Misplaced Baroness - Ep 11

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Episode 11 - "The Gentleman With a Cold"

by Camille LaGuire

The difficulty with passing yourself off as a gentleman named Anton Nestlegraf, when you are a lady named something entirely different, is that your voice is wrong.  Plink resolved this problem by coughing and speaking in a hissy, hoarse voice as if she had a very bad cold.

She'd had no trouble getting past the ticket agents and such, but she had a nervous moment when Lady Blinkersley's entourage blocked her way at boat side. Plink held her collar high, coughed a lot, and croaked out an "Excuse me."

The only one who gave her much of a look was Lady Blinkersley's companion -- a nervous little woman named Miss Vilthrop, no first name ever given that Plink had ever heard.  However, what little could be seen of Plink's face was obscured by a pair of glasses, and a false moustache and beard she'd acquired during her stop in the theatre district.

It was a nervous moment though.  Miss Vilthrop gave a small start, like she recognized Plink, but as soon as she saw Plink's mustachioed face, she seemed embarrassed, as though she didn't recognize her after all. She hurried to get the porters to move the luggage aside so Plink could pass.

Plink bowed and growled some thanks, and hurried up the gang plank onto the boat.

As she went, though, she heard voices hailing the ladies behind her.  Distinct Freedonian accents.  She thought for a moment that Mr. X and friends might have found her, but as she paused to listen closer, she could not recognize the smooth tones of Mr. X.

Still, when she got up on the deck she turned to look.  The Freedonian, Alder Graves they called him, was short and round and effusive.  His suit was expensive and his accent was coarse and betrayed no culture at all.  He laughed and talked and waved a cigar.  She had smelled smoke in the hall where Antonio had been killed, but she thought it wasn't cigar smoke.  It smelled like perfumed cigarettes, actually.  She hadn't thought anything of it, because it was the sort of thing Antonio smoked.

But now that she thought of it, it didn't smell quite like Antonio's cigarettes either.  Nor like a cigar.

Still, if Mr. X were an actor, he could pretend to be an effusive man with a rough accent, couldn't he?  All she knew of him was the sound of his voice and possibly the smell of his cigarettes.  Things easily covered or faked.  Of course this man could also be a colleague, enemy or have nothing to do with X.

With the help of a junior purser she found the cabin reserved by Antonio.  She coughed and croaked at the man.

"I am sick in the lungs," she said, in a fake foreign accent.  "I wish to stay only in my cabin and not bother anyone with the coughing."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Nestlegraf," agreed the purser eagerly.  "Of course."

"Can I have tea and a light supper brought to me there?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said the purser, and he seemed eager enough to get Plink into her room and the door shut between them.  She decided not to reassure him that she didn't have plague.

The room was fair sized, and a trunk stood in the corner.  It had a label with the name Anton Nestlegraf on it, and the name of a hotel in the city where the boat would dock.

The trunk was not locked, and she took that as a sign that there was nothing important in it.  A quick search showed she was right.  Only clothing and personal items.  Some of the clothes were dresses, however.  Possibly to go with the passport for Countess Antonia Bish-something-a.

Plink collapsed on to the bed.  She was exhausted.  She'd hardly slept, and that was a short-lived drugged sleep, from which she'd been wakened by a train nearly rolling over her.  She'd been running ever since, hadn't she?

The heavy suitcase, though, beckoned.  She opened it and quickly removed the contents. It took only a moment to find her way to release the false side of the case.

She found papers, all in a foreign language -- Truvian, she thought, as that was Antonio's native language -- and behind that, well-packed wads of money.  Several currencies, but most of it Awarshi, which was worthless outside of Awarshawa, and not worth much inside.

But if he were carrying Awarshi money, didn't that indicate he was headed for Awarshawa?  And wasn't that where the peace conference that the Blinkersley's were headed to?  Or was it somewhere in Truvia?  Truvia was under Awarshi "administration" wasn't it?  Political this and that going on there.  Trouble.

There had been a number of diplomatic people at her party.  Lord Blinkersley had gone on ahead, but most of Lady Blinkersley's cultural whatsis had been there.  And Antonio, as hired host, kept an eye on all of them.  It was his job to make sure everyone was having a good time.

Plink sat on the bed and thought hard.  Memories of the night before -- now seeming so long ago -- floated to her.  Antonio greeting her when they went into the great hall to play games, and a funny look on his face as he looked beyond her at someone.  Plink had started to turn around, but someone else greeted her and she never looked, never saw what concerned him.

She pulled out his tickets and itinerary.  The ending point was the city of Tiva.  Yes, that's right. That was in Tuvia, and, it seemed to her, it was the sort of place you'd hold a peace conference.  An old and lovely city on the sea.

She looked again at the suitcase.  Heavy as paper could be, it did not account for the weight of the bag, she thought.  She looked deeper and realized that the remaining wall of the suitcase was quite thick. Too thick.

Plink peeled back the paper lining and found beneath it....

Gold.

Coins, to be exact, all packed carefully in sheets of cardboard with holes punched in to hold the coins still.  The coins had eagles on them -- Republic of Freedonia gold pieces.

Was that was Mr. X was looking for? She was too tired to care.

When a porter arrived at her door with a tea tray, Plink covered herself with a robe and put a towel over her head and let the man in.  She asked him, between feigned fits of coughing, if the ship's library might have a Truvian dictionary.  He promised to check, and hurried out, almost forgetting his tip.

She had two nights in isolation in this room.  Plenty of time to rest, and see if she could parse out the papers Antonio had hidden in his suitcase, and search the trunk better.

If she found no new clues to follow, she'd check out the hotel named on the trunk's label, and then follow the diplomats to Tiva.

