by M. D. Archer
“Can I help you?” a woman asked, emerging from the door next to reception. She was average height, had brown hair pulled back into a neat bun, and an impassive face.
“Dr Garnet, investigator.” Paige held out one of their S & S business cards which had both of their names and mobile numbers printed across the bottom. “I’m looking into the abduction of a client’s pet. We believe that Baby—the Yorkshire Terrier who was dropped off here overnight last month—might have been abducted by the same person.” Paige injected enough confidence into her voice that her spiel made her sound like a legit investigator on a legit case. “Are you the vet?”
The woman nodded. “And I was here when Baby was dropped off. You really think someone is abducting pets?”
“It looks like it, yes. Would you mind answering a few questions about Baby?”
“Let’s go in here.” She led Paige down the hallway to an unoccupied room. The cat in reception meowed loudly and petulantly, as if Paige was jumping the queue.
“Baby was dropped off shortly before midnight. I was here, on call. They rang the bell but left before I opened the door. The poor thing was wrapped in a novelty towel. It would have looked ridiculous except it was so sad. Baby was already dead.” The vet, who had up until now seemed as if she might be part robot, finally showed the kind of softness you would expect from a professional animal carer.
“A name and a contact phone number were on her collar so I was able to call in the morning. Poor Mrs...” She clicked her fingers.
“Myerson.”
“She was beside herself. She felt so guilty. I tried to tell her but I don’t think she was listening.”
“Tell her what?”
“That Baby had been hit by a car. She kept mumbling about how it was all her fault but I don’t know how that was possible since she said Baby had been missing for a couple of days.”
“And you’re sure she was hit by a car?”
“Based on her injuries, fairly sure, yes.”
“Was there anything else? Anything to indicate who dropped Baby off?”
The vet shrugged and shook her head.
“If you think of anything else, please call. The number is on my card.” Paige lifted her bag to her shoulder and made to leave but turned back at the door. “What kind of novelty towel was it?”
“Oh, right. Yes, uh, what’s that famous movie? The violent one.”
“You’re going to have to narrow it down.”
“It doesn’t matter, I still have it. Wait a second.” She disappeared through a door leading to a smaller storage room. “Towels come in handy here,” she explained when she returned.
Paige took the towel from the vet and held it between thumb and forefinger. Where had this towel been? What awful tasks had been asked of it?
“It’s clean.” The vet frowned.
“I’m sure,” Paige said, but she made sure to have minimal contact as she unfolded it. A nineties Uma Thurman, wearing a black wig and with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, pouted at her. Of course. Pulp Fiction.
“Thank you.” Paige handed back the towel. “Again, if you think of anything else, please call.”
Back in her car, Paige took a moment to process the information she’d just gathered. Baby’s death had been an accident. She’d been taken to the vet in the middle of the night, likely by the Pet Napper, which meant he had at least some semblance of a conscience. And the Napper liked Pulp Fiction enough to buy a novelty towel and have it handy in an emergency. Paige thought about the towel, noting to herself that it seemed familiar. The image was iconic, of course, but she thought she might have a specific memory, a relatively recent memory, buried back there somewhere.
She started the car. It would come to her.
SOPHIE BRACED HERSELF and opened up her online bank account.
Ugh. And she hadn’t even done her weekly grocery shop yet. Sophie sat back in her chair and tried to quell the panic rising in her chest. If she didn’t earn some money soon, she would either be homeless, or moving to Christchurch to live with her mother. But she couldn’t bear the thought of getting another job. Having to find her way in another new environment. New people, new skills. No. And she must try to remain optimistic. Catastrophizing about her finances wasn’t going to solve any problems. This still might all work out. Sophie had a lot of faith in Paige. If they solved Polly’s disappearance they would get publicity, they would be in business, and neither of them would have to slink back to the university.
On Facebook, Sophie saw that Talia was online.
