me about it. It’s the wee hours here. I had to creep out of my bed while that damn nurse wasn’t looking.”

  “So what happened?”

  “They attacked me, hen.”

  “Who did?”

  “Two men. Broke in through the kitchen window wearing balaclavas. Looked right stupid, they did.”

  “Oh, god. Did they hurt you? Sorry, stupid question.”

  “They broke my arm. Gave me a few bruises. Nothing an old bird like me can’t handle.”

  “I’ll come home. I’ll bring Dad.”

  “Don’t be daft, lass. I saw ye on the telly. You’ve got your own things to be getting on with.”

  “I mean it, Morag. If you need me, just say the word.”

  “I know you do. And I appreciate it. But I wanted to tell you about the men. I can’t tell your dad. He’d go ballistic, start knocking doors down.”

  Alex couldn’t imagine her dad ever knocking a door down but she let it drop.

  “What, Auntie? What about them?”

  “They knew what they were looking for, hen. They were very specific, you might say.”

  “Money?”

  “Ha! As if I keep money in the house. No. It was a jewelry box. Locked up tight. No key.”

  Alex imagined the jewelry Morag would be keeping. Gifts from Uncle Hamish. Family heirlooms.

  “Did they take anything special?”

  “That’s just it. I’ve no idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I never opened the box.”

  “Auntie, you’re making no sense.”

  “Sorry, hen. It’s two o’clock in the morning. My brain’s like blancmange.” She chuckled. “Or maybe it’s always like blancmange.”

  “Why didn’t you open the box? Did you lose the key?”

  “I never had it.”

  Alex glanced at her dad, who was snoring. This was making no sense.

  “Morag, what was it they took? What was in this box?”

  “I don’t know what was in the box, hen. Your Ma gave it to me. Before she died.”

  “Before she died?”

  This would make sense if Alex’s mum had died from a long illness; distributing valuables, passing things on to loved ones. But Heather’s death had been sudden, unexpected.

  “She gave it to me a week before she died. She told me to keep it safe. That she had the key.”

  “So Dad’s got the key now?”

  “I’m not sure, dear. What were we talking about?”

  “The box. The jewelry box Mum gave you before she died.”

  “Ah, yes. She told me to guard it with my life. I thought she was talking nonsense, she liked to do that.”

  Alex felt tears running down her face. She wiped her cheek.

  “They took it, Alex. The box and nothing else.”

  Alex nodded, then realized Morag couldn’t hear her.

  “I’m sorry.”

&n
bsp; “I think it was important, lass. I think that was why they went for your mum. Why they came for me.”

  “Are you sure it’s not just valuable? Maybe they thought they’d sell it.”

  “It’s made of tin, lass. But it does do this odd thing.”

  “It does something?”

  “Mmm. I’ve never told your dad. He’d laugh at me. But it’s got animals engraved into it. Cats. Mice.”

  Alex looked at Schrödinger. He was washing his paw, oblivious. “What does it do?”

  “Well…”

  “Go on.”

  “You won’t think I’m daft?”

  “No.” Morag had no idea what Alex did and didn’t count as daft these days.

  “Well, the cats. They disappear. When you don’t look at them. They vanish. And the next day, they’re back again.”

  Alex felt her skin go cold. “I’m coming home, Morag.”

  Read about Schrödinger’s Exploits - free and exclusive

  Schrödinger is a very special cat. When he gets in his box, you never know if he’ll be alive or dead. He’s worked out quantum tunneling by slamming into walls. And his stomach is so big it’s got a portal to another universe.

  Find out more in DIARY OF A QUANTUM CAT.

  Free and exclusive at multiverse-investigations.com/diary.

  Copyright © 2020 by RE McLean

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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