The Gadgeteer Box Set

by Gin Hollan

  Then, or concurrently, she wanted to find that pesky reporter kid, Larry. He would have photos from when he tailed them last night. He might even have images of some of the people coming and going from that area of town. She wanted to commission him to stay and watch the strange neighbourhood, taking pictures of anyone going in there and writing down how long they stayed. And he could tell her in English, what his note said in Spanish.

  That was the start of her list, now that she'd had a night to rest. She also wanted to find out where Hicks had gone yesterday, what clue he'd chased. Sure, he took off like that now and then. They both did. Usually it made sense, though.

  "Arabeth." Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts. "Focus here."

  Her sister, Maralise, sat on a large, stuffed beige floral chair in the sitting room. Carol fiddled with a small hand purse she held in her lap. Her sister stood and paced along the far wall, wearing her favourite lavender dress - the one she wore when she needed courage. Arabeth wasn't sure if she should be nervous or happy. When the two came in focused on their own problems, they usually required money to fix them. Arabeth had that.

  "Take a husband," Carol said.

  "What?" She whispered the word, moving from irritated to angry in a flash. "You want me to do what?"

  "Hear her out." Maralise held up one perfectly manicured nail.

  "I'm sorry about Matthew, but think of this as a second chance. I've set up a formal dinner with the region's most eligible bachelors, not just men from this city. I have, of course, invited ladies of powerful families as well."

  Arabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her mother had an angle, always. Politics stood at her core. Reopening her eyes, she looked directly at Maralise. The two sisters weren't close, and things like this didn't help.

  "I'm not interested. And I wouldn't marry a stranger anyway."

  "But, you are open to the idea of marrying again. That's hopeful," Maralise responded.

  Her heart clenched. Was she walking into one of her mother's traps? She'd better just go along with plan one. The other stages of the trap inevitably got worse as she tried to wiggle free, having her own words used against her.

  "Fine. Have a dinner party, invite them all and I'll attend. Then we drop the subject. Forever." She stood up and took her mother's teacup to the sink. "Please excuse me. I have things that need my attention and this pointless conversation is over," Arabeth said, trying to keep her anger out of her voice. "I will meet these men, but I will not pick from amongst them at the end of the meal like an auction. This is dinner only. If anyone strikes my fancy, I'll let you know."

  "Remember what is at stake," her mother scolded.

  It was time for Arabeth to nail this coffin shut. "And if you try this again, I'll marry Hicks or join the military."

  She should have said that at the start, she thought, even if using Hicks this way did feel a little distasteful. Hopefully he'd be willing to play along until her family gave up. She knew he wasn't interested in her that way, but he was a good friend.

  The military was only a half-threat. It was her back-up plan, if everything in her life took a turn for the desperate.

  A flash of anger crossed both her mother and sister's faces. Her mother's expression she understood, but what was up with Maralise?

  "You're always with that man. Samuel Hicks. What makes him so worthy of your time? Looks are not everything, sister," Maralise snapped. "And if he was interested, wouldn't he have said so by now?"

  "What's it to you? Is someone paying you to marry me off?" Arabeth countered.

  Startled, her mother stood. "You will attend the dinner with the sobriety the occasion demands. If you do not remarry well, your sister will be unable to find a good match. The premature and awkward death of Matthew has tainted us all."

  Arabeth stood and turned away. Awkward? No, her husband’s death hadn't been awkward. It was the things she'd kept secret that made it awkward. His willingness to bed every skirt but her, for example.

  "You can see yourselves out." She stomped to her bedroom, to the foot of her bed. She had set Marble there last night and the little fox had barely moved after settling in. Even now she lay almost completely still as Arabeth pet her.

  Her anger settled at first contact with Marble and she gave a slight smile.

  "You must be hungry, or thirsty at least." She went and filled a set of food and water dishes, then carried them over. Lifting them up one at a time, she held them near. Marble brightened enough to eat and drink, but then tucked her head in to sleep again.

