Plagium (Keepers Book 1)

Chapter 3 - In Which a Surprise Arrives

Tracey paced about the shop as the constables took a few images with their strange machinery. She watched as they aimed the small device at each heap of disorder, and with the crank of a handle, sent steam everywhere. "Photographs," they had explained to her earlier. "Much like having a painter on-scene, but faster."

She had spent a better part of her noontime turning away customers and answering questions from the constables. I'm beginning to wonder if this robbery report will be of any use! Tracey thought. Outloud, she sighed. "Almost done, ma'am," a constable said, a little startled at her injection of impatience. "Apologies for the delay. We'll wrap up the photographs and be right out in a jiffy."

"Alright, thank you," Tracey said. She glanced at the clock. 12:40 PM and still no sign of Mr. Porter. She had stopped by his home (to which she had the key) and found no one inside, and then had called him on the steamphone and got no response. She tapped a finger on her forearm. It's been almost 6 hours and nothing. Not even a single lead.

"Is this yours, ma'am?" a constable asked, handing her a handkerchief. Tracey jumped.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"No worries," he pleasantly said, tipping his hat.

Tracey took the handkerchief from his extended hand. She squinted. I don't recognize this handkerchief at all! On the corner were the initials RN. "Ehm no—," she stopped herself. This could be the evidence I've been looking for, my first lead! She looked up to the inquisitive constable. "Now that I think of it," she began slowly, "I believe this could be my friends'. She may have dropped it when she visited."

Tracey swallowed. The only friend she had was far away on the other side of the country; they hadn't visited her in years. The constable hesitated as if he saw through her bluff. After what seemed like hours, however, he finally nodded. "Very well, ma'am," he said. The other constable handed a sheet of paper to him, then left the shop. "Alright, ma'am, here's your report," he said, handing the sheet to Tracey. She glanced it over, noticing that there was only vague information, hardly enough to open a case. Tracey frowned as she looked closer at the details.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" he asked, leaning forward in concern.

"Ah...," she started, scanning over the sheet. "There's a typo," she quickly said.

"A what now?"

"A typo on the shop's name. It's Porter Keeper Shoppe, with 'ppe' ending shop. You have on here 'shop', with only 'p' ending it."

The constable looked at the sheet. "Will you look at that. Suppose there was a typo somewhere. I'll get that fixed when we get back." He scribbled a note in a pad supplied from his pocket. "Thank you for your alerting us, and as for this case, we'll be in contact with you if we find any leads."

"If?" she inquired.

The constable paused, then cleared his throat. "You see, ma'am, there's quite a bit a' robberies in Mondon, and oftentimes we can't find the culprit..."

"I see." Tracey looked at the paper. It felt as if everything were a dead end. Rustling herself, she quickly shook the constable's hand. "Thank you, sir."

"Any time," he said with a pleasant smile. With the tip of a hat, he turned and left.

Tracey's shoulders sagged, her fake demeanor slipping away. "Well, Tracey," she muttered, "You've got two pieces of evidence now: a handkerchief, and spectacles... And a city full of people who could have both a motive to take Mr. Porter and the initials RN."

Frustration built up in her.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" she yelled to the ceiling, flinging the paper down. "This is hopeless. I can't find Mr. Porter at this rate."