Wicked and the Beast

by Lotta Smith

  “I’d love to ask the person in charge. But—”

  As Shannon began to say something, Detective Seagal came back.

  “How did the phone conversation go?” Nicole asked the detective as he sat on the same chair he was previously occupying.

  “Nothing special. I just called to check in,” Seagal said.

  “I see.” Nicole nodded and turned to Radcliffe. “If you please, you can go to the reference room to see if there’s anything that interests you. I’m not selling Beast, but I have some paintings that are likely to be sold at good prices.”

  “That’ll be great. I’ll take a look-see.” Standing up, the art dealer wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “Don’t you need to come along with me? As you mentioned, I could be the famous thief.”

  “I’m not worried about you.” Nicole shook her head nonchalantly. “At least you’re an expert when it comes to handling valuable objects with care. Not to mention I’m not as dumb as not to notice when my possessions end up being replaced by a forgery.”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Sparks.” Radcliffe laughed and looked around the table. “You know what? She’s called the fiercest shark in the Upper East Side. Don’t get me wrong, we’re calling her that simply out of respect.”

  “Mr. Radcliffe, please.” As Nicole grimaced, he stood up and scurried out of the salon.

  “Mrs. Sparks, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have more outsiders freely roaming around this house.” Seyfried, the insurance guy, massaged his temple. “What if that gentleman happens to be our thief?”

  “No need to worry about that. Mr. Rowling has the key, and there’s a gate requiring security codes. Beast is practically untouchable.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Detective Seagal frowned. “Mysterious Art Connoisseur has been stealing untouchable treasures from highly protected homes.”

  As if on cue, Heidi Reinhart materialized, carrying a shopping bag in each hand. “Hi. I hope I’m not too late. The bakery was so crowded, and the traffic was really heavy. But rest assured, I purchased your favorite selection of macaroons.”

  “Fabulous,” Nicole exclaimed. “We’re having an additional guest. Can you bring the petit fours to us?”

  “Of course, ma’am. I’ll be back in a sec.” The housekeeper went into the kitchen.

  “What were you saying?” Rick turned to Shannon.

  “Pardon me?” She looked confused for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, yes. I guess I got distracted.”

  “Exactly,” Jackie agreed. “It was like a total cliffhanger.”

  Shannon cleared her throat. “Well, I was talking about all the targeted art pieces previously featured in Full Speed Beauty, right?”

  “Yes,” Nicole, Rick, and I agreed in unison.

  “Actually, there’s something weird happening at this particular magazine. There’s a reporter named Patrick Harlan, who happens to be an acquaintance of mine. We joined the company at about the same time, and we used to work with the same editorial office. Anyway, Patrick hasn’t been around.”

  “What do you mean?” Rick furrowed his eyebrows.

  “Well….” Shannon’s lips squirmed, as if she was torn between telling us more about her story or changing the subject and clamming up. She was like that for a while, but when Heidi came in with trays of petit fours, she took a deep breath. “He’s been missing in action for the past six days, and it’s like he’s disappeared into thin air. It might sound over the top, but I can’t stop wondering if he’s okay. What if Mysterious Art Connoisseur has something to do with his disappearance?”

  “Okay.” Rick crossed his arms.

  “Maybe he’s just taking some days off without submitting for paid leave, but I can’t help having bad feelings about his disappearance. What if the Mysterious Art Connoisseur decided to off him? Maybe I’m overthinking, but….”

  “Hmm… so, the thief has been reading a certain magazine article series to pick up the upcoming targets. Why would the thief attempt to off the articles’ author?” I looked at Shannon.

  “I have no idea.” She shook her head. “Considering that neither the Sparkses’ home nor their possessions have been featured in his article, there should be some backstory that we don’t know yet. Maybe Patrick stumbled upon the thief, and—”

  Heidi gasped a loud “Oh!” and the plates flew off the tray she was carrying.