As she drifted off to sleep, she remembered that she had forgotten to send Lister a note saying that Antonio was dead, but she was all right.  Well, that could wait until she docked.  After all, if Mr. X was right, no one would know that murder had been done at all.  No one would be worried.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 12 - "MacGreevey Digs Deeper"
(Available after 8am EST, Mon/Thur)

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---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 10

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Episode 10 - "A Diplomatic Expedition"

by Camille LaGuire

Lady Vera Featherdale stood patiently at dockside, waiting for her companions to sort themselves out.  Lady Blinkersley, who was apparently her best friend just now -- though Vera had never intended it to be so -- was gossiping and calling to her companion, to the boatmen, and to her servants, while Vera bit her tongue and tried to think ahead to the peace conference.

Lord Blinkersley, the newly appointed ambassador to the United Republics of Awarshawa -- or was it the Republic of United Awarshi States now? -- had asked her to come along to the conference as part of a cultural delegation headed by his wife.  Vera assumed he did this because, to conservative old Blinkersley, Vera was a raging revolutionary.  She did things like organize drives to feed the poor, after all.  He seemed to think that she could charm these hostile Washy officials into supporting his agenda.

Vera didn't know or care what his agenda was.  She was interested in creating an organization to aid civilians and refugees in the more conflict-ridden areas of the continent, and her hope was to get some cooperation from the above mentioned officials.

It was hard to think on these plans, however, because the voice of Lady Blinkersley was too shrill to ignore.

"...and she took my lovely peacock cloak!" exclaimed that worthy lady.

"Who, what?" said Vera.

"Pauline Beethingham.  Ran off in the middle of her party last night.  Took my cloak with her," said Lady Blinkersley.

Oh, yes, the footloose baroness.  Vera had declined the invitation to the party on the grounds that she must prepare for the conference.

"I don't see why she should run off," said Vera.  "She's the only woman in the country with the right to vote, now that she's a peeress and of age."

"Only in the House of Lords," said Lady Blinkersley, with a shocked sniff.  "And that's not a right, it's a duty.  Which means that she probably won't do it.  She ought to marry that cousin of hers quick.  Then he can sit for her."

It was just at this point that she was interrupted by the sound of a cough.  A slight, bearded man in a long black overcoat, with his wide-brimmed hat pulled low, was trying to make his way through the throng of Lady Blinkersley's baggage and retainers.

"Excuse," he said in a raspy, low, accented voice.  He coughed again.  "May I pass please?"

"Miss Vilthrop!" called Lady Blinkersley, irritably.  "Let this man through before he gives us the plague!"

Miss Vilthrop, the lady's rabbit-like companion, stared for a moment at the man, and then leapt to get the footmen to move a trunk and let the man through.  He bowed and headed for the gang plank to board the boat, while Lady Blinkersley prattled on about the scandal.

"...and now she's run off with her dancing instructor!" she said. "I can't see her cousin marrying her after that, but these are modern times and if he's dutiful enough he'll take her in hand."

"If you're talking about Freddy Smythe-Winterbourne, I can see why she's run off," said Vera shortly.

She was spared a long protest in defense of the insipid but stodgey Freddy, by the arrival of another knot of newcomers.

The Freedonian contingent had arrived.  Vera's interest perked up considerably.  Whether she could get Awarshi support or not, she had great hopes of gaining Freedonian money for her refugee effort.

A short, hefty gentleman came striding out of the center of the group like he owned the world, and he probably did, from what Vera had heard.  Mr. Alder Graves, industrialist, philantropist, and by all accounts, hearty offender of all manner of manners.  Vera expected to like him.

He came barreling up to Lady Blinkersly hand extended in greeting.  When she offered her own, he did not take it as one would a lady's hand, but rather grabbed on to it and pumped it up and down.

"How do ya do, lady?  How do you do?" he said.  When introduced to Vera, he gave her the same treatment.  Vera, who was used to traveling through all sorts of uncivilized places, didn't mind at all, and she grasped his hand in return as tightly as she could.

"How do you do, Mr. Graves," said Lady Blinkersley, cooly.  "I understood the Freedonians weren't taking part in these talks?"

"I'm not here in any official capacity. I'm with you ladies on the cultural side," said Mr. Graves.  "The Freedonian government prefers to stay out of your tangled continental politics. We believe that the ties of business will motivate people to work together and keep the peace.  If we all prosper, we have no reason to fight, right?"

He elbowed Lady Blinkersley, in a hearty, friendly, Freedonian way.

"Tell me, Mr. Graves," said Vera. "If you are interested in the prospering of the weak, are you interested in charity?"

"Oh, of course, Lady Featherdale. Of course.  It's hard for a man to look up, if he's hunched over in hunger and pain, right?  That's what my grandaddy used to say, the tight-fisted old coot.  He made his first fortune off prison labor, so you could hardly call him charitable, but the prisoners were well fed, you can believe that."  He paused and looked at her with a wise twinkle in his eye.  "So why don't you tell me which charity you have in mind?"

"I'll tell you, if you  join me for dinner."

"I'll be glad to. Glad to!" he said.

They had two nights on the boat, and a few more by train.  The man's friendliness gave her hope that she could make an ally of him before they reached the conference.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 11 - "The Gentleman With The Cough"
(Available after 8am EST, Mon/Thur)

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Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 9

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Episode 9 - "Antonio's Itinerary"

by Camille LaGuire

Waiting was not one of Plink's strong points, but she managed.  The man guarding the street scanned back and forth, never looking away long enough for her to move out on to the walk without him knowing where she came from.

But then a group of about five or six young women came giggling and sauntering up from the direction of the park.  The man fixed his gaze on them as though they might all be runaway baronesses.  With a sharp glance in each direction, he headed in their direction.

Plink picked up the suitcases and stepped right out onto the walk and headed in the other direction, striding purposefully, head down, like a man with a long walk to the train station.

When she reached the nearest corner she turned, not looking back for fear of him seeing her face.  No one chased her.

After a block her fear let up, and the suitcases and questions began to weigh her down.  After two blocks, she lost her fear altogether and was lost in thought.