“Hey Talia. Dominic’s not answering that number you gave me. Do you have another one?”
Talia responded to her message straight away.
“He’s always online. DM him. Or friend request. He’ll def accept. : P”
Sophie raised her eyebrows. Really? Shrugging, Sophie sent Dominic a request and sure enough, fifteen minutes later, she was friends with Dominic Jeylic. Sophie went through his page, noting he was a prolific poster and that Talia was right when she described him as intense. Sophie scrolled to his posts from a week ago, around the time of Polly’s disappearance, but he hadn’t mentioned her at all. Further, he hadn’t posted anything from the night she went missing. Had he been too busy? Were his hands full abducting his ex-girlfriend?
Sophie refreshed the screen. Dominic had just checked in at The Place, a café in Kingsland—he was a barista there. No need to make a phone call, she could go visit him at work.
DOMINIC SMILED AT SOPHIE in an overly familiar way as she stepped up to the front of the queue.
“Hey, hun.”
The café was small, with only four tables inside and two benches outside. A chalkboard informed her that the three kinds of coffee they had were all organic and fair-trade. The 100% vegetarian menu listed hot meals as well as the sandwiches, quiches and salads presented in the display cabinet, which Sophie, despite being an avid carnivore, had to admit looked good. Music, not quite identifiable over the grind of the coffee machine except for a heavy beat, played from a speaker in the corner.
“Oh, you’re Sophie. You just friended me.” He acknowledged with a head nod and a quick once over.
“Yes. Hi,” Sophie said. Dominic had dark blond hair pulled into a man bun (which he was pulling off), green eyes framed by dark lashes, and a pouty mouth. He was twenty years old, and attractive in a pretty-boy-with-an-edge kind of way. The t-shirt under his apron swore at Sophie and there was a stack of flyers for Earth Systems on the counter.
“How do I know you?”
“Uh, you don’t,” Sophie said. “I’m a freelance journalist, and I wanted to talk to you about your activism. You’re an eco-warrior, right?”
“Oh, right, yeah. I don’t like that term, but yeah.” Dominic nodded, pleased. “Hey Marcus, cover the front,” he called to a guy who was hovering near the counter with a sulky pout and a cloth in his hand. It appeared the management preferred to employ only the aesthetically pleasing variety of environmentally conscientious individuals.
“Let’s sit down here.” Dominic moved out from behind the counter and took a seat at an unoccupied corner table. Sophie joined him, activating the recording function on her phone. “Is this okay?” she said, warming up to the Intrepid Reporter character she’d come up with on the drive over.
“Yeah.”
“Imagine you are talking to someone who has never heard of Earth Systems (he was). “Give me the three-minute elevator pitch.”
Dominic frowned briefly at this unfamiliar term but leaned forward and started talking anyway. His eyes, initially alive with passion, quickly turned angry as he became incensed by the injustices of the world. Sophie watched him, making mental notes. She let the words wash over her. It didn’t matter what he was saying, not at the moment. She was getting a baseline reading on his body language. His posture, his demeanour, what he looked like when he was being candid. He was angry, passionate and intense. But had any of this been directed at Polly?
“Than
k you,” Sophie said once he had finished his spiel. “That was great.”
“No worries.” Dominic sat back, relaxing and looking pleased with himself. “So, what’s your deal?” he said, his lip curling up in a smile as his eyes flicked up and down Sophie, giving her a slower, lazier once over.
“Do you know Polly Dixon?” Sophie said, shifting in her chair.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, so?”
In an instant he was all edges and prickles.
“I met her a couple of weeks ago and I wanted to ask her some follow-up questions, but I can’t get hold of her.”
“Why are you asking me?” Dominic’s head lifted up and back so he was looking down at Sophie. He was wary, starting to look hostile.
“I thought you knew each other?”
He shrugged. “A bit. Not anymore.”
“Okay, so have you seen her recently?”
