"Useless *^%$#* Brick <grumble, grumble> MBIAV <grumble, grumble> Nick's influence <grumble, grumble> show him 'forever' <grumble, grumble> *&%#@* Nick...."
The sound of riled Natpackers was unmistakable, as Sharon Himmanen fumbled with the keys to Nat's apartment. She had been making a not inconsiderable portion of that sound herself, but stopped to concentrate on the keys. Unbeknownst to her, the Knighties had been in Natalie's home. If it had been known to her, she would have been even more riled; though the Knighties had been careful and considerate with Nat's possessions, and residences were accepted war targets, the Natpacker's tolerance for anything related to Nick Knight was at an all-time low.
Alora and Kelly rushed past her as the lock finally gave, heading straight for the bookshelf in the corner. They knew there were other bookshelves in the apartment, but this seemed like a logical place to start. Alora took the side nearest the fireplace, until Kelly thoughtfully pushed her toward the curtains. No need to take chances with Alora and fire.
Sharon watched them for a moment, and then headed for the kitchen. 1001 Ways to Make Protein Shakes was more likely to be in the kitchen, if it wasn't simply in the morgue in the first place. "Now, who has that inventory sheet?" she wondered aloud. The book wasn't on the shelf over the microwave, so she opened the junk drawer.
The forms were no longer on the bottom.
A copy of 1001 Ways to Make Protein Shakes was.
The blank medical forms, which were supposed to be under the rest of the junk, were on top of the pile. And there didn't seem to be as many of them as there were before.
"Alora! Kelly!" she yelled, running back into the living room. "It's a good thing we left Tina and Sharon B. on guard below. That bloodsucking brick's been here -- him or his pathetic little pawns. Forms. Are. Missing!"
Kelly and Alora looked at each other before looking at Sharon.
"No, I am not having an 'episode.' Papers are missing from Nat's junk drawer." Sharon picked up Alora's backpack, slipped in the cookbook, and withdrew the clipboard with the comprehensive inventory the Natpack had compiled when they first attended to the apartment after Nat's disappearance. "See?" she asked, pointing to the list on page 37.
Kelly nodded grimly, but Alora was less than convinced. "Okay, either someone has been here, or we made a mistake. But if someone's been here, it could have been the Cousins, or the N&Ners, or even the Ravens. And there are always the Mercs. It wasn't necessarily...."
Alora trailed off as Sharon gave her a look LaCroix would have envied. The veteran Natpacker knew it had been the Knighties. Or their imbecilic leader. She just knew.
Sharon headed straight for Nat's desk. "Kelly, will you take the bedroom, maybe? And the kitchen needs to be checked. We have to make sure not a single thing is missing. Refer to the inventory from our initial 'inspection,' if you have to. "Knighties <grumble, grumble> inconsiderate <grumble, grumble> just like their leader <grumble, grumble> *%$&#* Nick <grumble, grumble>...."
"Check!" Alora winked at Kelly and picked up the backpack. Kelly smiled, and dispatched herself to the bedroom. Neither suspected that Sharon's suggestions were deliberately made to protect Kelly from any possible drink-mixing opportunities.
Alora stepped into the kitchen, and crashed into Nat's table, dislodging a box left a little too near the edge. "It's lucky Nat's into frozen dinners," she called over her shoulder. "She'd never get any real cooking done in this closet!" Rubbing her bruised thigh, Alora bent over and retrieved the box. It was about six inches high, and four inches hexagonal: wrapped in brown paper, and addressed to "Jamie Melody Randall, c/o Natalie Lambert." It was accompanied by a few bills and bulk-mail advertisements, so Alora supposed whoever had removed the spare forms had conscientiously brought in Nat's mail while they'd been otherwise inexcusably snooping. She sighed. Knighties were like that. As a matter of fact, so was Nick, though you'd never get Sharon to admit it.
"Everything's fine here," Kelly announced. "The hangers may be a bit closer together than when we made our sanitizing sweep, but that's it."
"Nothing seems to be missing here, either," said Sharon, consulting her itemized list of the desk's contents.
Alora tucked the box into her backpack and joined her comrades near the door. "The kitchen's intact, too."
"Inept attack?" asked Sharon suspiciously. "What were they looking for? Could they have needed the forms that badly? Isn't that Lover of Loft, Kat, the medical doctor, like a pseudo-Knightie? If nothing else on our list is missing ...."
"Not a klew," Alora supplied, with a wry expression. "Let's get back, huh? I've got the cookbook, and it's sort of...tomb-like here, without Nat."
