The Gadgeteer

by Gin Hollan

  But no. That was her house. This was her town. She was not moving. Not running. And God help either of them if they turned up on her doorstep. First things first. Mr. Jacobs was on foot. She'd beat him back to her cousin's house. If Melanie was there, she'd quit looking into the hospital. Military secrets weren't her thing, and she wanted no part in it.

  Her best male friend had deceived her, hiding from her the fact that her husband was actually alive, and there they were standing around, casually talking about war coming. With her standing right outside the building, completely unaware.

  How long had Hicks known Matthew was alive? Yes, her loveless marriage had been a joke, but she deserved to know. Matthew had ignored everything about her except her projects, constantly asking what new thing she had in mind. Then, when three women showed up at his funeral, one of them very pregnant, claiming he was their husband, her feelings of self-loathing vapourized, replaced with a guilty gratefulness that he was dead.

  It was more than a bit of a shock to the system, to have these women file past her and explain their relationship to him. He'd never taken the physical privilege due him by right of marriage. She’d thought he might actually prefer the company of men until then. And now, on top of it all, he wasn't dead. He had some nerve.

  Right now, with a complete sense of betrayal crushing her chest as she gasped and wept through alternating moments of rage and denial, what really hurt was Hicks. They'd been friends forever, it felt like. Ever since grade school. He was her primary support.

  If he knew her husband wasn't dead, why keep it a secret? The humiliation deepened when she remembered their conversations in the years following the funeral, how comforting he tried to be, and how he said she'd heal. She'd rip him a new gap the next time he dared show his face.

  Suddenly, she sat upright. There was a better revenge. She would be to them as heartless as they were to her. Lock them out of her life, but do it in such a way as to make them think they were inconsequential to her. Yes, it was childish, but it was also the only way to ever leave this house again. The only way to walk with her chin up. Publicly, she would laugh and work, and get on with living. She might even pretend to date, accepting invitations from every suitor her mother directed her way. But the real priority was that she had a mystery to solve, after all. Something was damaging the citizens of this town. Her town. She'd ask her mother to set her up with someone who understood the science behind short- and long-wave radio, maybe someone with a keen understanding of the chemistry of the brain.

  And really, all this melodrama didn't suit her, she thought. When had she ever let either man mean this much to her? After she went home with her new husband the first time and slowly, crushingly realized he didn't want a wife, just access to her grandfather's estate and gadgets.... After that, no man held meaning to her. Not romantically.

  Her first duty was to herself, then to the people of this city—to the Betsy Marshes and those driven mad by radio waves. They needed her. If it was all part of a secret military experiment, she'd see to it that the highest level of authority found out and make sure they were held responsible. 'How disappointingly clichéd,' she'd say when she next spoke of the incident. Then she'd let it go.

  She stood and stretched from side to side, smiling a raw, unnatural smile. This one would have curdled milk. Pity the arrogant one who got in her way. The anger helped. It helped her stand. It helped her focus. Now she needed a plan. She mentally drew a goal box. Anything that didn't fit in that box was turfed. In the box she placed three words: protect, uncover, and reveal.

  She had people she needed to protect. Friends and family. She wanted to find out why her husband had faked his death, but that might work against those she wanted to protect, so she dropped it into a different mental box, to follow up on later. Much later. Maybe it didn't even matter, she thought. She'd chat with a lawyer later. Hicks knew about Matthew, so odds were the police were in on it too. Some kind of undercover thing, maybe.

  Next item: uncover. Her goal there hadn't changed—find out what was making normally self-controlled people break out in fits of rage and hurt others. That complemented the first and third items as well, so it was her highest priority, she decided.

  What about 'reveal'? She sighed, leaning back. Reveal the truth about what was happening, but to whom? She'd have to figure out who in authority to tell. Logic said she should forget Harbertrope's opinion of her and take whatever evidence she found to him, but the lack of trust was reciprocal.