“No. Why do people keep bugging me about her?” Dominic’s eyes took on a hard edge as he scowled.
“I know you guys dated and no one has seen her recently.”
“And neither have I. Look, we hung out a few times, and yes, I gave her a bit of crap online, but what’s the big deal? She was being a pussy.”
Sophie cringed, then took a breath. “In what way?”
“She was being all cagey and cautious. We don’t need people like that. We need people who take action.”
“So, you disagreed with her approach?”
“You know, you’re starting to annoy me,” Dominic said ominously. Sophie instinctively leaned back a couple of inches.
“Hey, Dom,” Marcus called.
“What?”
Marcus directed his pout to the queue building up at the counter.
“I have to get back to work.” Dominic pushed back his chair to stand up.
“Wait, just one more question. What were you doing on Wednesday night, the 13th?” Sophie asked.
“Like I can remember.”
“Please, if you could try.”
“You’re not the police.” Dominic turned his back on Sophie. “And I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“HELLO, PRINCESS. I was wondering when you’d get home.”
Sophie’s stomach dropped. Her instincts had been correct. Here Declan was, a full 24-hours after their date, swaddled on the couch with a cup of tea, happy as a pig in shit. Myra was curled up into a cosy ball in the armchair next to the sofa, also with a cup of tea, looking quietly thrilled.
“Or back, I should say,” Declan said into the silence. “Ha! Listen to me; we sound like an old married couple.” He winked.
Sophie noticed a guitar leaning up against the couch next to his feet. Where had that come from? He didn’t have it last night.
This wasn’t a good sign.
“Now, you sit down and don’t move another muscle.” Declan leapt up. “I’ve sorted dinner.”
“With what?” Sophie asked with trepidation. She didn’t have any food in the house, she’d been planning to go to the supermarket tonight.
“There was plenty of grub in the fridge,” Declan said with delight. “Some nice stuff too. Camembert cheese, hummus... that sort of thing.”
Oh God, he was referring to the fancy gourmet speciality food Victoria had tucked in the back waiting for her return. Sophie dropped her bag on the couch and scrambled into the kitchen. Sure enough, on the bench sat an assortment of delicious tapas food. All the meats, dips and cheeses had already been unwrapped—of course. It was going to cost Sophie a fortune to replace it all.
“You just relax, I’ll set the table and get all this ready.” Declan was thrilled with himself.
Sophie returned to the lounge. “He used Victoria’s food. Couldn’t you have stopped him?” she whispered to Myra, trying not to sound annoyed.
“I didn’t realise,” Myra said with a nervous smile.
Sophie knew this couldn’t be true. She could just picture Myra hovering in the kitchen entrance watching with shocked delight as Declan ravaged the fridge.
“All ready,” Declan called a moment later. “Are you going to come sit at the table?”
Sophie cast a forlorn glance at the couch and the TV and sighed. Declan sashayed over to the dining table and deposited the tray of food with a flourish.
“Voila.” Declan poured them both glasses from one of Victoria’s stash of her favourite wine—Esk Valley Syrah.
It all tasted pretty good, Sophie had to admit. Maybe it was all the expensive ingredients, or perhaps it was that Sophie was hungry and hadn’t had to make this meal—not that any actual cooking was required—but she found herself relaxing as the wine kicked in and the food released happy hormones in her brain.
“So, what did you get up to today? I’m not sure what you actually do... for a job?” There was a definite air of all-day relaxation emanating from Declan.
“Well.” Declan paused to take a large pull of wine. “It’s fascinating. It’s a new venture. Last month I saw this flyer for a seminar, about a lad who became a millionaire by thirty-five. Retired. Before he was forty!” Declan said, with wide-eyed astonishment, as if he was the luckiest guy in the world to have stumbled on to something this amazing.
With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Sophie listened to Declan describe a vitamin-selling pyramid scheme. When Sophie delicately tried to point this out, the inherent pyramid shape of any venture that involved money being made based on the people below you recruiting more people, Declan wasn’t having any of it.
