All The Pretty Things

Chapter 1:

January 1st, 1962

My alarm went off at five just like planned. I want to stay asleep, but I have work to do. I tiredly pulled myself out of my bed, the box springs creaking and groaning with every move. I followed my usual morning routine, dressed in my warmest gear for the cold that lay just beyond the very thinly insulated walls of my apartment building. It wasn't raining anymore, but fog was still richly layered on the ground, and the sky looked cement gray above the world of New York City. I walked out into the hallway of the building, ensuring that the door was closed and locked behind me. I began my 1.7 mile walk to work, wearing a pair of black flats, black trousers, and a matching jacket with a white tee underneath. Over that I was wearing a beige wool jacket that went down to about midthigh, a pair of charcoal gray gloves with a matching hat, and a black scarf wrapped warmly around my neck and mouth. My black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. I had only thrown on the base layer of makeup, which included foundation and some lipstick. My eyes are an emerald green that shone brightly in contrast to the darker clothes that I was wearing. I continued my walk as cars drove past me, each in a hurry to get to where they wanted to be with no concern for others. I saw Stan, a man who was homeless, sitting on the curb that was excatly three blocks away from my office.
"Good morning, Stan," I told him pleasantly.
"Why, good morning Miss Jenny! Headed to work so early?" His voice was thick with the northern accent.
"Yes I am. We've been working hard to keep people safe. What about you? Are you staying warm?" I asked.
"Ah, well I sure am trying to stay warm but it's pretty hard in the middle of winter in New York. Would you like me to escort you to your office, Miss Jenny?" He asked. I gave him a grin, and willingly accepted his offer. It was very rare anymore that I should get company. We talked happily until we reached my building, where I insisted that he come in for a minute or two to get warm. I gave Stan a cup of coffee and enough money for him to get something to eat later on in the day. After he left, I went through the door labeled Employees Only. There was a small workroom behind it with only a few ladies typing on computers. Each waved as I walked past their desks and to the back of the room through another door. In the next room there was only a hallway with doors on either side, each labeled with the name of their owners. I passed Ben Shepard and Walter Masons, then Oliver Hammons and Fred Jackson, and finally, Robert Whitaker and Jenny Roberts. I, as the only girl, am held to a higher standard than the others. By this, I mean that I get stuck doing the majority of the paperwork. A new stack of papers greeted me as I walked into my office. They were teetered precariously on the edge of my desk, with a note saying, I want these finished by tomorrow- Walter. I went over to the radiator and turned it up so that I wouldn't be freezing all day. Until my office warmed up a little bit, I kept my jacket on. I worked diligently until my office heated up and I could take my jacket off. I continued working on my ever-getting-smaller stack of paperwork when I heard a knock on my office door.
"Come in," I said in response to the knock. An unfamiliar lady walked in, clutching a picture in her left hand and a small purse in her right. She looked to be in about her forties or fifties and wore a floor length skirt. She held herself high, but it was easy to tell that she was very timid.
"Hi," she said faintly, "Are you Mrs. Roberts?"
"Miss actually, but yes. That's me. Call me Jenny, if you will."
"The lady up front told me to come back here and find the door that led to Jenny Roberts. I hear that you're a detective?"
"Yes ma'am. Might I ask what your name is, before we get too into detail?"
"Oh, right. How silly of me. I'm Lauren Adams. I came here because of some strange activity happening around my place last night. I didn't really know what else to do, as my husband is out of town for a while. I thought that I should get someone more professional and qualified." I quickly grabbed my pen and notepad that I always kept on the right-hand side of my desk.
"Okay, Mrs. Adams. Please tell me, in as much detail as you can remember, what happened." She nodded and began her story. "Well, I said that my husband was out of town already. I didn't say why. He has a very bad gambling problem. For years now he has gambled away every bit of what little savings we had. A few months back, his mother passed on. As he father was dead and he was an only child, all of their money went to him. After that, I saw less and less of Michael. He was always 'working late' or 'out with friends'. Well about three weeks ago, I went to get some money put of the bank to buy him a birthday present. He was turning 50! When I got there, though, they said that I had no money in my savings. They said that we had no money at all. When I asked why, they said that Mr. Adams came by about two weeks previously and took it all. I realized what was going on, and rushed home to meet Michael. I confronted him about it, and he said that he had spent it all gambling. After that, we found a retreat for people with gambling problems, and he went. Well last night, I was doing a small patchwork job on a dress of my granddaughters when I heard banging outside the house. I went and looked out the window, and there was this man just standing on my porch. He saw me and smiled at me. He just stood there, and then he grabbed something out of his pocket. I realized that it was a gun. He gave me a look of purest loathing, and started aiming it at me when my neighbors drove into the driveway across the street. He quickly pocketed the gun and ran, leaving me there alone." Mrs. Adams looked very shaken up, and I went and got her a cup of coffee to get her to feeling better. After a while she smiled timidly at me.
"Well, dear, that's the story," she said.
"Mrs. Adams, I understand that it can be difficult, but do you remember anything about the man in particular that stood out? Perhaps eye color, height, anything that could lead us to him?"
"Well, I remember that he was tall. Maybe six foot five? And he had broad shoulders and dark eyes. That's about all that I can remember, though."
"Okay. Thank you Mrs. Adams. Could you please leave your phone number with one of the ladies on your way out in case we need to contact you again?"
"Oh, of course dear. Thank you very much."
"No problem, Mrs. Adams."
She left the room, and I finished my paperwork that Walter had asked me to. As he had already left, I went and put the papers on his desk. When I walked in, however, I noticed something strange. Walter's coffee cup was laying on the floor, its contents strewn across his desk, chair, and floor. I felt it, and it was still slightly warm. I glanced up and noticed that the window was open wide into the blackness of the night from outside. A cool breeze fluttered past me, ruffling my hair and papers that were on the desk and floor. I noticed one paper that looked as if it had been hidden quickly, crammed in between a few other papers and stuffed into a drawer. I slowly pulled it out, and read,
December 19th, 1961.
Dear Walter,
Four more disappearances in New York City. No new leads on who could be behind these disappearances, but they seem to all have been connected. The missing are now, Ronda Edmunds, Lacey Vancouver, Todd Burlingham, and Jordan Reynolds. I will get back to you as soon as possible. Please try and keep that meddling Jenny out of this, if any way possible. She could screw everything up.
                                       -M
I quickly left his office and ran to mine to grab my things. I hurriedly threw them on, and rushed outside.
"Taxi!" I called as one approached. I gave him the address and thought about the story, the note, and Walter's office. We pulled in front of my building. I threw the money at him, rushed out of the car, through the doors, up the stairs, and into my apartment.
If only I would have known that that, was just the beginning...