  She closed her eyes, focusing on nothing, and let her mind wander. There had to be something she could do about Harbertrope. Some way to get her message through unaltered. Suddenly it hit her: What if Hicks had poisoned his opinion of her? He wouldn't do that, would he? Were they still sort of friends, now that she knew the truth? No, stop that, she scolded herself. Stop making excuses for him. You're better off alone, anyway.

  What about that secret wall in the hospital? If she went with a lantern this time, she might find it. But no. They'd be expecting her, and being stupid was not her preferred course of action.

  She ought to treat this like any bounty, as another criminal she wanted to track down. Discover everything she could about their personal proclivities—both habits and new patterns, known associates, where they called home and who they called friends. The problem at this point was that she didn't know who to investigate.

  Was it one person, or a group of people? She cleared her workshop table, planning to lay the map out. There had to be a pattern to the things she and Hicks had mapped out ... but hold on. All her information had come from Hicks. She was tempted to tear the map up, frustrated by the sudden dead end. No, wait. If he was steering her to all the wrong spots, she would go into the marks, instead of the gaps. She'd gotten lucky discovering strange buildings in the city's southwest, and Hicks had tried to steer her away.

  "That's not a proper plan." She sighed. She had to get Melanie to safety. Now.

  // Chapter 12 //

  At her cousin's place, all the locks were recently changed and the basement windows barred. She didn't want Mr. Jacobs to know she was here. How would she get Melanie's attention through all that? Arabeth climbed up on the edge of a tall flower bed and stood up on tiptoes to see through one of the windows. Even early in the morning, there should have been some help, but the interior was dark and the vaulted ceilings made it look like a cave. Would sound echo if she tossed a rock at the window?

  Jumping back down, she looked for a smooth pebble. Picking up several, she threw the first one, satisfied that it made a loud enough sound when it hit. She waited a moment before throwing the second one.

  A quick motion from a nearby window caught her attention. Squinting, she recognized Melanie. Relief washed through her. She had to get her out of this place, maybe hide her at her own house until she found somewhere more suitable. She wasn't sure Melanie would be comfortable in a strange house full of contraptions and locked doors. It wasn't like she hadn't visited before, but it was always different to live in a place. Even for a week.

  A moment later Melanie came flying out the front door.

  "Tell me you have a solution," she said. "I can't stay here. It's just too odd, and it's not just Mr. Jacobs. There are sounds in the night that I can't explain. It keeps me up and I'm becoming delusional from lack of sleep."

  With a smile, Arabeth took her friend's hand. "Let's get you out of here. There have been some developments you need to know about. You're not going crazy; there's a radio signal that is getting into people's heads."

  "I knew you'd figure it out. Tell me as we go." Melanie started jogging to the street, looking for a cab. Arabeth walked over, leading her horse.

  "You don't expect me to ride that, do you?" Melanie looked intimidated.

  Her reaction caused Arabeth to laugh. "You're not actually scared of a horse, with everything else that is going on in your life, are you? I mean, this is Kate."

  "Kate? The horse that only lets you ride it, you mean?"
r />   Arabeth wrinkled her nose. "Only strangers get bucked off. She knows you."

  "Barely."

  "Fine." She pulled out the brown leather pilot's hat she had originally brought for Hicks. "Wear this. It'll protect you, and I'll explain later. Trust me?"

  Melanie nodded. She took the hat and pulled it down tight over her head, strapping it on.

  "I don't care what it looks like with this dress," she said, noticing Arabeth's smirk. "I'll get a pantsuit from home another day."

  "You, in a suit?" Arabeth was grinning again. "I'll call the photographer."

  "Adapt or die." She sighed.

  Arabeth hoped these weren't what qualified as desperate times. The cab pulled up and Arabeth climbed on Kate and followed behind them. She had to get her runners out gathering information. How could she do that when she was also getting Melanie settled? If she could spot one of them, they could pass the word to the others.