  “That was close,” Rick muttered after catching two plates with macaroons. He looked at Nicole. “I couldn’t save the other plates. Good thing she wasn’t carrying hot beverages.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve never been so thankful that I didn’t ask for a tea refill.” She clutched her chest with both hands. “Heidi, are you all right? I hope you’re not hurt.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sparks,” the housekeeper apologized profusely. “I don’t know… this floor is very slippery. I suggest everyone walks with caution.”

  “Mandy, you need to be extra careful walking the floor, okay?” Nicole took my hand and turned to Rick. “In case of her losing her balance, you’ve got to catch her.”

  “Of course.” He squeezed my hand.

  “It’s so embarrassing.” Heidi lifted her right foot, and then she muttered, “Oh, this must be the problem.” She picked up one of the paper napkins scattered on the floor and ripped the sheet of paper off her shoe. She was about to crumple it, but then she exclaimed, “Oh my… this is not good.”

  “What’s the matter?” Nicole said, looking like she was trying not to roll her eyes.

  “It’s signed by the Mysterious Art Connoisseur, saying, ‘As previously notified, Beast has completely disappeared like smoke.’ Is it real, or…?” Heidi frantically looked around at all of us surrounding the table, as if looking for an answer.

  “What?” Seyfried jumped up from his chair.

  “That can’t be happening!” Seagal did the same.

  Seyfried’s lips quivered. “I’ve gotta go!” he snapped at no one in particular, then started running.

  “Wait a moment. Is this real?” Nicole asked, but the insurance agent was already out of the salon, followed by Seagal. “Hello? Where are you gentlemen going?” she said, but neither of them answered.

  “The storage room, perhaps?” Rick suggested. “Hey, Nicole, I have a hunch they’ve forgotten the fact about needing the code to unlock the gate and then the key.” Grinning like a cat licking cream, he jiggled the key she’d handed over.

  “Let’s go.” Nicole stood up.

  As she walked, Rick and I followed.

  On the way, one of the doors opened and Radcliffe emerged. “What’s going on? I just heard footsteps like someone was running.”

  “You just heard the detective and insurance guy running,” Rick informed him. “We’ve found a note signed by the Mysterious Art Connoisseur, declaring Beast has been stolen.”

  “No kidding?” Radcliffe’s eyes widened and he looked at Nicole, who muttered, “I wish we were.”

  Without saying anything else, the art broker started running, but soon he turned on his heels and snapped at Nicole. “Mrs. Sparks, come quick! Nobody can get inside the storage without your code and the key!”

  “I guess.” She shrugged just as Rick handed her the key.

  “Why are you giving me the key?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “For your information, I’m not running. I quit running three years ago when I fell down while jogging and ended up with skinned knees.”

  “Oh, did it take long to heal?” Jackie said sympathetically, and I relayed her words, adding, “Your injury must’ve been bad.”

  “Yes, it was.” She bobbed her head again and again. “It took two whole months for the discoloration of the healed skin to fade. Can you believe that? It was so humiliating.”

  “Well, if the storage area’s security has been breached, the doors should already be open,” Rick muttered bitterly. “Unless the thief was so meticulous that he or she bothered to lock the place up again before leaving.”

  When we arrived at the s
torage room, Seagal was frantically trying to punch the code without success. When he saw us coming, he yelled, “What took you so long?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you tend to walk slower when you’re seven and a half months pregnant.” Rick raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s still locked.”

  “Detective, Mr. Seyfried, both of you need to stand back,” Nicole told them in a commanding tone. “If the note was just a hoax, my Beast could be still inside, and I don’t like to share my security code with outsiders.”

  Seagal’s jaw tightened, and Seyfried gritted his teeth, but both men stepped aside while Nicole punched in the code.

  When the first door was unlocked and opened, Seyfried grabbed the key from her hand. Seagal ran after him and followed the insurance guy, who literally jumped inside the storage area.

  Nicole went in after them, and when she switched on the light that illuminated the dark room, Seyfried screamed like he was channeling some kind of beast.

  “Noooooooooooooo!” he roared at the top of his lungs.

  “Why don’t you shut up?” Jackie covered her ears with both hands.