Fact: these men had not expected her to arrive with a suitcase at Antonio's door. Therefore they had not gone to his house to look for her.  And that meant they were not drawn by the rumor that she was running away with Antonio.  She had not sent Antonio to his doom with her frivolous story.

Another fact: These men were searching the house. And they said Antonio had lied to them, and they had lied to him.  Ergo, he had a relationship with these men, and they were in his house for something to do with Antonio.

And quite possibly none of this had anything to do with Plink.  Perhaps it had been Antonio who had inadvertently sent Plink to her sooty, iron-railed doom.  Or nearly did.

That seemed much more likely. 

Antonio was a professional friend and confidant.  He knew everyone's secrets, and if he was above blackmail himself -- which she couldn't honestly say he was -- he would certainly be of great interest to a criminal sort of person. 

And it depressed her a great deal to think that this was about Antonio, because the boss man -- Mr. X, as she thought of him -- had said he had the police fixed.

She didn't believe that for one minute.  The Imprish police were stolid fellows.  Hard working.  Not corrupt.  She couldn't imagine a stubborn bulldog like Sgt. MacGreevey looking the other way to help a gang of foreign crooks.  The man wasn't even forgiving of a little matter of a pony in a teashop!

But that chief superintendent, the one who looked like a politician, had been so determined to dismiss Plink's story of killers.  A politician, given the word from those above to keep something quiet, would easily, thoughtlessly, redirect those under him, or even let them do their work, and bury the results.

She, a baroness, would be all right.  She didn't think he would intentionally cover her murder. But would he have any compunction at all about a crime against a foreigner like Antonio?  No, she was sure he wouldn't.

And that made her angry.

She stopped and set down the suitcases. She was on a major street now.  She could call a cab.  She could head straight for the police and bash them in the face with whatever it was in Antonio's suitcase.  Lord that case was heavy.  She'd thought it must have books in it at first, but as she walked, it had seemed more like anchors.  Or perhaps, given his relationship with gangsters, hot lead.  But now, as her arms ached and her already sore feet throbbed, she was of the opinion that Antonio had a suitcase full of a special kind of condensed gold, twice as heavy as regular.

She shook out her arms and looked around for her purse to find money for a cab.  The purse was in her suitcase, though, so she pulled out Antonio's wallet instead.  He'd have money for a cab, wouldn't he?

It was a large wallet, more of a travel document case, really.  There was a couple of fivers right in the front pocket and when she pulled them out she saw his tickets and reservations....

A reservation in the name of Anton Nestlegraf. 

Odd. Was he planning to meet this fellow? And if so why was Antonio carrying the man's reservation? And how convenient that they both had similar first names.

Plink searched further in the wallet to find the passport.  She was in luck. She found three.

Three passports: One for this Nestlegraf fellow, one for Antonio, and one for a Countess Antonia Bishnoria.  But only one travel ticket.

The passports contained very similar physical descriptions -- weight, height, eye color.  And suddenly Plink recalled one of Antonio's impressions.  He was so funny and so real when he pretended to be an extravagant exiled countess.  All he needed was a dress.

She knealt right down there on the busy street and opened his suitcase. There was nothing heavy inside at all.  Just some clothing and personal items -- but there was also not as much space inside as it appeared outside.   She decided not to search for the secret compartment there on the street.  Instead she shut the suitcase and hailed a cab.

She did not go to the police.

Sergeant MacGreevey could say what he liked about her riding ponies through tearooms, but he really didn't know the half of it.  That had been just a warm up for when she rode a charger into the male-only equestrian sabre charge competition of the Annual Cavaliers of the Queen's Boot Tournament, wearing a long fluttering banner which read "Votes For Women."  She'd won, too, at least according to Minnie Haverstock.  The offical timekeeper had refused to clock her time, but Minnie had a fine timepiece of her own.

The Barons of Beethingham did not shrink from a challenge, even if they weren't as fond of duty as others of the same rank.

Plink told the cabbie she needed to catch the one o'clock boat train, but first to make a short stop in the theatrical district along the way.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 10 - "A Diplomatic Expedition"
Available after 8am EST, Mon/Thur)

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 8

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Episode 8 - "Plink's Plan of Escape"

by Camille LaGuire

Antonio was -- had been -- a slight man.  Not much taller than Plink herself.  His coat ought to fit well enough. And since he had a tendency toward flamboyance, he had a large floppy-brimmed hat.  Her feet sticking out from beneath the coat might give her away.  It would be clear she wasn't wearing trousers... but there were those riding boots. Tall enough to disguise her lowest extremities.
She slipped off her small boots and stuck them in her suitcase, and donned her disguise, but as she reached for the hat, she realized that her chestnut hair was too short to gather and hide under the hat. But she might cover it to hide the color at least.

She pulled the dark blue scarf from her neck, and wound it round her head, tucking it behind her ears so that it could be mistaken for hair if any showed from under the hat.

She grabbed her suitcase and peeked out the front door. 

The man stood there on the walk, looking up and down the street.  If he saw her come out of the house, even in disguise, the game would be up.  Behind her, she could hear the boss and his sidekick Bains searching the back of the house. They'd move to the front soon.

Window.

She tried to remember which side of the house had a narrow alley beside it.  She was pretty sure it was on the office side, to the right.

She glanced through the door again, and dashed across and into Antonio's office.

It was a cluttered room, and showed signs that someone had been searching it; drawers open, papers scattered about the desk.  Across the room was a small window, half covered by a folding screen.  She ran to it, and adjusted the screen to shield her from view if the other men returned.

The window was small, but large enough to get herself and her overnight bag through.  She carefully pushed the sash up, and found it didn't stick too badly, but it made some noise.  She paused, but heard no footsteps running to see what made the sound.

Below was a fine narrow alley, no one guarding it at either end, and there were dustbins to hide behind.  But the window was a tad high, and the dustbins were so close, that dropping her suitcase might make a racket.

