Beneath the Mall of Madness (A Jaspar Windisle Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

The consignment shop was named Yesterday’s News. It didn’t strike me as promising from the outside. I went in anyway and was even less hopeful. I could see rows of women’s clothes and appliances and knickknacks lining the walls. I did not see any men’s clothes. Still, they might have been hidden in the back. I moved deeper into the store to check.

I had just enough time to realize I wasn’t alone in the store before I was being embraced by a woman who smelled overwhelmingly of lavender. Before I could react, she held me out at arm’s length, and I was looking into the pleased face of a tall young woman with blue eyes and dark, curly hair.

“Oh, you’re so cute!” she said. “I know just why Theresa sent you here!”

“I think I’m in the wrong place,” I said, struggling to break free.

“Nonsense! Theresa called me and told me a short guy needed clothes. That’s got to be you!” She sighed happily while staring at me. “I don’t get many new customers,” she said as if this would explain everything. “I’m Cecilia Bishop by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Jaspar Windisle,” I said. I decided to take a chance. “Do you have menswear in my size?”

“Yes, that’s what’s so exciting!” she said. “I have whole boxes of stuff from Obadiah Fry and Abner Whateley. They were both shrimp! Do you prefer formal or casual?”

“Formal, please.” I had a feeling that Obadiah and Abner were no longer around to take exception to being called shrimp. If their clothes fit, I could handle it.

“That’ll be Obadiah then,” she said, heading to the back of the store. “A good choice. You never can be sure about the Whateley’s things.” She disappeared before I could ask her what that meant.

When she returned, rather than a box she had a whole rack of jackets, shirts, and pants. Looking at them, I wondered how long ago Obadiah died. Suits haven’t changed that much over the decades, but enough that things like brass buttons and custom embroidery look out of place. At least the shirts were modern, and all the clothes were good quality, so I agreed to try some of them on.

To my surprise, everything came close to fitting. The pants were a bit loose, and the sleeves on the shirts were just a bit too long, but I wasn’t planning on running any obstacle courses so they would do. Finding clothes so easily put me in such a good mood that I humored Cecilia and tried on some things that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. Such as all of the late Abner’s clothes.

“I remember when polyester was the new miracle fabric,” I said as I looked in a mirror. “No one was ever going to have to iron again.” If anyone had tried to get me to wear clothes like this back, then I would have ironed them alright. On the wool setting.

“I wish I had a camera,” Cecilia said. “You look much better in that than Abner ever did.”

“Maybe if no one had made clothes like this polyester suits would still be in,” I said. It fit, but that hardly mattered. It was a lime green polyester leisure suit with brown lapels and cuffs. “Did Abner die tragically young? Because I can’t believe anyone would hang on to this for fifty years.”

“No, he died quite recently. Not only did he not save it, he was always stopping by to see if I had any more like it.” I shuddered. “He bequeathed all of his clothes to the shop,” she added. “Because someone else might want them, and he knew his heirs would throw them away.” She rolled her eyes. “I expect if I can sell any of it, it’ll be to kids on Halloween.”

“I don’t think I’ll get this,” I said. “Just the shirts and pants from earlier.”

“What about a hat?” she asked. “The weather’s supposed to be nice next week.”

“No thank you.”

She cocked her head to the side.

“I thought albinos needed to take extra care of their skin.”

“I’m not an albino,” I told her. “Albinos aren’t just pale people with white hair; they lack pigmentation. My hair and skin are actually white.”

“Oh, sorry.” She looked embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it. I get comments all the time.” I used to get rocks thrown at me too, back when some people considered it a sign of witchcraft. Cecilia’s over-solicitousness was refreshing in comparison.

Getting caught being both nosy and wrong didn’t keep Cecilia down for long. I suppose her inner saleswoman wouldn’t allow it.

“You may not need a hat, but won’t you at least try on one of the fancy jackets?” she coaxed.

“The what?”

She held up one of Obadiah’s coats. It was black, trimmed with gold brocade. At least she hadn’t suggested the royal purple one, or the red one. It was just my luck that while two people my size had no more need for their clothes, both of them had done their original shopping at the Halloween store.

“It’s getting colder, and your jacket looks ragged. No offense.”

I tried it on. It was heavy, and warm and hung to my knees.

“Was Obadiah a pirate?” It was really the only profession this style was appropriate for.

“No, I don’t think he ever left town. He had a wooden leg, though, so people teased him. He was a good sport about it too.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “He used to hand out ‘pirate gold’ to us kids. They were chocolate coins of course, but when you’re a kid that’s even better.”

“And he never got into trouble for that?”

“He wasn’t a stranger,” Cecilia said. “He was a Fry. They might be the only old family around here that doesn’t have any occult traditions.”

“Really?” I wondered what
her
family’s occult traditions were.

“They just dig tunnels.”

“Tunnels.”

“Yep. All over the place. Though I doubt he wore that jacket while he did it.” I’d just got to the point of accepting that this town was weird and magical, and now this.

“Were these tunnels to hide his vast hoard of candy?”

She laughed.

“No, they’ve never been clear on the reason for them, but some of the tunnels are useful when it rains. There aren’t any under The Gates, but there’s one network that runs from the laundry to the Lutheran church that’s very handy.”

“So these are community tunnels?”

“Oh no, you have to have a key,” she said. “Everyone in the town council has one, and so do community leaders like me.”

“That is very weird,” I said.

“I don’t see why. Plenty of cities have tunnels under them that were dug with no oversight at all. At least the Frys are contributing to the community.”

“I guess I’ve always lived places where tunnels would be impractical,” I said. I decided to add the jacket to my purchases. Cecilia’s prices were very reasonable.