  I did the same, and the baby twitched in my uterus. “It’s okay,” I muttered to myself and the baby, rubbing my tummy.

  “No, it’s not okay!” Seagal snapped, pointing at the display table where Beast used to sit. “Look at that!”

  The ugly mask of a monkey having a serious diarrhea attack was nowhere to be seen.

  “Son of a bitch!” Seagal punched the wall.

  “Hello? Why don’t you stop rubbing salt in the wound by destroying the room?” Jackie scolded him. “In case you haven’t noticed, the damage was done and making a fuss won’t change that.”

  Nicole was watching the scene with her eyes wide. She opened her mouth and then closed it, repeating the process several times.

  “Are you okay, Nicole?” I whispered to her. “Let’s take a deep breath and slowly breathe out, okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” She patted my arm. “I’m just having a hard time fathoming how everything happened. Right now, I’m the only person with the code to unlock the gate, and Rick had the key….”

  As she turned her head, Rick was watching the scene with his arms crossed. “Okay, so this room was locked, and no one could come in or go out of this place. Except our friend the Mysterious Art Connoisseur, who just managed to make the Beast mask disappear into thin air.”

  CHAPTER 8

  For a while, time seemed to stop as all of us stood there totally dumbfounded.

  All of a sudden, Seyfried shouted, “I told you not to let the outsiders inside, Mrs. Sparks, didn’t I? The Mysterious Art Connoisseur sent you the warning, and yet you ignored it!”

  He scratched his head furiously, prompting Jackie to say, “Hello? In case you haven’t noticed, your hairline seems to be receding a little. So, in order to keep your hair as long as possible, I recommend you not do anything that could potentially damage your scalp anymore.”

  Radcliffe might have cracked up laughing if only he could hear the ghost’s words, but he didn’t—maybe because he wasn’t blessed with the gift of ghost whispering. Instead, he snapped at the insurance guy. “What do you mean? Are you implying I’m the thief?”

  “Well… no, I mean… when I said outsiders, I meant everybody, including the reporter and so on,” Seyfried mumbled, casting suspicious glances at Shannon.

  “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.” Shannon snorted. “If any of us could be the thief, there’s a possibility that you could be as well.”

  “Are you accusing me of the theft? How dare—” Seyfried’s face turned a purplish shade of red.

  “Everyone, calm down!” Seagal barked in a commanding tone. “I’m closing this place until backup arrives, and you all have to clear this scene for—hey!” he shouted suddenly, giving Rick a hard stare as my husband squatted on the floor close to the ventilator.

  “You don’t have to shout like that. I’m not deaf,” Rick said matter-of-factly, without looking up at the detective.

  “What are you doing, Rick?” Nicole questioned him casually as the detective and insurance guy looked tempted to strangle him.

  “Just looking at the ventilator to see if it’s been tampered with,” Rick said as he grabbed the iron bars protecting the little window and shook them one by one with his gloved hands. Both he and I left the FBI when we got engaged and Rick decided to join USCAB, but even now he always packed a pair of plastic gloves wherever he went. Talk about old habits dying hard. As he explored the thick carpet beneath the ventilator, he picked up something and muttered, “What’s this brown powder?”

  Jackie was floating by his side, telling her theory about the thief. “Is it drug or something? Maybe our thief could be a drug dealer. OMG, this case could be truly, madly huge!”

  “Mandy.” He looked at me, gesturing me over to him. Luckily, the detective was outside the storage area, perhaps making a call to the precinct, so I walked toward Rick.

  “Found anything interesting?” I asked him.

  “That depends on your sense of humor.” Standing up, he pulled me closer and whispered into my ear, “Does Claudia happen to be hanging around here?”

  “No, she’s not here,” I whispered back, looking for the ghost and trying not to move my head. “Why?”

  “I thought we could get lucky if she witnessed the burglary.” He winked. “When it comes to remembering stuff, old folks’ memories tend to be hazy, right? So I was hoping that the ghost was confused about her appointment date with Vidal Sassoon and she came back here.”

