"Good morning!" Mr. Porter cheerfully said as he pushed open the door to Porter Keeper Shoppe, sending the bell ringing. "Has the motor-mail sent in today's news yet, Tracey?"
"Not yet," Tracey replied from the ground. She had spent the better part of her morning sorting through the aftermath of Mr. Porter's kidnapping and now found herself sitting comfortably on the wooden floors, paperwork surrounding herself. "But then again," she added, "I've been so focused on refiling these papers, I might not've heard it."
"You've been gone for two weeks, and already you're back at it, aren't you?" he chuckled.
"I'm a fast recoverer," Tracey said with a smile. "I'm just glad to get rid of all those bandages," she added, touching her hair.
"I can't thank you enough," he said, setting down his bag onto his desk.
"Think nothing of it," she replied. Tracey sighed as she once more surveyed the mess of the room. "I wonder...if Jon were simply searching for one document, why would he leave the office in such a mess? This will take ages to clean!"
"Hm," Mr. Porter thoughtfully hummed. "Likely to stage a burglary, I suppose," he said with a shrug. Mr. Porter walked to the motor-mail, found it to be empty, and returned once more to his desk.
"A poorly staged burglary," Tracey sniffed. "Who leaves windows and doors open in the middle of the night? And with all the lights on? It's as if he wanted to get caught."
"Who knows what was on his mind? He's a hard fellow to read." Mr. Porter began sorting the documents strewn across his desk. "He was visiting the shop rather frequently before his...abducting me. I suspected that he knew I had Mrs. Pinot's evidence, but I never thought that he'd be so desperate to keep me silent!" Mr. Porter paused as he separated the pages into stacks. "I was supposed to have turned in Mrs. Pinot's evidence to the High Constable when he stopped the night before. Can't say I remember too much from it," he said, squinting. "He used some sort of red gear-device on me."
"I know it well," she grimly replied. "Done!" she triumphantly said as she sorted the last sheet. Tracey stood, snatched a couple of stacks of paper, then walked over to the filing cabinet. "Did he ever find the evidence? I can hardly tell what's what in this chaos," she said, placing the paper into their respective folders.
"Thankfully not," he said.
The door jingled as it slammed open, taking Tracey by surprise. "I'm sorry, we're not open today," she started.
"Worry not, Ms. Higgenbottom, it is I, Mr. William Matthews!" boomed the familiar, loud voice.
"Mr. Matthews!" she said, quickly closing the drawers and straightening to greet the banker. "What brings you here?"
"Remington over here told me that he'd be in the shop today," he said.
"I thought you'd drop by later," Mr. Porter said, giving him a friendly wave. "How've you been, old pal?"
"Fine, fine. I needed to come and see for myself if you were fine," he said. "Too many inconsistencies these past few weeks! Firstly, you send me a letter via...motor-mail."
"I'd never do that, William."
"Secondly," Mr. Matthews continued, dramatically holding two fingers in the air. "Ms. Higgenbottom was very suspicious when she visited me!"
"You did what now?" Mr. Porter said, looking to Tracey.
"I can explain later," Tracey quickly said.
"And thirdly," Mr. Matthews continued, his voice close to shaking the room with its volume, "she had your keeper book!"
"I never told you if we did," Tracey retorted.
"Ah, but you never denied not having it!"
"To the contrary!" Mr. Porter said with a jovial smile. "I always keep my book safely locked away in my desk. As you can see here...," he paused, looking closer at his desk. "There are scratches on here. Did someone break the lock to my drawers?"
"Oh!" Tracey said, briefly stopping from straightening more paper. "Yes, Charlie opened one of them with a letter opener."
"Did he?"
"No worries, Mr. Porter, we've returned the book since."
"So you did have the book?" Mr. Matthews boomed. "I knew you looked suspicious! I may not be good at being a sleuth, as you are Ms. Higgenbottom, but the way you evaded my answers were downright suspect!"
"I'd rather that Tracey found my book rather than you, William," Mr. Porter said with a twinkle in his eye. "You'd have opened it in a heartbeat."
"Of course, I would have! I know you have your chess strategies in that book!" he exclaimed. "That was my one opportunity to get your book—ruined!"
"And those strategies," Mr. Porter said, opening the drawer and inspecting the book in his hands, "are for you to never learn! How else will I keep my two-year streak? Now Tracey," he said, turning to her, "you couldn't open it, could you?"
"Well...," Tracey started, busying herself with returning books to their shelves.
"Tracey?" Mr. Porter prodded, a warning tone in his voice.
"We might've...," she said. "But we wouldn't have found you otherwise!"
"Is that so?" he said. Mr. Porter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't think you understand the gravity of opening a Keeper book, Tracey," he said. "How did you figure it out?"
"Bentam found a book at the library that had a similar picture. Why?"