  Arabeth was torn. Getting on with her investigation and away from her mother and sister was priority two compared to tending to Marble. Getting her satchel, she emptied it and lay a folded towel in the bottom. Hopefully Marble wouldn't mind being luggage. It simply didn't seem right to leave her alone right now. She needed a fox-sitter. Maybe Marble could stay with Melanie for the time being.

  "Arabeth Carly Barnes. You have to take this seriously," her mother said from the bedroom doorway. "This is bigger than just yourself. Our family counts on you, not just your father."

  Arabeth spun around, glaring, but bit her tongue. There was no way she was getting herded into another empty marriage. "And what about Maralise? There is no way Matthew's death has an impact on her prospects. We both know that is an excuse. She wants to live a selfish life, looking after no one but herself."

  Her mother looked startled but said nothing.

  "I'm serious. She is perfectly marriageable, whether you believe she has the temperament for it or not."

  "We are not discussing that."

  "Then we are not discussing my theoretical next marriage." She picked up Marble and set her on her shoulder. "Not until Maralise has been married as long as I was. I'm thirty now and I get to decide this." She pushed past her mother, looking into the kitchen. Maralise was ignoring the conversation, her habit being to ignore all forms of conflict until she could gain some advantage by joining in. Maybe marriage wasn't right for Maralise, to be honest, but this was wrong. Dead wrong.

  Her mother sputtered a few words as Arabeth walked away.

  Fast. Get out fast, she thought as she rushed to the outside door and put her boots on. No, she wasn't ready to leave, having left her satchel contents on the floor next to Marble's bed, but her mother knew all of Arabeth's hot buttons. If she didn't hurry away, odds were high that she'd say other things her mother would find more shocking … and more useful as leverage.

  Again her mother blocked the path, face stern. "Arabeth."

  Suddenly Arabeth remembered a more important topic. This was as good a time as any to pass on bad news.

  "Mom," she paused for effect. "Have you heard about Betsy?"

  "What? Why bring her up, all of a sudden?"

  Arabeth's heart sank. It could wait. She could tell her later, when it didn't seem a mean way to dodge a conversation.

  "Speak now, while you have a chance, child."

  "It's just that…. A police constable told me yesterday. She's … been killed."

  Her mother's already pale complexion washed nearly translucent and her hands started to shake. Immediately contrite, Arabeth took her by the arm and guided her to the kitchen so she could sit.

  "I'm sorry for being so blunt. A man attacked her in a shop, over a minor disagreement. Can you tell Aunt and Uncle? They'll want a funeral, I'm sure."

  Entering the room, Maralise looked at her mother first, then Arabeth.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, finally turning from the outside window. She’d apparently been so lost in thought she hadn't heard Arabeth's outburst.

  "Mother can explain," she said softly as she left the room.

  She threw her boots on, eager to get away. She shouldn't have been so abrupt. She'd apologize later.

  The door lock set to automatic so it would close behind her forgetful family. She had to move beyond the ridiculous conversation with those two. The police station was the best source of news; she'd go there. Surely
she'd find out something about the attacks and be able to help investigate. Melanie always shared news.

  // Chapter 9 //

  MELANIE WAS NOT AT work. A near-elderly woman with a name tag reading "Helen" was filling the job. Helen didn't know why Melanie was gone, or for how long. Where was Hicks? Why wasn't he in either? Arabeth requested a look at the logbook. The woman slid it over with a shrug, then went to do some filing.

  Five more violent attacks had been reported but no one was arrested. Why? She looked over at Helen and saw her fighting to close a crooked file cabinet drawer on the other side of her work area. Melanie was Arabeth's closest friend; if she had plans to go away, Arabeth would know … but she didn't. With the recent violence, that worried her.

  Better to not interrupt, she thought. She'd find a beat cop instead. They were usually happy to talk shop. She set an envelope in her usual spot at the end of the counter nearest the wall, almost hidden by a coat rack currently full of wet weather gear before leaving.