She could lower the bag and perhaps herself with the assistance of an umbrella. 

She turned to go back to the hall and fetch one, when she saw, behind the door, Antonio's silver handled cane.  It was lying cross-wise atop a small suitcase along with a pair of gloves and a large leather wallet, of the sort you might keep your papers or tickets in when traveling.

Two thoughts struck Plink on viewing this tableau: one was that Antonio had clearly set out these things in preparation for his trip, and the other was that whoever had been searching the room hadn't got to that side of the room yet.

The other side of the room was all in disarray. This side was not. And the suitcase was out of view of where the man had been searching.  He probably hadn't seen it.

And if Antonio had something they wanted, wouldn't he take it with him on his trip?

Plink bounded across the room.  She peeked out the door as she slipped the wallet and gloves into the pockets of the coat, and took up the suitcase and cane.  She could hear the men, distantly.  Maybe coming closer.

She slipped back to the window, and lowered the suitcases as quickly as she could. The voices were already closer.

"What will we do with him?" asked Bains.  He seemed to be standing near the body -- not at all far from the door to the office.  "Best to make it disappear, shouldn't we?"

"Leave that to the Varishkins," said the leader.  "They're good at making things disapper.  Go up and check on them.  Tell them to take the body when they're done."

Plink tossed the hat and coat out the window, and slipped one leg through.  The men had stopped talking and footsteps moved toward the office.  Oh, blast! she thought.  She pushed herself through as quickly as she could manage without making much noise. 

Thank god I'm good at climbing lampposts and things, she thought.

She clung to the sash as she got her feet down, and onto the suitcases below. She leaned against he wall and slid downward, hoping the wobbling suitcases would hold.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 9 - "Antonio's Itinerary"

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

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Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 7

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Episode 7 - "Burly Men With Nefarious Intentions"

by Camille LaGuire

Plink stood still in shock for a tiny moment.

Was this a coincidence?  Had Antonio simply fallen down the stairs?  No, no, it couldn't possibly be. His was lying with his feet to the side of the stairs.

He hadn't fallen. Someone had bashed his head in.

And was that her fault? Had she somehow brought this on him?

She started to step closer, but then she heard the sound of footsteps overhead.  Someone was in the house, perhaps the killer.  She wheeled around to run out the door, but she heard running footsteps on the walk, and the man she'd mistaken for a chauffeur -- the one reading a paper and leaning on a car -- came running into view.

She ducked into the shadows behind the door before he saw her.

There was a large coat rack, with several hats and long coats on it, and Plink slipped behind them.  She set her suitcase down against the wall as if it were stored there, and lined her feet up with a pair of old riding boots, hoping that the small winter boots she'd worn to ease her sore feet would blend in.

She needn't have worried about that.  The man who came in behind her shoved the door open so violently that it slammed back against the coat rack, covering it and her completely from view.

"Hoy! Hoy!" he called. "She's here! Catch her!"

His call was answered by other calls within the house, and the thundering of feet.  Some from upstairs, another from the next room.  There must have been at least five or six of them.

As they gathered, the chauffeur man continued calling to them.

"She just came in here!  Came in a taxi. Almost missed her. That baroness!  She's here!"

"Are you sure?" said an accented voice.

"Course I'm sure!  Bobbed red hair.  Can't miss her."

There was then a general hubbub, in a mix of languages.  One voice rose a little above the others, in quick, quiet command.

"You, out back.  You, in front.  Don't let her get out if she's still inside. You two, check out the streets all around, in case she's already out."

This man spoke with a flat, nasal, Freedonian accent.  More cultured, perhaps, than she expected from a big city gangster or a cowboy.  But then, Freedonian gangsters were always called things like "Gentleman Jim." Perhaps their leaders had to meet some educational requirements.

There was a scurrying and shuffliing as at least half their cohort went outside to obey their leader.

"Bains!  You were in that front parlor?"

"Yes, boss."

"And I was searching the office.  The only way she could go was upstairs or to the back.  You boys go upstairs, Bains and I'll search down here."  Then, as footsteps thundered up the stairs, he called out, "And be thorough!  She can't get out, so there's no hurry."

There was a moment of silence, and Plink wished dearly that she could peek out from behind the coat rack, but there was a solid door as well as several coats in her way.

"Well, boss," said the voice of Bains. "This means Maurinos lied to us."

"That he did.  But we lied to him, so I guess it's even," said the boss.

"This has got out of hand," said Bains.  "We need to pack up and--"

"No we don't," said the Boss firmly.  "We've got it fixed. The police will stay out of it."

"For you they might, you've got high up friends.  But the rest of us will rot.  We'll swing!"

"No you won't.  My friends, as you call them, want us to succeed. If the police get in the way, a little phonecall here, and another one there, the case gets transferred, shuffled, and forgotten."

"They won't forget the murder of a baroness," said Bains.

"Oh, that we'll just blame on Maurinos." The boss paused, and then chuckled.  "It's only right," he added.  "Let's get cracking.  We'll start at the back and move to the front."

Their voices and footsteps faded and Plink was left alone, except for poor Antonio.  She resisted the urge to shove the coats aside and run screaming out the door.  They were watching the door, and the street itself.

Watching for her.

But there were other people on the street.  These men weren't watching for everyone.  They were not, for instance, looking for a man....

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 8 - "Plink's Plan of Escape"

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 6

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Episode 6 - "Making Use of One's Reputation"

by Camille LaGuire

"Run away with Antonio?" said Mrs. Lister. "And why would you want to do that, after all the trouble you had to say this wasn't a prank."

"My would be killers are waiting for news of my disappearance and death," said Plink.  "If I do nothing, they'll know I'm all right, but if they hear I disappeared and everyone is assuming I ran off with Antonio, well, they'll know that's wrong.  So perhaps they'll think they succeeded and get on with their business and leave me alone."