  “Hmm, you have a point, but she seemed to be one of those ladies who practically had a scheduler in her head,” I said.

  “I’m sure Claudia would accuse you of discriminating against old people.” Jackie wiggled her fingers playfully.

  Then Claudia popped up from out of nowhere, saying, “Holy cow! I’m so embarrassed!”

  I gasped and looked at Rick. “Claudia’s back.”

  “Hi, Claudia, you’re back!” Jackie enthused, dancing around. “How was the session with Mr. Sassoon?” she asked, but soon squinted at her fellow ghost. “I don’t mean to sound like a mean girl who’s jealous about your happiness, but are you sure you had a haircut?”

  “No, I’m not.” Claudia shook her head and sighed. “Here’s the thing. I got mixed up with my appointment date, and today wasn’t my slot. Can you believe that? I feel like a feeble old lady whose memories are fading.”

  “Ooh, come on. You’re not old, and it’s an annoyingly common mistake to visit the salon on a wrong day. It can happen to anybody,” Jackie cooed. “So when’s your real appointment?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.” Claudia chuckled. “On the plus side, I was correct about the time.”

  As I whispered their conversation to Rick, he interjected, “Claudia, did you see anyone entering this place and stealing the mask after we left?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t here. I just came back, thinking it would be fun to share my latest faux-pas with my new friends, Jackie and Mandy, and… did you just say that ugly mask was stolen?” As she looked at the display table, her palms flew to her cheeks. “Oh, so it’s really stolen.”

  “Right,” I muttered. “And—”

  Before I could continue, Detective Seagal’s voice boomed. “Hey, both of you! Come out of the storage room!” He was obviously irritated.

  “Coming,” Rick replied, and we exited hand in hand.

  “I’ve just called backup, and this place will be closed as a crime scene,” Seagal declared, locking the door with the key Rick had been previously carrying.

  Then we headed back to the salon with Seagal leading the group.

  “Don’t you have something to—” Rick started to ask Nicole, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

  “What…?” Stopping abruptly, she tilted her head.

  As the others continued walking, not noticing us, Rick and I stopped in the hallway.

&n
bsp; Jackie, floating by my side, followed Nicole’s gaze with keen interest. “This door is ajar.”

  “This is a little storage space right next to the bathroom. Usually it’s tightly shut, especially when we have guests, like today.” Nicole furrowed her eyebrows.

  “Let me see.” Rick studied the door first. “Aha. Something’s stuck here.” Pulling something out, he opened the door all the way. “Voilà.”

  Like Nicole had said, the room stored products such as boxes of facial tissue, toilet paper rolls, and so on. There were spare lightbulbs, fluorescent lamps, detergents, along with vacuum cleaners and toolboxes. There was a machine that looked like an air purifier, the cord stuck between the edge of the door and the wall.

  “Do you think it was the Mysterious Art Connoisseur who opened it?” she asked. “But for what purpose?”

  Arms crossed, Rick looked at the door. “I don’t know yet. Let’s go back to the salon. I have a hunch the detective will come get us if we keep hanging around here any longer.”

  * * *

  Back in the salon, we sat at the same table we used previously, waiting for police backup to arrive.

  “Oh, so the mask has been stolen. How sad….” Heidi sounded sympathetic, clutching her chest with both hands. “Mrs. Sparks, I hope you’re not heartbroken.”

  “I’m good. Thank you, Heidi.” Nicole offered a small smile. Her face was unreadable, but I was sure she was in shock. If I lost something costing half a million, I’d be devastated. Then she looked at Rick and me. “The only problem I have right now is the weird feeling about the whole situation. Rick, will you please figure out how it all happened?”

  “I’ll try,” Rick agreed.

  Detective Seagal cleared his throat. “Mrs. Sparks, you’ve had a real-life burglary. Please let the police handle this case.”

  “Says the police who couldn’t prevent the theft.” Jackie snorted.

  “The storage room was locked, and no one was able to come in or out,” Seagal muttered. “How did the Mysterious Art Connoisseur do that?”