  It would be pure luck to find Larry along the way, and right now she wanted that luck to help with other things.

  As she walked the five blocks to Melanie's apartment, she opened the satchel flap so Marble could get fresh air and look out if she wanted. There had to be something she could do to help Marble recover. What was even wrong? Last time the fox was feeling worn out, cheese helped. Maybe that was all she needed? She wouldn't sulk this long.

  As they went, Arabeth kept an eye out for a deli or restaurant. It wasn't long before she found one and procured a piece of cheese. She watched as Marble took nibbles, then licked her lips. In the craziness of all that was going on, taking care of Marble, even just with a small piece of cheese, gave her peace.

  Immediately, Marble sat up and looked out, seeming a lot more lively now. A wave of relief washed through Arabeth, energizing her.

  She felt like she could almost fly down the last stretch of sidewalk to Melanie's apartment complex. As she approached, there was a small crowd gathered in a loose semi-circle in front, almost blocking the entrance. Two men sat on wooden chairs on the sidewalk, while a third moved his hands through the hair of one of them. Arabeth couldn’t quite hear what he was saying.

  She casually walked around the outside of the circle of watchers, not really curious. They blocked her path and there didn't seem to be a way through. Judging by the crowd's rapt attention to the men, disturbing them didn't seem like a wise choice.

  "And as you see, the simple, unique pattern of your skull can tell us about your past, your proclivities, and to some degree, your future."

  Was that man serious?

  "Phrenology is not real science," Arabeth said, not caring who heard her. Marble ducked back down into the satchel, but didn't seem worried. Arabeth rubbed the top of the fox's head a couple times, wishing she'd bought some extra cheese for her, or maybe a bit of fish.

  "For any that don't believe this is a true science," the man called out, looking her way but not quite at her, "you can find the facts at 283 Bishops Drive, South Porterville. I invite all skeptics." He moved his hands again, to a new spot on the man's head. "You had a fall when you were a child. To this day, you have trouble talking under stress. I can fix that."

  "Nut. I think this city may be losing its collective mind, Marble," she muttered and turned to find another way in.

  Melanie lived on the third floor. It was built to accommodate six renters across five storeys, so the stairs were sized for efficient yet comfortable climbing. At least, they were comfortable if you were a six-foot-tall male.

  Three flights of stairs were not a problem, but every step jostled Marble a bit, eliciting a whimper by the time Arabeth neared the top. She opened her bag to check on Marble and the fox licked her face as she propped her paws out of the satchel to look out.

  Finding door 31, Arabeth knocked. No answer. She placed her ear to the door and she listened. There was some muffled scraping, like furniture being dragged around.

  That was odd. Combined with Melanie's uncharacteristic absences from work, it was cause for concern. Maybe she should get the building manager to open the door.

  "Sorry Marble, we have to go get the manager." She wondered if Marble had a headache after her trauma yesterday. Were there painkillers for foxes? She'd have to ask a veterinarian.

  Partway down the stairs, she met the building manager. Grey-haired, middle-aged and only mildly sour, he was a good man. At least, that had been Arabeth’s impression the few times she'd encountered him. Half the time their meeting involved Melanie holding something in place that had fallen or broken or been plugging a leaking thing, while Arabeth went to get help.

  "Mr. Cardall, I was just looking for you. Can you let me into Melanie's apartment? Something's not right."

  "Funny you should say that. I was headed there."

  His master key unlocked the door easily enough, but something was blocking it. He put his shoulder to it and pushed the door open wide enough to go in through the gap sideways. Arabeth followed him, careful not to wedge Marble between herself and the door.

  "Melanie," Arabeth called out. "Where are you?"

  "You should go." It was Melanie's voice, all right, but there was an uneasy edge to it.

  Arabeth followed the direction of the voice. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on. Do you need a doctor?"

  "I'm here too, miss. What is going on here? Why is this place destroyed?"