"A large perhaps, madame," said Lister.

'Indeed," said Plink.  "I'd better ring up Antonio and give him the heads up."

She got to her feet, and found that she could walk all right if she paused to wiggle and stretch her toes.  Then she went to her writing desk where she kept the phone and all her correspondence.  Plink was terrible at remembering numbers, so she rifled through and found where she wrote it down.

"The question is," said Plink, as she dialed, "should I ask him to play along, or pretend complete ignorance?"

"If you want the killers to be fooled, it's better if he's ignorant."

"Yes, but if he sits there and professes ignorance, then it will be clear enough to everyone that I didn't run away.  And then everyone will ask what happened to me, and the police will tell them that they saw me here and in good health this morning."

The telephone continued to ring.  Antonio was notorious for taking his time in answering, so she let it, and glanced over her correspondence.  There was a note there from Antonio, regarding the party:

This is to remind you, dear Plink, that I have to catch the one o'clock boat train the next afternoon, so I will be leaving your party early.  I am devastated that I will not be able to dance with you until dawn, but when one goes to the continent, one has so many things to prepare.

"Oh, blast!" said Plink.

"Your ladyship?"

"Sorry, I just remembered that Antonio is leaving town today. He must already be gone."

"That resolves it then.  He'll be gone, so no one can ask him whether you've run off with him."

"It seems rum letting him go off without knowing he's being blamed for it all, though."

The phone was still ringing, however, so she hung up and collapsed down into a chair.

"The fact is, Lister, I wanted to talk to him anyway.  Antonio is the sort who sees everything.  If anyone noticed anything odd at that party, he'd be the one to see it.  And he has a wonderful devious mind...."

Lister had come over to look at the note Plink had been waving around, and finally took it away, ever so politely, to read it herself.

"His train doesn't leave until one.  He might only be out for breakfast."

"Yes!" said Plink, sitting up. "And if he doesn't go back home, I can probably catch him at the station or ....  Lister!  Pack a small overnight bag, quick!  I'll go with him on the train, and we can conspire in full.  I could even take the boat over with him.  We can start an investigative notebook and he can give me every detail."

"I'll include your passport," said Lister.

It was barely a half hour before Plink was ready, and dressed in plain and inconspicuous clothes, and small boots which were not attractive, but comfortable on her sore feet.

Lister called a taxi to wait in the mews out back, just in case the killers were watching the house.  If Lister questioned this precaution, she didn't let on.


Antonio lived in a bohemian district beyond the park, on a nice little street, where it was fashionable enough for is clients, but affordable for a man who always had to live above his means.  Plink paid off the cab and took up her little suitcase.

She should have asked him to wait, at least until she had determined if anyone was home.  But she didn't and the taxi drove off before she thought of it.

And suddenly she felt nervous.   There was no reason for it.  It was a quiet neighborhood, but there were people around.  A maid with a perambulator, a chauffeur leaning against a car a few doors down, reading a newspaper.

Perhaps she was nervous about how Antonio might react to her horning in on his trip.  Well, it was an emergency. She was nearly murdered, and if the police had believed her, they might have stopped him taking his trip at all.

Plink went up the stairs and raised her hand to knock, but as her hand touched the door, it swung away.

The door was not latched.  She pushed it open and noted a sort of coppery, metallic smell.  She stepped inside the darkened hall and saw a figure sprawled near the bottom of the stairs.

It was Antonio, his head lying in small pool of blood. His eyes were open and glassy. Unblinking.

Definitely dead.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 7 - "Burly Men with Nefarious Intentions"
(Available after 8am EST, Mon)

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 5

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Episode Five - "MacGreevey's Theory"

by Camille LaGuire

"MacGreevey, don't talk nonsense," said Chief Superintendent Darling.  "Why on earth would she jump off that train?"

"To create a stir," said the sergeant with a great deal of satisfaction.  "Get in all the papers; mysterious disappearance of the new baroness.  Everyone making a fuss."

He turned an almost sneering look on Plink, and she had feeling she'd seen him somewhere before.  He was very ordinary looking, with ginger hair and freckles.  Tall enough, but a bit slight for a policeman.  She vaguely remembered having that thought before, too, but she couldn't remember when.

"Her ladyship has a long history as prankster," the sergeant went on, emphasizing her as if Plink were no ladyship of his.  "Starting with riding her pony through the Haverton Tearoom on a paper chase when she was, what, seven years old?"

"Nine," said Plink. "We had permission."

"For the paper chase, not the pony.  Then there was the incident where she hung a full beard and mustache on the statue of Queen Valaria at Pinsby Square.  And then the malicious destruction of property in Manners Park, including an assault on a police officer..."

"Oh!" said Plink, and she suddenly knew why the sergeant looked familiar.

That day in Manners Park, Plink had been attempting to affix a woman suffrage banner to the top of the light poles near the pond. A constable attempted to pull her down. She did not kick him. She just sort of shoved his shoulder with her foot, and he lost his balance and ended up in the pond, covered in mud and as angry as a cat would be in similar circumstances.  This sergeant was that policeman.

"You slipped," said Plink, defensively.

"And you jumped!" said MacGreevey.  "You plotted out this whole event.  You had a fellow waiting in a car by the side of the road to pick you up, after you jumped. We found the tracks of the car."

"Those were obviously the tracks of my assailants.  Find those men, and you'll find they're no friends of mine."

"Stop this nonsense, MacGreevey," said the superintendent.  "This is utterly improper to accuse a lady of this kind of malfeasance."

"Oh, stuff it!" said Plink.  "He at least gives me credit for some brain.  You accused me of drinking myself silly!"

She turned back to the sergeant.

"If I had jumped off the back of a moving train," she said to him, "no matter how lithe and acrobatic I might be, I would certainly have at least fallen to my knees, and look, you can see for yourself... my knees are fine."