“No, no. Pyramid schemes are like dodgy timeshares that don’t exist. This is real. The vitamins are a great product. All I have to do is recruit more people to sell them, and I make commission on their sales.” Declan shook his head as if Sophie was missing the point. She was, as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t believe how simple it was and why more people hadn’t cottoned on to this.
Sophie drained her wine glass and reached for the bottle.
7
The stakeout was tonight.
Paige wriggled in her chair with excitement. She could hardly believe that in a few hours she would be on an actual, real-life stakeout. She’d already imagined the whole thing. They would watch from their expertly chosen hiding spot as the Pet Napper approached the mailbox, springing into action the moment they were sure he had incriminated himself. Then, utilising her second-to-none interrogation skills, she would force him to give up the location of Mr Minx, and they would triumphantly frog-march him to deal with the wrath of Mary Burmeister... no, make that Penny Milton. She hugged herself with pleasure.
Meanwhile on planet earth, Sophie was worried. The agency’s finances were looking grim. Nearly as grim as her own. Would Declan ever leave her house? This morning she’d left him sleeping, again, not able to summon the courage to wake him up and kick him out. But enough was enough. She would send him a text today asking him to leave, she resolved. She had to. Cute as he was, and as fun as he was between the sheets, he was too expensive to keep.
Sophie looked up and across at Paige, who was gazing off into the distance with a silly expression on her face.
“Paige? What are we going to do about money? We’re running out of time. We’re going to go out of business before we have a chance to do anything.”
Paige sucked the end of her pen thoughtfully. Sophie made a mental note to keep a separate stash of pens in her drawer.
“We’re going to catch the Pet Napper tonight, and we’ll get the second $500.”
“Even if I accept your blind optimism, that money isn’t going to go very far. Then what?”
“You said you had a lead on the Polly Dixon case, didn’t you? We’ll go see the Dixons and get hired.”
“In the unlikely event they do hire us, they aren’t going to pay us straight away, are they?”
Sophie was bumming Paige out, but she couldn’t deny Sophie had a point. Even with the extra overdraft she’d recently secured from their reluctant bank manager, it wasn’t enough.
Paige suck
ed her pen some more. “I’ll go see my mother,” she said eventually.
“You sure?” Sophie knew what this meant, what it would cost Paige. It wasn’t just the debt; Paige would be at her mother’s beck and call, having to satisfy every whim until the money was paid back.
But what else could they do?
“Let’s see how today goes. You never know what’s just around the corner!” Paige smiled brightly as the door swung open to reveal that Simone, the real estate agent, was just around the corner. “Oh crap,” Paige muttered under her breath.
“Ladies.” Simone smiled thinly, making her features look even more lizard-like. “I noticed your rent hasn’t come through yet.”
“I’m putting it through tonight,” Paige said.
“I brought you direct debit forms.” She walked past Sophie’s desk and handed them to Paige. “I don’t want to have to impose penalties for late rent payments, you know.”
“Yes, ladies. You need to pay your bills on time.” Richard’s voice boomed from somewhere behind Simone.
“Oh, shit,” Paige said, audibly this time.
“End of the day,” Simone reminded them, throwing a smile at Richard as she scuttled out the door.
“Oh my. My, my, my. This is just priceless.” Richard paused in the doorway and looked around the room. Paige resisted the urge to drop her head into her hands as he sauntered past Sophie’s desk and into the second room, taking in the sparse furniture, the bare walls, and the general lack of activity. “Having financial issues, are we?” He bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to keep the glee from his voice. He looked, and sounded, like an idiot, but he still had the upper hand.
“Hello, Richard,” Paige said.
“Paige,” Richard nodded, “and Sophie, what a pleasure.” He leered in Sophie’s direction.
Sophie shrank back and folded her arms. “Hello, Richard. How are you?”