The Gadgeteer

Chapter 9

MELANIE WAS NOT at work. A near-elderly woman with a name tag reading "Helen" was filling the job. Helen didn't know why Melanie was gone, or for how long. Where was Hicks? Why wasn't he in either? Arabeth requested a look at the logbook. The woman slid it over with a shrug, then went to do some filing.

Five more violent attacks had been reported, but no one was arrested. Why? She looked over at Helen and saw her fighting to close a crooked file cabinet drawer on the other side of her work area. Melanie was Arabeth's closest friend; if she had plans to go away, Arabeth would know... but she didn't. With the recent violence, that worried her.

Better to not interrupt, she thought. She'd find a beat cop instead. They were usually happy to talk shop. She set an envelope in her usual spot at the end of the counter nearest the wall, almost hidden by a coat rack currently full of wet weather gear before leaving.

It would be pure luck to find Larry along the way, and right now she wanted that luck to help with other things.

As she walked the five blocks to Melanie's apartment, she opened the satchel flap so Marble could get fresh air and look out if she wanted. There had to be something she could do to help Marble recover. What was even wrong? Last time the fox was feeling worn out, cheese helped. Maybe that was all she needed? She wouldn't sulk this long.

As they went, Arabeth kept an eye out for a deli or restaurant. It wasn't long before she found one and procured a piece of cheese. She watched as Marble took nibbles, then licked her lips. In the craziness of all that was going on, taking care of Marble, even just with a small piece of cheese, gave her peace.

Immediately, Marble sat up and looked out, seeming a lot more lively now. A wave of relief washed through Arabeth, energizing her.

She felt like she could almost fly down the last stretch of sidewalk to Melanie's apartment complex. As she approached, there was a small crowd gathered in a loose semi-circle in front, almost blocking the entrance. Two men sat on wooden chairs on the sidewalk, while a third moved his hands through the hair of one of them. Arabeth couldn't quite hear what he was saying.

She casually walked around the outside of the circle of watchers, not really curious. They blocked her path and there didn't seem to be a way through. Judging by the crowd's rapt attention to the men, disturbing them didn't seem like a wise choice.

"And as you see, the simple, unique pattern of your skull can tell us about your past, your proclivities, and to some degree, your future."

Was that man serious?

"Phrenology is not real science," Arabeth said, not caring who heard her. Marble ducked back down into the satchel, but didn't seem worried. Arabeth rubbed the top of the fox's head a couple times, wishing she'd bought some extra cheese for her, or maybe a bit of fish.

"For any that don't believe this is a true science," the man called out, looking her way but not quite at her, "you can find the facts at 283 Bishops Drive, South Porterville. I invite all skeptics." He moved his hands again, to a new spot on the man's head. "You had a fall when you were a child. To this day, you have trouble talking under stress. I can fix that."

"Nut. I think this city may be losing its collective mind, Marble," she muttered and turned to find another way in.

Melanie lived on the third floor. It was built to accommodate six renters across five storeys, so the stairs were sized for efficient yet comfortable climbing. At least, they were comfortable if you were a six-foot-tall male.

Three flights of stairs were not a problem, but every step jostled Marble a bit, eliciting a whimper by the time Arabeth neared the top. She opened her bag to check on Marble. The fox tipped her nose up to lick Arabeth's face, then propped her paws out of the satchel to look out.