With that she slipped out from behind the breakfast tray, and pulled up leggings on her pajamas to display her knees.  The constable turned pink and spun away to avert his gaze.  The superintendent did something similar in a more genteel way.  Both the inspector and the sergeant actually looked, though she thought the inspector was admiring and not really examining.

MacGreevey, on the other hand, bent closer and squinted at her knees.

"Very nice," he said.  "But since the momentum of the train would have you going the other way, you'd have fallen on your hind quarters. Shall we have a look at them?"

"MacGreevey!" said the superintendant.

"No need," said Mrs. Lister. "I've seen her ladyship's other side, and she didn't fall there.  She's nothing but scrapes and wee bruises anywhere.  Nothing you'd get from a fall -- or a jump -- like that."

The police scowled and had a brief consult, in which the superintendent snarled at MacGreevey, who finally backed away like a sullen dog ordered back from an impertinent rabbit.  No more was to be heard of the Prank Theory.

"Lister, would you fetch the things I was wearing last night?  These gentlemen will want them as evidence."

The sergeant gave a nudge to the silent constable, who went with Lister to fetch the things.

"I think it would less of an embarrassment if we closed the case," said the superintendent.  "Though, of course, we will investigate further if you insist.  But there really is no evidence--"

"Bosh," said Plink, and she displayed her genteel upbringing by not throwing the tea pot at his head.  "There will be evidence if you look for it.  I am sure you fellows are much cleverer than the way you are portrayed in popular fiction."

Mrs. Lister and the constable returned, the constable with a carton full of Plink's things.  The sergeant, still sulking, dug into the box with a scowl.  He happened to pull out Plink's heavy cloche hat.  The rabbit-like inspector exclaimed at the sight of it.

"I say, that's a rather thick hat, isn't it?" he said, hopefully, glancing around at everyone.  "You could have had a blow to the head and not got a bump because of the hat!  You'd still have a concussion. That would resolve everything, wouldn't it?"

"Perfectly!" said the superintendent.  He smiled at Plink. She did not return the smile, so he bowed and took his leave. The sergeant lagged behind, examining the lining of the hat with a frown.

"Come along, MacGreevey!" snapped the superintendent.  And then, with a thunderous clomping down the stairs, they were all gone.

"Well!" said Plink.  "That was as useful as a partridge at a prize fight!"

"Indeed, your ladyship," said Mrs. Lister, and she cleared away the breakfast tray.  "Will you be wanting a nap, or will you be chasing after trouble this morning?"

"Oh, trouble, I think. If I had any idea where to look for it." Plink took a sip of her tea.  "I think... perhaps I should run off with Antonio after all."

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 6 - "Making Use of One's Reputation" 
  (Available after 8am EST, Mon/Thur)

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 4

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

Episode Four - "Breakfast With The Rozzers"

by Camille LaGuire

The bath was wondrous.  She soaked away the fuzz and confusion until the steaming water turned cold.  Her poor abused feet felt much better, though the scratches on her skin from that tumble down the embankment stung a bit.  A few bruises, but only small ones.  No major damage.

It wasn't until she was seated in her boudoir, clad in lounging pajamas and a pair of very soft slippers, scarfing down a pile of toast and pastries like a starved puma (if pumas ate toast and pastries), that her mind began to function properly.

"Lister!" she said.  "You are right.  We should call the police.  Oh! Is that the rest of my breakfast?"

Though she had eaten sufficient bread to feed a small village, she looked with great eagerness on the tray which Lister had just brought in.  It was piled with sausages, bacon, ham, an omelette, grilled tomatoes and a lovely large dish of creamed kippers.

"I've already called them," said Lister.

"Mmmffh?" said Plink, her mouth already full of kippers.

"The police, your ladyship," said Lister.  "I know it was against your orders, but the aunts called.  I might have put off Lady Hortense, but your Aunt Amelia was in a dreadful state and I couldn't help but reveal that you are safe and sound. Then, since the cat was out of the bag, I considered your fear that the villains would find out that you were alive and well, so I thought it would be best to ring up the police right away so they could protect you."

"Excellent!"

"They are waiting downstairs in the morning room."

"Well, call them up!" said Plink. "My feet have had enough traveling today.  And someone tried to squish me with a train, Lister.  We should not delay the pursuit of the malefactors."

She then attacked her sausages, as Lister went out with a look of disapproval.  It was fond disapproval, though, for if Lister really disapproved, she'd never have taken the  position. She knew Plink from early childhood.

Soon she heard the exceptionally heavy tread of the law on the stair, so heavy that when the door opened, she half expected to see a police horse enter the room. Instead it was no less than four policemen, three in plain clothes, and one uniformed constable.

They filed in, all correct and grave, and the one in the lead, who looked more like a politician than a policeman, bowed.

"Your ladyship," he said.  "I am Chief Superintendent Darling. This is Detective Inspector Pfaffle, and Detective Sergeant MacGreevey."

The constable apparently had no name.

Plink waved a sausage in greeting and said, "Thank you for coming so quickly, gentlemen.  Can you tell me what happened last night?"

The superintendent paused in surprise.

"We're here to ask that of you, your ladyship."

"I haven't any idea," said Plink. "I was largely unconscious, and now I'm eating sausages.  So why don't you start.  I'm sure you have gathered some information?"

The superintendent turned to the inspector. The inspector turned to the sergeant.  The sergeant did not turn the the constable but instead raised his chin and recited a report.  Plink had, apparently, declared she was running off with Antonio, stolen Lady Blinkersley's cloak, driven her car into a ditch, caught a train, lost a shoe on said train, and was never seen again.

"It's nonsense," said Plink, as he finished his report and she finished her sausage.  "All except the bit about Antonio, which was a joke.  I did not leave the party or drive anywhere or get on a train. I was drugged into unconsciousness."

"And how are you sure of that, your ladyship?" asked the superintendent.