“I know you’re in a bind,” she said, “but seriously, I’m never going to get rid of these clothes if you don’t buy them.” I paid and left. I dropped most of the new clothes at the local dry cleaners before heading back to the hotel. They reeked of lavender, just like the consignment shop.

***

Theresa was still at the front desk when I got to the hotel. She jumped up and down when she saw me.

“I knew Cecilia would have stuff for you,” she said. “You have a bunch of messages, by the way.” She looked at my bags. “So did you go with mole man or disco fever?” I laughed.

“You knew what would happen when I went in there didn’t you?”

“It was possible they had jeans and flannel shirts that they only wore at home,” she said. “It’s possible Obadiah really did have rooms full of genuine pirate gold.”

“Did he give you candy too?”

“Yep! It was the good kind, too. And he’d tell stories about his grandpa digging tunnels in the war.”

“His grandfather?”

“I guess he thought digging tunnels without a war would be boring. Obadiah was a lot nicer than Abner. That guy was a greasy creep even without the seventies styling.”

“It’s a good thing I bought Obadiah’s clothes then,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” She sized me up. “How old are you?”

“Older than I look.”

She gave me an appraising look.

“Are you too old to like milkshakes?” she asked.

“Nobody is too old to like milkshakes.”

“Great,” she said. “In thanks for the shopping tip you can take me out to dinner. I’ll give you ten minutes to get your stuff put away. Hey Mom!” she yelled. “I’m going to Maria’s Fountain, okay? Can you watch the front desk?”

“Of course honey,” the woman from last night appeared from the direction of the dining room. “Oh, with Mr. Windisle?”

“Apparently,” I said.

“If that’s all right,” Theresa said. She was already getting her coat.

“That’s fine,” Mrs. Whateley said. “Don’t cause any trouble, and be back before dark.”

At this time of year that would be around six. Plenty of time for dinner.

“And don’t try to boss around Mr. Windisle. He’s a guest.”

“Yes, Mom.”

***

Maria’s Fountain turned out to be a fifties-style diner. It had everything, from the black and white floors with candy colored accents to the chrome finishing. I hadn’t been in one since the original fifties, so I ordered an ice cream float and a cheeseburger. Theresa’s entire dinner was a strawberry milkshake and fries. When I asked if her parents were okay with that she just rolled her eyes at me.

“The tourists never come here,” she informed me. “Even the serious occult guys who you’d think wouldn’t have an image to maintain stay away. They’d rather have bats glued to the walls and stuff like that than good food.”

“To each his own,” I said. “I like it.”

“Is that why you live in Anaheim? Because you don’t like occult stuff?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I have sources,” she said.

“Such as?”

“I have a friend who works at the station diner,” she admitted. “I heard they have a lot of amusement parks there. Have you been?”

“Yes.”

“To which ones?”

“All of them.”

Rollercoasters used to make me uneasy. I still don’t trust the wooden ones you see at state fairs; they creak and sway every time the cars make a fast turn. On the other hand I figure that if the Matterhorn was going to fall apart it would have done it years ago, so I’m okay with the rollercoasters at major theme parks.

“I want to go to an amusement park someday,” Theresa said wistfully. “Dad can’t take time away from the hotel, and I’m going to inherit someday, so I guess I won’t have time either.”

“Surely you could take a long weekend,” I said. “Or save your money and go with friends while you’re in college.”

“I could do that.” Just like that, her bad mood lifted. “My friend also said that you had a ghost with you,” she said, stirring her milkshake.

“I did,” I said. “I still do.”

“I can see the cheese wasp,” Theresa said. “Is it really a ghost?”

“You can see for yourself. Try touching it,” I invited her.

“Yuck,” she said. “It’s an insect.” She reached out anyway and smacked it with her spoon. When the spoon passed through she tried it again more slowly. The result was the same.

“That’s neat,” she said. “Can you do it with anything other than monsters?”

“Just about anything can become a shade,” I said. She took a sip of her milkshake. “Huh,” she said. “So, what’s your favorite roller coaster?”

***

After returning to the hotel and assuring Mrs. Whateley that her daughter had been no trouble at all, I read for a while before going to bed. I was trying to read
Heart of Darkness
. I’ve been trying to read this book on and off for well over a century now. In theory, it’s got everything I want in a story. Action, adventure, horror, vague references to period politics, and descriptions of Darkest Africa. In practice, it’s deadly dull. I don’t know how children assigned it in school manage. At this point, I’m persevering out of sheer stubbornness.

After two hours and three paragraphs, I gave up for the night. When I looked out the window, there were more lights in the field, heading towards the forest. I turned off my light and went to sleep.

That night I dreamed I was at the construction site. I walked past protest signs lying on the ground. One of them said ‘Mor Cheeze, Less Maul!’ As I stood in the field, the trees on either side of me started shaking, and white mist rolled across the ground. I waved to a construction worker to get his attention. As he turned to me, he became a pile of strawberries in the shape of a squid-like alien. I heard shouting in the distance, and when the mist rolled away the ground was covered with wheels of cheese. With a great clang, a black gate with brass inlay appeared before me, and as the gates began to open I woke up.

I sat in bed for a while, trying to calm my racing heart. There’s nothing more frustrating than an adrenaline rush with nothing to show for it. I sat there while my heart rate returned to normal and checked the time. It was just a few minutes after four a.m. Too restless to read or go back to sleep, I went over to the window. There were two lights in the field, slowly making their way toward the hotel. When they reached the parking lot, they veered to the side and were snuffed out. I dropped the curtain.