  "I can't seem to help myself." The fear in Melanie’s voice was painful to listen to. A desperation wove through it, unlike anything Arabeth had heard before.

  Arabeth caught sight of her friend from behind a barely open door.

  "I just want to know if you are all right. Do you need a doctor?"

  "I need to get out of here, but I'm not safe," Melanie said.

  "How do you mean you're not safe?" Arabeth asked. "I can get you out the back. There was no one in the alley near the back entrance."

  Melanie let out a long shriek, reminding Arabeth of the banshee legend. The sound of breaking glass startled her and she stepped back from the door. Ah, she means she's the one who's dangerous.

  Arabeth checked Marble to make sure the screaming wasn't bothering her. The fox was calm; napping, it seemed.

  Mr. Cardall walked up, his expression dark.

  "I'm afraid I can't stand for this. She's damaging the apartment. If you can't help her, she's headed for the sanitarium. She is clearly not in her right mind."

  "Wait, wait." Arabeth looked around frantically, hoping to find a way to restrain Melanie amongst the mess. A sheet, wrapped tight, fashioned into a makeshift straightjacket might work for a while, but where would they go? "Mr. Cardall, can you disperse the crowd out front and get us a cab? Really, they shouldn't be doing their huckstering there, right? This is a residential area."

  "I've tried, but even the constables won't touch them. It's eerie." He ducked as a small decorative figure flew past his head. "But I'll try again."

  "Odd. Someone must have warned them off," Arabeth said. Harbertrope came to mind. She didn't have proof, but she was sure he was the sort to accept a hefty enough bribe. He played the political game, too, exchanging favours and the like.

  "Why would the police not take them away, or tell them to use another location, with one of their own in this very building?" he complained.

  "Could be a specific address was never given when they got permission. It would be sloppy, but it happens."

  He nodded. "Well, I hope someone sorts this out soon. I'm getting people threatening to move out."

  "Who owns this building?"

  "Crandon Ash, of Halsbrook. He's about an hour west by horse." Mr. Cardall rubbed an ear with his fingertips. "I sent a letter, but there's been no response yet. That was last week I sent it."

  "How often is that man out front?"

  "Twice a day, for about an hour or so. That two hours is more than enough time to get people riled up. He's here during high-traffic times, like coming and goi
ng from and to work."

  Suddenly Melanie slammed and opened the bedroom door several times in a row, shaking whichever pictures were still on the wall and shelves in the small living room adjacent.

  "Melanie, what's going on?" Arabeth called out.

  "I can hear it."

  "What is it? What do you hear?" Arabeth hoped she was loud enough for Melanie to hear her.

  "I'll be going now, Mrs. Dane. Be careful dealing with her. I'll give you until nightfall to get her calmed down," said Mr. Cardall.

  Nightfall was still hours off, but she needed more information. A quick search of the apartment led to a lot of picking things up, sweeping broken fragments into a trash bin, and hiding other breakables. After an hour, she still hadn't found anything to adapt, and was resigned to the idea of using a lamp wire to bind Melanie's hands and a large coat to conceal her identity as they travelled. But where would they go? If only she had a tranquilizer, just enough to calm her friend.

  Looking out a window, she saw the street had finally cleared. Mr. Cardall had said they were only around for about an hour.

  "It's clear outside now, Melanie. The man is gone," she said. "Would you like to get out of here, maybe go to my place for a while?"

  "He's waiting for me," she whimpered. "I've tried to leave before, but he's waiting."

  Arabeth looked outside again, not seeing the phrenology practitioner, or where he'd be concealed.

  "We'll give you a disguise, and if he is there, I'll slap an iron on his wrists so fast he won't see it coming," she lied. She had to.

  Melanie peeked out, looking like she'd lived in the worst part of a hurricane for several days. She may not need a disguise, looking like that, but she'd get stoned if she did, for being insane and potentially contagious. These were irrational days, since the violence had started.