"Why would they ever make it so easy...?" he muttered. "Did you get any strange contact after opening the book?"
"Not after...," she said. Tracey slowly set down a book. "...but before. There was someone that broke into my home trying to open your book. I thought it might've been Jon or Mr. Matthews since he had just left—."
"I assure you it was not!" Mr. Matthews bellowed. "I was at my desk precisely one hour after my lunch break!"
"Yes, I figured it couldn't have been you. And Jon seemed preoccupied with fleeing the country when we found him. Although he could have sent his staff..."
"No, I have an idea of who it was," Mr. Porter said, a frown on his face. "I'll have to have a word with them," he mumbled. "Actually," he said louder, "William, do you think you can send through correspondence for me? On your way back? I might not be able to today, seeing we have to clean up my shop still."
"Of course!" Mr. Matthews said. Tracey winced at the volume of his exclamation.
Mr. Porter scrawled on a sheet of paper. "Here you go, William."
"Chess game, tomorrow evening?" Mr. Matthews said, taking the paper.
"Of course!" Mr. Porter said, his smile strained.
"Alright, see you then!" he replied, stomping out of the shop and slamming the door shut. Mr. Matthews sent one last jovial wave before wandering away into the streets of Mondon.
Mr. Porter visibly relaxed as he watched Mr. Matthews disappear from view. "That shouldn't be an issue anymore," he said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about having opened the book. Please make sure that you don't do that again, however. Do you understand, Tracey?"
"I'll try not to," she said, raising her eyebrows.
The two fell into uncomfortable silence, only interrupted by the occasional sounds of shuffling papers, opening drawers, and sliding furniture. "Tracey," Mr. Porter started, looking up from his neat stacks of paper, "I know you've already given statements to the High Constable, but I am curious...how exactly did you find me? I'm sure that one document from William and the handkerchief couldn't be the only clues you were working from."
"There was more...," Tracey haltingly said. She paused. "I couldn't tell the constables, you see...," she continued, "because I'm positive it'd have gotten us all in trouble."
"What was it?"
"I received a series of combustible notes. Two here, and one at my home."
The frown on Mr. Porter's face deepened, and his eyebrows knit. "What did they consist of?" he asked, his voice low.
"Just clues on how to find you? I thought it might've been Jon since the notes were so threatening. But I'm not too certain about that anymore."
"I doubt he'd ever have the knowledge of where to find that sort of stuff anyway."
"I don't know about that," Tracey said with a shrug. "Mittie and I found out about The Marketplace fairly easily."
"Just how much trouble have you gotten yourself into, Tracey?" Mr. Porter said in exasperation.
"Oh no, no trouble! Mr. Matthews told us!"
"Did he? I'll have to have a word with him." He picked up a stack of paper and placed it into a drawer, closing the door a little more vigorously than necessary.
"Say...," Tracey said, slowly turning around to face Mr. Porter. "Would you say that Mr. Matthews knew about The Marketplace because of this Keeper Association, by any chance?"
"I can't answer that, Tracey," he responded.
"For a keeper of secrets, you certainly have your own fair share of them," she dryly said, placing the last book onto the shelf. "I'm really starting to wonder about this whole Keeper Association...," she muttered, sliding another set of books onto a bookshelf.
"The less you know, the better."
Behind her, the motor-mail whirred to life.
"And there's today's news," Tracey said, relieved for the change of subject. She snatched the large newspaper and unfurled it. "Oh, will you look at that title! 'Double-Acting: Jon Starr To Be Tried in Court for Fraudulent Performances'. Now that's something." She smirked as she scanned through the paper. "Can you believe that he's pleading insanity?" she said, glancing to Mr. Porter.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he gets off with only a fine," Mr. Porter replied, curiously leaning forward to get a better glimpse of the paper.
"Yes, it's saying that he created the double performances...to double his profits. That was a terribly complicated scheme for extra money..."
"I'd say," Mr. Porter solemnly agreed. "Far too messy. He'll lose it all with the court fines alone. Is there any mention of me?"
"Hm," Tracey murmured as she scanned through the papers. "Yes, 'Mr. Jon Starr is also charged on two counts of kidnapping, one victim being a Mr. Remington Porter.' That's all."
"Well, I suppose that protects the business," he thoughtfully said. Mr. Porter took the last stack of papers on his desk and walked over to the filing cabinet, placing each sheet into its respective file. "What about Mrs. Pinot?" he said. "I would think she'd be mentioned."
Tracey scanned the article. "Nothing on her. But," she said, "it looks like Shrimp Renegald has been shut down due to...cutting corners on recipes? 'Shrimp Renegald falls under steam due to recent complaints about watery juices, flavorless dishes, and lackluster appetizers.'" She frowned. "That is the last thing I'd have thought they'd be shut down for."
