Plagium

Chapter 16 - In Which a Familiar Face Appears

Tracey Higgenbottom started listlessly into the unlit fireplace, back at her own residence. In her hands were the few pieces of evidence that she had to work with:

Mr. Porter's glasses.

The handkerchief with the initals of RN.

The document of Mrs. Pinot's ticket purchases from the banker.

And the locked notebook that Charlie had hurriedly given her before they had split.

Tracey sighed and touched the book's cover, setting the other items aside. A gentle knock sounded from the doorway. She looked up, to see Mittie holding a small box.

"Hey Trace, I was lookin' in your cupboards an' found some tea," she said with a sympathetic smile. "D'ya want some?"

"Yes," she gloomily said, dejectedly setting the book aside with the rest of the evidence. "Let me help you find some cups."

The two worked in tense silence, only broken by a few intermittent discussions of where to find utensils or ingredients. Tracey noticed Mittie stealing glances at her, but said nothing. "Um," Mittie finally said. "Look's like it's the two a' us again."

Tracey took her cup and sat, staring once more at the fireplace. Mittie followed her gaze, then looked back at her.

"I'm sure that Harrie and Bentam will rejoin us soon," she offered.

Tracey frowned, thinking about the events of the previous night. "I'm sure that Bentam made it quite clear that he will no longer be helping us."

"He was rather upset, yes," Mittie sighed. "A real shame that that evenin' should'a ended so sour. Ya know, you even missed Jon! He came after the show and personally thanked us! I could'a dropped right there..." Mittie trailed off, gazing wistfully to the fireplace. Shaking herself, she directed her attention back to Tracey. "I'm sorry, Trace. I'm sure you're in a terrible state considering we lost half of our group. That was thoughtless of me."

"It's alright, Mittie," she replied dryly. "I can understand why Harriet went with Bentam, however. I'm certain the High Constable will close the case quickly."

"I really thought that he didn't want to get 'em involved in this case," Mittie said with a shake of her head. "But, I do see your angle."

Tracey merely nodded.

"Poor Charlie. Looks like we really got a case of plagium now," Mittie said, frowning. "Don't you think that it was a bit strange that Jon Starr's staff was there at that fake performance? Why would Rollo and Hassan be there of all places?"

"I was thinking about that, yes," Tracey said, thinking about her conversation with the chef and butler. "The best I can come up with is that she must've been behind those fraudulent performances. Rollo and Hassan are likely secretly working with her. That could be why Harriet saw them by her house that night, and why Charlie ran into them backstage. She kidnapped Mr. Porter because he had found out that she was behind them and may have tried to report it."

"Solid theory...but why would she buy the tickets then?" Mittie said, leaning over and taking up the bank ledger. "It'd hardly make sense for her to buy tickets to fake performances that she made herself."

"To throw off suspicion, perhaps?" Tracey said. "Whatever the case, I have reason to believe that Charlie and Mr. Porter are in the same place."

"Right. The funhouse," Mittie thoughtfully agreed.

"Wherever that may be..."

"We never did get a chance to get to Mrs. Pinot's house. You think they may be there?"

"Perhaps, but we have no way of getting in. We lost our opportunity last night."

"Oh...," Mittie said, her shoulders slumping. She sipped her tea and looked over to the pile of evidence next to Tracey. "So I don't think Mr. Porter's glasses will be of much help, Rollo's handkerchief won't do much either...if we could open the book, though."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Porter never shared with me how to open his journal," Tracey dryly replied. "And Charlie himself couldn't open it."

"Let's back up a bit. Maybe we don't need the book to find them. We got the best clue yet, Tracey!"

"What's that?" Tracey wearily replied, taking another sip of tea.

"They said the funhouse, so why don't we make good on that trip and go now?"

"To a real funhouse?" Tracey groaned.

"Why not? They said it themselves." Mittie downed her cup and jumped up. "There's plenty of time for us to look an' come back."

"I suppose," Tracey said. She finished her cup of tea and stood, gathering the evidence into various pockets of her dress. "There's too many funhouses in Mondon, however. We're going to have to narrow it down."

She paused.

"You did see Rollo and Mr. Porter had gone to The Undertown at one point. Why don't we start back a square one, then?" she said. "Not many people have the gall to even run a business down in The Undertown, let alone an amusement place. I do believe that Shrimp Renegald has a funhouse attached to it."

"Really? That restaurant that Charlie called nasty?"

"You remembered that?"

"Have a good mem'ry, I s'pose." Mittie shrugged.

"But yes, I've always heard that the only reason why they can keep running that restaurant is because of the funhouse." Tracey walked to the doorway and turned back to Mittie. "Shall we go?"

"Of course!" she replied. "Look's like rain," Mittie said as they made their way into the foyer. She peered through the front door's glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Here, I have some umbrellas," Tracey said as handed one to her.

"Wait," Mittie said, squinting closer in the door. "Trace, were you expecting guests?"

"No," Tracey replied, donning a raincoat. "Why?"

Lightning briefly flashed, revealing a dark figure at the door. Mittie and Tracey both scrambled from the door. "Maybe that's Bentam...?" Mittie suggested.

The figure knocked on the door, each knock seemingly shaking the foyer.

"Is Bentam the kind of person to bang down doors?" Tracey replied, slowly taking her coat off.

"Should we steam-ring the Constables?" Mittie said, backing towards the steam telephone on the entry table.

"Tracey Higgenbottom!" the figure yelled, banging the door more insistently.

Tracey paused, squinting at the door. "Wait," she said as she edged closer. "I recognize this voice."

"Are you sure?" Mittie said incredulously.

Tracey put her hand onto the handle.

"Wait, Trace—."

Before she could talk herself out of the action, Tracey swung open the door. A gust of wind swept in the rain as the person scrambled inside, slamming it behind themselves. "I thought you'd never let me in," the figure gruffly said, shaking their hat and placing their soggy coat over Tracey's own on the coat rack.

"Mr. Matthews, what a surprise!" Tracey gushed, quickly moving his coat to another hook and turning to face the banker.

"William Matthews?" Mittie said in bewilderment.

"Yes, the same Mr. William Matthews," he said, as he roughly straightened his hair and dusted his jacket. "Now," he said, looking between the two with distrustful eyes, "where is the book?"