"Because I was perfectly conscious and having a wonderful time, and then suddenly I was lying on a train track, wrapped in a strange robe, with a train bearing down on me."  She briefly related her escape, and return home, complete with her impression of the Grim Reaper's Attack Goose.

The police were not impressed.

"So you never saw your ... assailants," said the superintendent in a tone which dripped with doubt.

"No," said Plink.  "I was, as I said, unconscious."

"What is the last thing you remember before you woke up on the tracks?"

"We had just finished playing charades and I called for a cocktail, and then... nothing."

"That is, unfortunately, a common effect of cocktails."

"Not just one," said Plink.

"Oh, just one can have a powerful effect on a genteel young lady," said the superintendent, knowingly.

"Not on me," said Plink.  "And regardless, I don't drink so quickly or heavily that I can go from cold sober to unconscious in an instant.  And it offends me that you assume that I do."

There was a moment of silence.  The superintendent clearly didn't like being corrected by a slip of a girl, but he was a gentleman and had to be aware that she ranked him.

The silence was finally broken by the inspector, a fluffy little round man with a curly mustache.

"But the fall!" he said.  "It can all be explained by the fall from the train. She hit her head, and that caused amnesia.  No need to explain it with drink. You see?"

The superintendent sat back and looked mollified.  "Of course," he said.  "That would explain a lady's loss of memory..."

"Yes," said Plink.  "That would explain it quite nicely, except for the fact that I don't have a bump on my head."

She raised both hands to her head and poked and prodded at her scalp to illustrate.

"Not a scratch on the noggin," she said.  "As a matter of fact, I don't have any injuries that would be compatible with falling off the back of a train, even a stationary one."

It was at this point that the sergeant, who had been silently scowling behind the inspector spoke up.

"Of course not," he said.  "That's because you didn't fall.  You jumped!"

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 5 - "MacGreevey's Theory" 

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 3

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

Episode 3 - "Barefoot in the Big City"

by Camille LaGuire

It was a long long walk.

The one shoe Plink had left had been useful for feeling her way along when she went from the track to the road, but it was more trouble than help in walking, so she took it of and walked barefoot along the road toward the city and her second home in north Thronden.

The pain in her feet made it impossible to think, or to count time, but at least it made her less aware of the pain in her head.  And her back.  And her knees.

Thoughts swirled in Plink's mind as to who might want to kill her, but she was so weary that it was more like a bad dream of fractured images and idea, flitting by like angry flies.

She walked on, through muddy pools of what she hoped was water. She walked over sharp stones. She was barked at by dogs, and still never saw any place she'd like to stop for help. Or any place she thought there might be someone who could help.

But presently the streets became more narrow and buildings more crowded.  She was too numb to really look at them. It still seemed silent and dead, but soon, perhaps she'd see a policeman or a place to call for help.

As she passed the dark specter of one more abandoned factory, its open door like a gaping maw of hell, two figures stepped out of that darkness.  Unsavory men, lurking.  Their voices were thin and reedy in the echoing night, but she could hear them well enough.

"Here, this looks like a bit of interest," said one of them.

They moved closer and the other, with a nasty sounding voice, called out, and not at all kindly: "Where you from, missy?"

Plink looked at them, decided they were not the sort of person she should speak to without introduction (a rule she normally did not follow, but here seemed appropriate).  She saw a glint and realized one of them had a knife.  They separated slightly as though to trap her.

She couldn't run away.  They'd have her in a second.  But she'd be blasted if she'd just faint on them. The honor of the Beethinghams demanded some reaction.  So she let out scream and ran straight at them, raising her arms as far as the heavy cloak would allow, which wasn't far.

She imagined she looked rather like an angry goose, with her flapping arms and waddling uncertain gait.  She hadn't the lung power to give a good solid highpitched scream, so it came out a deep ghostly howl.

The men turned tail and fled into the darkness whence they came. Plink staggered a few more steps and wrapped herself around a lamppost.

"Honk, honk," she said after them, in rather the same tone of voice you'd say take that!

She figured they might come back if she stayed too long and looked too weak, so she pushed herself away from that post and continued on her journey.   The incident gave her a new surge of energy and she focused her mind on the nice hot bath she had waiting at home.  And breakfast... yes, breakfast!  She was starving.

The sky was quite bright by the time she staggered into Kerrington Lane, dreaming of bacon and sausages and grilled tomatoes, and toast and jam and kippers in that lovely cream sauce that only Mrs. Lister could make....

Mrs. Lister answered the door very quickly like she was waiting for the knock.  She was fully dressed in her black housekeeper's habit.  She wore it like a priest wore his vestements or a butler his waistcoat.  But to be wearing it at this time of morning, she must have been waiting.

"Oh, your ladyship!" she cried, before Plink could say a thing.  "We've all been so worried about you.  They thought you had an accident!"

"It was no accident, Lister," said Plink and she staggered inside.

"We should get you to bed, your ladyship," said Lister.

"A bath," she said in reply.  "A hot bath and then breakfast."

"I'll draw your bath and then call your aunts--"

"No!" said Plink.  "No, I don't want anyone to know where I am."

"But they'll be worried, ma'm."

"Lister, someone tried to kill me.  I don't know who, and I don't want them to know they failed.  I don't want to tell anyone until I've had a chance to think."

Lister was silent. She was an old-school servant and did not like to contradict her betters, but she also had the backbone to do it anyway.

"Miss," she said, using the term of address she'd used when Plink was a child.  "You can't just hide while everyone worries.  And if someone is looking to harm you, how safe will you be here on your own?  Let me call the police at least. And a doctor."

"I'll be better able to receive tham after a bath," said Plink.  Lister made a slight harrumphing sound but accepted that.

Lister helped her upstairs and drew the bath while Plink dumped the cloak and peeled off her hat and dress and the remains of her stockings.  The dress was a beaded, clinging affair, and its weight had become unbearable. Next party, she's wear silk chiffon, regardless of how scandalous it might be.

