Friday McDaniels and the Case of the Missing Nutsack

Part 8: You Sly Little Fox

Friday sat in the control room of Mrs. Peachtree's for twelve hours. He had eaten five peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a box of cheese crackers, and drank four glasses of scotch that Mrs. Peachtree's cleaning lady brought for him.

"Do you really think you should be drinking on the job?" she had asked.   

"Just get me what I ask for and don't ask questions. I know what I can and cannot be doing."

She hadn’t looked happy but she had gotten him his drink and that was all that mattered to him. He had to stop himself from playing with the various buttons and gadgets after that. He had an urge to open and close the garage door, initiate the spot lights and turn on the sprinklers as the Alexander Landscaping Company worked. He restrained himself, not wanting to hear another ear full from his overbearing brother.

Several times his mind slipped into reverie about his night with Rananda. He'd slide into a daydream so deep he'd have to rewind the tapes just to see what he'd missed. He wanted to see her again tonight. He hoped he could find something on the camera soon so he could call Wednesday, put this to rest, and meet her.

His phone rang. He plucked it from his pocket and paused the tape just as a fox slunk its way through the fence and trotted up the drive.

"Friday." he said.

"Do you know Candystripe's real name?" it was Wednesday.

"Not mad anymore, huh?" 

"Just answer the question."

Friday paused, thought about it. Funny, he couldn't remember, "No I don't."

"Hmm. Me neither. I never thought about it before."

"Yeah, same here. Why?"

Wednesday sighed. He was getting impatient again, Friday could tell. "The forms, Friday. We have to fill out paperwork and I can't write down 'Sir Candystripe.'"

"Right."            

Wednesday cut the line without another word. Friday shrugged, returned the phone to his pocket and started the tape. The fox wound its way along the path, past the house and towards the bungalow where the vault was hidden in an underground chamber. The fox made its way toward the building and disappeared in the shadows.            

"Sly little fox. Did you steal the nut sack?" Friday laughed out loud. He turned to another monitor, a still-life of the inside of the bungalow. For twelve hours the image hadn't changed.  A third monitor showcased the inside of the vault where he should be staring down at nothing but locked metal doors and drawers that hid the valuables of the Peachtree legacy. Instead, the awkwardly thin frame of Sir Candystripe shocked Friday into attention.

"You idiot." Friday breathed. He hadn't really expected to find anything on these tapes. Afterall, who would steal something if they knew they were going to get caught? Surely Candystipe knew about the cameras.         

He watched as Candystripe's figure blurred and came back into focus. Friday rubbed his eyes. He must be tired. The man blurred again then disappeared into a cloud of mist. Friday started, fell backward out of his chair and landed in pile on the floor. He sprang up, watched the monitors as the mist sucked itself into the cracks of drawer 212. Moments later the drawer popped open and the mist floated upwards. The drawer was empty. The mist disappeared under the door.

Holding his breath, Friday looked to the monitor of the bungalow and saw the fox passing through with the nut sack dangling from its mouth. On the grounds camera he watched the fox follow the path to the wrought iron fence and slink through the bars.          

He pulled out his phone and called Wednesday. It rang to voicemail. No time. Friday threw the chair out of his way and ran from the Peachtree's house. He had to find his brother.