The three Natpackers looked around at the empty apartment, and turned as one toward the door.
Kelly and the two Sharons piled into the back of the car, letting Alora ride shotgun on the way back to the Natpacker Hostel, and she dozed through most of the drive. War is not conducive to sleep, she was discovering. "Oh -- hey!" she said, as Tina turned the car around the final corner. "I almost forgot! The Knighties, or whoever, must have brought in Nat's mail. I found a package for Jamie on the kitchen counter."
Tina turned to look at Alora. "You. Found. A. Package?"
"Hey!" shouted Sharon B., pointing at a stray pedestrian.
"Oh. Thanks, Sharon," Tina noted.
Sharon Himmanen took over the questioning as Tina put her eyes back on the road. "Alora -- a package For Jamie?"
"It was just sitting on the table. Someone must have assumed we'd be staying in Nat's apartment."
"Addressed to Jamie, who is missing? Does the word 'ransom' mean anything to you?"
"Uh...."
"A package? You live with a Merc, Alora -- does the word 'bomb' ring any bells?"
"Oh. That didn't occur to me."
"No doubt Nick is behind all of this ...."
"Careful!" Sharon B. winced. The car narrowly missed one of the innumerable pet felines inhabiting this reality's Toronto as Tina swung it into its parking space.
The five dashed inside, where other Natpackers watched in stunned amazement as Alora dumped the innocuous-looking package into the sink, and Sharon H. turned on the faucet. When it was sufficiently soaked, Sharon lifted the dripping mess and started to peel off the brown paper like a wrapper on a melted ice-cream bar.
It revealed an eight-sided, cylindrical box, wrapped in clear cellophane. Dark, Vaquera-like green, it said, "Frangos." There was an envelope attached to the box. It, unfortunately, was not wrapped in cellophane.
While Sharon held up the box and stared at it, Alora carefully opened the envelope. The flower-covered card inside had held its ink as only a Hallmark (TM) knockoff could. Alora had seen this elegantly distinctive handwriting before. "Kelly," Alora asked quietly. "Can you read the return address on that?"
Kelly picked through the soggy paper, and read, "WA, 98052, USA. That's all I can make out. It was under a piece of tape."
"Washington," Alora murmured, and handed over the card.
Kelly read aloud:
"Sunday, July 27"Chocolates?" Sharon Himmanen repeated.
Dear Jamie,
Thank you so much for remembering us on the War's homefront when you distributed your <ink blur> this morning. Even the most devoted Knightie is sometimes unable to go to Toronto, and it was considerate of you to send a piece of the War to all of us, wherever we might be. As I was still up reading email -- and thus dressed in more than my nightgown -- I thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.
Long accustomed to my various brothers' various cars, the neighborhood easily managed to sleep through <smear>. My father's wife did not, but the small box of Italian pastries from Ferrara and large cup of cappuccino did much to placate her.
As did the fact that it was KISS. Having never before heard a KISS song, I would never have recognized <water damage> without the makeup. She knew immediately, however. Of course, she also thinks William Shatner is 'cute,' so her taste is on the suspect side.
In appreciation, I am sending you a box of the world's best chocolates: Seattle's own Frangos. Enjoy.
Sincerely,
Amy Rambow"
"Oh, give me that," Alora said, tearing the cellophane off the box. "'Bomb,' indeed. You've probably ruined them."
"Actually, that cellophane looks pretty tight," Sharon replied, pulling the tab on the top of the box and revealing the little, cellophane-wrapped chocolate rectangles inside. "Maybe we should have them examined? You know, just to make sure they're okay for Jamie?" She pulled one out and sniffed at it, unwilling to trust anything that came from a person who not only voluntarily associated with Nick, but had a habit of extending it to the ludicrous length of calling herself a "Bright and Shiny Knightie." She offered the Frango to Kelly.
Less suspicious and more chocolate-loving, Kelly unwrapped it. The smell was heavenly. Whatever one could desire in chocolate, it was carried in the scent of that bite-sized candy.
The expression on her face as she bit into the first Frango quickly convinced most of the others to each try one for themselves. As Alora looked on in amazement -- she doesn't eat chocolate, unless it has caramel in it -- the entire box was emptied in under a minute.
"You'd think we were Mercs," she remarked in wonder, staring at the empty box. "Guys? Do you realize that, once we've found and retrieved Jamie, we're also going to have to explain why we ate all of her chocolates? And Merc instincts die hard ...."