"I'm sure they'll be back, one form or another," Mr. Porter said. "Let me see the newspaper," he said, taking the extended sheet. "There may be an article on her somewhere else."
Tracey took a broom and began to sweep the now cleared flooring. The door's bell rang. "Sorry, we're not taking any customers at this moment," Tracey said.
"It's a good thing I'm not a customer, then!" a familiar voice said. There in the doorway was Mittie, wearing the same attire as she had when they first met.
"Mittie!" Tracey said, placing the broom aside and jogging to meet her. "I should really look at who's entering."
"It's fine," Mittie said.
"It's good to see you again, Mittie!" Mr. Porter happily said, walking up to shake her hand. "I have to thank you once again for helping my dear Tracey."
"It was of no issue," Mittie graciously replied, tipping her head. "I came by to say goodbye, actually."
"I thought you've left already," Tracey admitted. "It has been around two weeks, and I didn't hear much from you while I was home."
"No," she replied. "There was a delay in some goods' arrival here in Mondon so I had stuck around. Sorry for not keeping in touch, Trace, but I was busy repairing some burnt bridges with this fellow over here." Mittie pointed outside, to where Tracey could see a tall man sheepishly standing to the side, just outside of the view of her and Mr. Porter.
"Why," Mr. Porter said in surprise. "Is that Reginald?"
"Y-yes," Reggie said, ducking his head into the shop. He took a few uncertain steps forward.
"I didn't know you knew each other?" Tracey said, looking between the two.
"I was surprised myself when he told me so," Mittie agreed.
"I've delivered goods for Mr. Porter a few times," Reggie awkwardly replied. "I also needed to...apologize to you, Ms. Higgenbottom."
"What ever for?" Tracey said in bewilderment.
"I gave you and Mittie quite a hard time back at Shrimp Reginald...so, sorry about that. I'll try my best to make it up to you some other time."
"Apology accepted," she responded. "I'm sure we gave you quite a fright showing up in your marketplace!"
"Oh...yes, rather." He nervously smiled.
"I heard Shrimp Reginald has been shut down," Mr. Porter said. "Have you figured out how you'll be reopening?"
"Oh, Lousie has been saying we need to open up a gear repair shop," Reggie said with a shrug. "She's better with mechanics than waiting tables anyhow."
"I hope we're not interrupting anything?" a voice said from the doorway.
The four of them turned, to see two constables standing in the doorway. "Can I help you?" Mr. Porter said.
"Yes, sir, we're here following up on a break-in report?" a constable said, holding up a sheet of paper. "We were here a couple o' weeks ago to take some steam photos, and we're now here t' open investigation. Ms. Higgenbottom, was it?"
"Y...yes? It's been nearly three weeks, actually," Tracey slowly said.
"Fortunately for you," he continued, ignoring the latter comment, "we've got a lead on the break-in."
"Oh?"
"Yes, this un's a serial robber, and he was in your side of town the night of the incident."
"Oh...that's great and all...," Tracey said, glancing over to see Mr. Porter's baffled face, "but we were able to resolve the matter."
"...really now?" he responded, his jaw slack.
"I told you," the other constable muttered. "'alf these break-ins turn out t' be a false case!"
"Sorry for the inconvenience," the constable stammered. "We'll make a report o' that once we get back. C'mon."
"I told you we were too late!" the other constable said as the two of them lumbered from the shop. After a few moments, Mr. Porter wandered back to his desk, resuming his search in the newspaper. Reggie hesitantly wandered around the office, taking up stray sheets of paper and gathering them into stacks.
"Well, then," Tracey finally said, at a loss for words.
"Right, well then," Mittie laughed. "I'm glad you didn't leave Mr. Porter's case to them. They would have probably come next week to start searchin'!"
"Likely next month," she sighed.
"Here's something on Mrs. Pinot," Mr. Porter said, shaking the newspaper to straighten it. "It's not much. 'Late Inventor's Widow Arrested on Charges of Blackmailing: Mrs. Corsetta Pinot has been arrested on charges of blackmailing. No further evidence has been released.'"
"I'm kinda sorry for her...," Mittie said, "From what you had told me, Trace, she sounds like she's really hurtin' after Mr. Pinot's accident."
"Jon seemed like he was too...," Tracey replied, thinking back to his expressions.
"Nope!" Mittie firmly said. "We're not speaking about he-who-must-not-be-spoken-of here."
"Not a fan?"
"Absolutely not. Not anymore." Mittie sighed. "Trace, I saw him carrying you! I really thought he had killed you. There's no coming back after a stunt like that, even if it was....he-who-must-not-be-spoken-of."
The door rang once more.
"It seems as if there's a party we haven't been invited to?" Bentam said from the doorway, Harriet and Charlie in tow.
"Welcome!" Mr. Porter said, before burying himself once more into the newspaper.
Reggie gave a small wave from his station in the back of the shop, and Mittie warmly smiled.