  As if by willpower, Bernie appeared, walking down the sidewalk to her right. She veered her horse over and walked beside him. Marble noticed and followed her.

  "Bernie," she called out. "Hey, kid, come here."

  Bernie laughed as he crossed to her. "We're the same age, you know."

  "You're kidding, right? I've got to be older by at least five years. Maybe ten."

  He kept walking, so she kept riding.

  "That hospital … what do you know about it?"

  "Not much beyond the note, missus. I am on the track of something big, though."

  "Oh?" she prompted, hoping he'd share.

  "I'll catch up with you later, Mrs. Dane. Or do you go by your maiden name again?" he said with a sideways wink.

  She made a scoffing sound. "I go by Arabeth and you know that."

  "Society would skewer me if they overheard. We're not allowed to be friends, remember."

  "Whatever. Catch up with me soon? It's important. The money will be very good on this one."

  "Which means there's also a good amount of danger. My favourite kind." He turned and tipped his cap to Arabeth before jogging off.

  Arabeth spun slowly, looking for Melanie's cab, sure it couldn't have gotten that far ahead already.

  "Pick up your feet, Kate. We need to catch up." She gave Kate a slight squeeze, cuing her to speed up. She shook off the feeling that Bernie showing up like that was anything but coincidence.

  Arabeth caught up to the cab just as it stopped in front of her house, and tossed the front door key to Melanie as she rode past, into her fenced backyard. She'd have to take Kate back to her parents’ stables once Melanie was settled. This dismal day had certainly lived up to her expectations. It was barely afternoon and she was already wishing it was over. She took an extra minute, brushing Kate and taking her bridle off. Melanie knew her way around the house anyway.

  As she went inside, she picked up the mail that had been dropped through the mail slot over the last few days. There was a newspaper in there too, so she took it with her to read while she waited. A curious thing had been happening. Her husband's obituary notice was being reprinted once a week by an anonymous person. She had called the newspaper and told them to stop printing it but they said as long as the ad was paid for, they didn't really see a reason to stop.

  It was there again. Angry, Arabeth considered breaking into the newspaper office once it was closed at night to find out who was buying the ad. She had to make them stop. What did they have to gain by doing this?

  "You're headed out again," Melanie said as she walked up and sat at the kitchen table where Arabeth was quickly writing out a list of things she needed to know.

  Arabeth nodded. "When Bernie stops by, would you give him this pouch, please?" Now that Melanie was safe, she wanted to find Hicks and get a straight answer out of him. This whole situation was unacceptable. He had to know that.

  Melanie took the pouch. "How do you know Bernie is...? Never mind. Where are you headed off to?"

  "Just some errands. There should be lots of food here, and you know where to find things to do."

  "I think I'm just going to sleep. I haven't had two hours in a row of solid sleep for days now."

  "You don't need to leave the hat on in here.

  Melanie placed her hands on top of her head. "Oh no, this stays on at all times. It may be a placebo, but I'm feeling a lot clearer, mentally. I could go back to work tomorrow in this thing, if wearing it didn't bring a psychiatric evaluation."

  "It is a little odd. It's small enough, though. You could put a different hat over top."

  "I'll consider that tomorrow. Bernie will ring the doorbell, won't he?"

  "Of course."

  "Good. Don't worry. I'll get up and give him the pouch when he does." She turned and walked towards the guest bedroom, waving a hand as she did.

  Just then the doorbell rang. Opening the door, Arabeth nearly laughed at who stood there. Again, almost on cue, Bernie tipped his hat.

  "Are you following me?" Arabeth asked, half kidding.

  "I rearranged my schedule. What's this bit of business you have for me?" He stepped inside and took off his shoes.

  Arabeth hesitated, not sure she should say anything in front of Melanie. "You can go rest, Mel. Bernie and I have a few things to talk over."

  Melanie walked back into the room. "Hello, Bernie." She tossed him the pouch and left again.

  "Here's a list of questions I need answered and who to ask. The faster the answers come, the higher the pay, so get your friends involved."