"What would you like for breakfast, ma'm?" asked Lister.

"Everything," said Plink, in a deep, haunted sort of voice.  Mrs. Lister took her arm and helped her into the bath.

"Then you shall have everything, little miss."

It was GOOD to be home.

And she could always think better in the bath.  If she didn't fall asleep.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 4 - "Breakfast with the Rozzers"
(Available after 8am EST, Thursday)

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal

Misplaced Baroness - Ep 2

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

Episode 2 - "Meanwhile at Beethingham Hall...."

by Camille LaGuire

The dawn was breaking over the vast expanse of Beethingham Hall.  Some of the lights were still lit, but most of the denizens had finally tottered off to bed. Servants scurried about cleaning up the shambles that was left of the great party.  Too bad the guest of honor had taken a powder.

Out on the damp and dewy lawn, Detective Inspector Pfaffle and Detective Sergeant MacGreevey stood looking over their notes. Or at least, Pfaffle was.  He always took voluminous notes, especially when dealing with important people. It impressed them and made them think he was listening.

Unfortunately, he didn't actually listen or take notes very well, so his notes were a confused mess of doodles and disjointed phrases.  This whole case was a mad confusion of misplaced facts, suppositions and witnesses who were drunk, hung over, hysterical, or uncooperative.

He glanced over at MacGreevey.  The sergeant was writing furiously -- furious being his demeanour, not his writing speed -- in his notebook, in neat careful marked lines.  Unlike Pfaffle, MacGreevey listened well and never took notes until later, after he had it all ordered in his mind and ready to be turned into a report. 

MacGreevey was smart, brave, talented and ambitious, and should have promoted above Pfaffle a long time ago... except for the fact that he was also stubborn, naive, arrogant, rude and insubordinate.  He was constantly on the edge of being dismissed.   Pfaffle had won the man's loyalty with a persistent application of patience and a steadfast refusal to take offense.   He needed MacGreevey to do things like think, and MacGreevey needed Pfaffle to keep their superiors from dismissing him.

"Well, MacG?" said Pfaffle, as the sergeant flipped his notebook shut.

"Waste of our time," grunted MacGreevey.

"Oh!" said Pfaffle, looking at his notes.  "Are you ... sure?"

"You don't agree?"  The sergeant looked at him narrowly.

"Well, I thought, at least we should do a sum up.  Shouldn't we?"

MacGreevey knew full well that Pfaffle wanted him to explain it all, but he was clearly in a mood this morning.  Pfaffle squirmed and looked helplessly at his notes.  As hoped, that satisfied his subordinate, who gave a small, superior smile and put away his notebook, just to show he didn't need it.

"The subject, Lady Beethingham, is a known prankster."

"Ah, but she's a peeress now," interjected Pfaffle.  "Responsibility sobers a person up."

"She was hardly sober last night," said MacGreevey, then he went on reciting the facts.  "Last night was her twenty-first birthday party.  There was crowning ceremony, like she was a queen, and then a dignified dinner with lots of dignified people who are above talking to us.  The subject then led the younger members of the party on a wild game of cat-and-mouse through this barn--" MacGreevey here paused to glance distainfully at the manor house behind him.  "--which is larger than some whole countries."

"Yes, very fine. Very large," said Pfaffle. "It makes it all more confusing.  So many things going on."

"Not really," said MacGreevey.  "The only possibly relevant thing is the bit about Antonio Maurinos."

"Yes, the foreigner!"  Pfaffle looked down with satisfaction the exclamation point he'd made in his notes, right next to the word _foreigner__.  "A magician or something."

"Dance instructor," said MacGreevey with derision.  "Paid party host and entertainer.  According to some rather hazy witnesses, Lady Beethingham declared she was already bored with being lady of the manor, and she planned to run off with this Maurinos.  Soon after that, Maurinos left the party, presumably fleeing a fate worse than death.  Lady Beethingham then was seen to pass out on a settee in a small drawing room of some sort."

"The west wing, yellow sub-drawing room," said Pfaffle, who tended to remember that sort of detail, though not its significance.

"Next relevant moment was when Lady Blinkersley left and found that her peacock cloak was missing, whereupon several witnesses, again hazy, recalled that they had seen Lady Beethingham stumbling across the patio wrapped in it.  She called out that she was headed toward Thronden and freedom.  Concerned about her safety, the servants called the local constabulary, who found her roadster in a ditch near the railway station.  The ticket agent remembered a young woman in a large peacock cloak, who bought a ticket and got on the midnight train to Thronden. At which point the local constabulary called us down in Thronden to see if she had arrived safely."

"And we found her shoe!"

"Yes, one of our constables found the subject's right shoe caught in the scroll work on the observation platform at the back of the train."

"So she fell or jumped off the train."

"Or she put her shoe there as a prank, threw away the peacock cloak, and ran off with poor Maurinos."

"She could be injured. Or dead!" said Pfaffle.

"The local chaps are searching the tracks, now that it's light."

"You should get on to them.  You should---"

"I should find Maurinos and then get some sleep."

They compromised on breakfast in town. By the time they were finished, the local constabulary reported back. No body found on the tracks, but they did find some peacock feathers, and also some suspicious tire tracks in a spot in the last bit of woods before Thronden.

"So she jumped," said MacGreevey, "and Maurinos, or someone else, picked her up."

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 3 - "Barefoot in the Big City"
(Available after 8am EST, Monday)

First Episode | Previous Episode | Series Intro and TOC | Story So Far | Next Episode

---

Support the writing of this serial!  You can donate directly, or you can buy the first book in the series, The Case of the Misplaced Hero -- available as an ebook at major online retailers, including:

In most ebook formats at Smashwords, plus Amazon's Kindle Store, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Diesel, Apple iBookstore.  (Coming soon to Sony.)

Now also at Amazon's international stores: UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Japan.

Or donate via Paypal