"What brings you here?" Tracey said, turning to face him.
"Not even a hello, I see," he sniffed. "Charlie has been asking to see you and Mr. Porter," he said.
"Actually, I did," Harriet volunteered. "I was asking Bentam last night—during our tea time—if we could pay you a visit!"
"You have tea times now? And at night?" Mittie said in surprise. "Isn't it dangerous for you and Charlie to be walking in The Undertown at night?"
"Oh, we don't have to worry about that anymore!"
"Really?" Tracey said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yup, my bread-theivin' days are over!" Charlie proudly said.
"I'm going to ignore that you just admitted to stealing bread," Bentam said, loudly clearing his throat. "On a change of subject," he quickly added, ushering Harriet and Charlie towards the door, "I see that you're fine. I suppose we'll see you around—,"
"Hold that thought," Mr. Porter said, glancing from the newspaper. "I found some side articles on the others that were working with Jon Starr. 'Partners in Crime—How Jon Starr Fooled Us All: Among his associates of HassanHamdi and Rollo Nicholson, Jon Starr reportedly had another ace up his sleeve: his belle ElizavetaHalpin. Our reporters have been able to find that Miss Halpin is registered as an actress under the Dnalgne Acting Board. The two have reportedly been together for many years, keeping their relationship under wraps with the help of their acting skills and help from the aforementioned associates.'"
"So Rollo and Hassan were helping Jon and Elizaveta to hide their relationship," Tracey said, slowly nodding her head. "Which allowed for her to openly advertise for his double performances. That solves why we saw her everywhere we went!"
"Does it?" Harriet inquisitively said.
"We saw her in front of Mrs. Pinot's home, undoubtedly to cast suspicion on Mrs. Pinot. By keeping near her home, then fleeing when found, Elizaveta gave the appearance as if Mrs. Pinot was directly involved in the pamphlet distribution," Tracey said. "She was also at the bank likely to make sure that we received that evidence against Mrs. Pinot...or she might've wanted to take it from us. I suppose we'll never find that out."
"U-um, Tracey, is it?" Reggie said from beside the motor-mail. "I'd rather not interrupt all this, but I noticed that there's a letter here for you."
"It's no worries, Reggie. I must've missed it being so focused on the newspaper coming in," she replied in surprise. "Thank you." Tracey took the envelope from him and observed the outside. "There's no name on it...except for a return address to the other side of the country..."
"Ooh, that's from where I'm from!" Mittie excitedly said, leaning over Tracey's shoulders. "I didn't know you had friends over there, Trace!"
"Just one. I suppose two if you're from there." Tracey ripped open the envelope and scanned its contents. "Oh, it's Meredith!" she said, a smile growing on her face. "She wants me to visit her in the countryside."
For a moment, Tracey thought of the pleasant countryside of Dnalgne, imagining the pleasant breezes and quiet atmosphere. Then, she noticed the equally quiet atmosphere of Porter Keeper Shoppe and raised her eyes to find all looking at her.
"I-I'll read it later," she stammered, stuffing the letter into her pocket. "I suppose you all must be very busy and are on your way out?"
"Well...sure!" Mittie said with a shrug. "C'mon, Reggie. You said you wanted to take me somewhere before I left?"
"Right," Reggie said, hurrying to hold the door open for Mittie. "I'll see you around, lovely meeting you properly," he said, pushing the door open.
"Before you go," Bentam said, stepping forward. "Would you like to join us at BonNorriture this evening? I...I was going to ask Tracey and Mr. Porter, so I suppose you might want to come as well?"
"I heard it's nearly impossible to get a reservation there!" Mittie said in surprise. "How'd ya manage to get so many seats?"
"Friend of the owner," he said, with a small wave.
"What d'ya think, Reggie?"
"We'll be glad to come," Reggie said with a smile.
"Tracey and I would be happy to come as well," Mr. Porter added.
"Then it's settled," Reggie said. "See you all later!"
Tracey and Mr. Porter waved as everyone shuffled out of the shop. Bentam lingered behind, leaving Harriet and Charlie waiting outside. "Of course, Tracey," he hesitantly added, "if you're not fond of the menu, I could always plan for somewhere else."
"Why should you worry about me?" she said in surprise, taking up the broom and resuming her sweep.
"Ah...," Bentam started. He froze, then nodded his head and bumbled out of the shop, leaving the door's bell ringing in his wake.
"Interesting fellow," Mr. Porter said, raising an eyebrow.
"I'd say," Tracey replied, grabbing the dustpan. "There," she said as she tossed the contents of the dustpan into the bin.
Tracey surveyed the space. Mr. Porter had taken to his usual seat behind his desk and had already begun to undergo his morning routine. Business as usual, she thought. Tracey smiled, then walked to her own desk, opening her notebooks and beginning another morning at Porter Keeper Shoppe.