  Bernie looked it over. "This is all fine. There is something I wanted to talk to you about, though."

  Arabeth's heart jumped just a little bit. Things went weird every time this guy volunteered information. "I'm not sure I'm ready for more surprises."

  "How long have we known each other now? It's been a year and a half, right? I've done a lot of jobs for you, and you've always found me reliable."

  "Are you aiming for a pay raise?"

  Bernie chuckled. "No, you already pay well enough. Your friend, Detective Hicks, wants to meet you over dinner at the restaurant in the Crystal Moon. If I can say, I'm not sure it's wise to do so. You are single again, and reputation is everything in this city. If I am out working for you, it'll be harder to get cooperation if people think the police are involved."

  "So, my eating food in public with Hicks will be bad for your business, you're saying."

  "Word travels." Bernie nodded. "In a public place, it is. Especially one as busy as the Crystal Moon."

  Arabeth looked down at her hands, thinking. She had to make her private detective job work out, so what was with the hesitation? There were a lot of things to discuss with him, and a public place kept them both in check.

  "All right, Bernie. You're good at judging those things, so I'll trust you. Tell him that if he really wants to talk, he knows where to find me."

  Bernie looked relieved, at least to her eye.

  "Better?" she asked.

  He nodded. "And how are we to address you now? Are you still Mrs. Dane?"

  She didn't want to go by her husband's name anymore. Not now and never again. He didn't deserve that respect. He wasn't even dead. He'd ... faked his death and disappeared.

  "Bernie...." Should she get him involved? "What do you know about my husband's death?"

  "Not much, Miss— I mean, Arabeth. He fell down an empty salt shaft, falling over 100 feet to his death; slipped on a safety hazard and that was the end."

  She nodded. "That's the story I was given, too. Gruesome, and it made the body unidentifiable."

  "Story?" Bernie asked.

  She nodded. "I'm not sure, but yesterday I saw and heard someone who reminded me so much of him...."

  Bernie looked directly into her eyes, serious. "Where, and when?"

  "Don't think I'm crazy…." She looked away.

  "Facts are facts. I'll get you some; then we'll both know." He winked.

  "The hospital you mentioned. It's abandoned, but not really. Someone is in there, working, but I'
m not sure what kind of work. When he spoke, and by his profile, he reminded me so much of my husband that it shocked me."

  "Does he have siblings?"

  "Siblings? One brother. I suppose it's more likely that was him, but he's not from this area. He would let me know if he was to be in the area, I think. Then again, we no longer have a link."

  "I'll see what I can find out. Is this an advance?" He jostled the pouch.

  "Yes. Hire others to expedite this. I'll pay you separately for the hospital mystery." She reached for her bag.

  "Wait. You're trying this detective thing out as a job, right?"

  She nodded. "It's turning out to be a lot different than bounty hunting, although there are crossover skills."

  "Come with me. I'll teach you what I know."

  Arabeth didn't know what to say at first. She was trying to pawn the legwork off on him, not get involved.

  "You can learn a lot from questioning, and not all of it translates to words. Hunches, gut instinct, micro-expressions—all those are essential to the detective's work."

  "I'm impressed. It seems I've been under-utilizing you!" She was genuinely pleased. She'd thought of him as a kid, someone who needed the coin to survive, and she'd badly mistaken him. "Why don't you work for the police?"

  "I do." He winked. "This way I have the freedom to turn a case down."

  "Why not hang a shingle, be an advertised detective, then?"

  He chuckled. "I have my reasons."

  "You're not getting younger, Bernie. Do you want a family, someone to go home to at the end of a job? Money does that. This will pad your bank account nicely."

  His laugh was soft as he looked at her. "Bank account? Mortgage? Children and a wife? That's not my life."

  "What do you want?"

  "Significance, variety, freedom."

  She was a little surprised by his candour, but gladly so. "I think we can be friends, Bernie."