Doing works all day in fact does make my back tired. The routine that I usually do after that is a warm bath, I want it to be. But the former stuck yesterday, the curiosity is pressing too deep, as if forcing me to keep thinking every day. It's because of Mr. Cake that has not leaked its meaning. Like watching a movie that is cut off at the climax.
"Eh? I'm not really. I'm just here to eat." Egremont grimaced as she took a sip of cranberry juice when I asked her if she was curious or not.
“Is it just me? Huh…,” I sighed while looking out of the glass, the evening sky seemed to force the shops around to turn on their lights like city fireflies.
"After all, who are we waiting for?"
Spontaneously Egremont shrugged her shoulders. "No clue either."
The aroma of Spaghetti Carbonara began to enter my nostrils and then synced to the brain which directly dragged the primitive human instincts. My mouth seemed to be filled with ptyalin saliva, while my stomach gave a natural bell signal that it wanted to be filled immediately.
"Mr. Cake, is it still a long time?” I asked in a rather harsh tone because we were sitting near the entrance, sometimes the sound was not very audible.
"What?" Mr. Cake asked back.
"Our guest."
According to Mr. Cake, it should be around 06:00 AM. Well¸ at least they were five minutes late. One minute later, an SUV-type car parked right in front of Egremont's Japanese-made car.
"I-is that it?"
Egremont shrugged her shoulders again, we quickly opened the front door. There were about four people, but one of them was well-dressed, especially the familiar brown coat.
"Sorry but, we have an appointment with Senior Keymarks." The triangular face smiling kindly handed her a business card.
Short hair like Egremont. Tamara McDermott, 35, or what I'm most attracted to is her blonde half black pony covering her left forehead, hanging down.
“Su-superintendent McDermott, please.”
Three square tables put together, seven plates of carbonara with cutlery friends, and seven glasses of water. We arrange the seats in a rectangular pattern. The other three introduced themselves. Serena Jeph in jeans and a brown curly hair baseball cap, Ben Savoy and Tecla Innamorati look different than before.
Egremont and I whispered to each other and agreed, that there seemed to be something wrong here. Ben Savoy, his tone sweet with white gray hair neatly sideways, I didn't even notice whether his eyes were open or closed because his white eyebrows were wide and slightly arched.
While Mrs. Innamorati, she's Italian. It's a bit frontal to say, but honestly her body is more fatter than before. Her chubby cheeks are like nests of city people's smiles.
People's physical changes that are like lightning, are indeed frightening. They chatted for a while. After that, Mr. Cake told us to enjoy dinner first.
------------------------------ AFTER DINNER-------------------------
Superintendent McDermott immediately took out a note.
"May I be informed of the letter, Senior Keymarks?"
Mr. Cake nodded then handed the letter.
"But you are surprisingly able to study Monsieur Jeph's letter with such ease." Old man Ben Savoy wiped his forehead with a handkerchief taken from his coat.
"Actually, I'm not entirely sure if the letter was indeed written by M. Jeph," said Mr. Cakes.
"Yeah, it's real. I often see M. Jeph writing. Sometimes he asks for advice whether the message is clear and friendly or not.”
McDermott frowned. “But how can Mr. Jeph sent this letter the day the plane crashed?”
That was the first thing that intrigued me the most.
“Colombe Parcel. The writing was probably written long ago even though it was written March 6 or last Friday. According to Miss Netanya, CS Colombe Parcel, they can add more time. The most likely thing is, Mr. Jeph finished the letter, then it was frozen in the Colombe Parcel."
“Wait a minute, but isn't time immediately sent as a gift, right? No traces indicating it was sent from the Colombe Parcel?” I asked.
“Therefore, it was delivered to its own address, Westfield. Then M. Savoy checked it, and sent it to our address. Although I can't be sure if the contents are complete or M. Jeph instructed M. Savoy."
"Ah, actually M. Jeph slipped a small piece of paper." From his pocket, Mr. Savoy held out a small rolled up piece of paper.
The paper said two things. First, don't open the black cloth unless Mr. Cakes. Second, send it to Mr. Cake, Market street, Cambridge, CB8. A brief and concise instruction.
Mr. Cake then told me to take the red velvet cake with mascarpone cheese to the refrigerator. Cranberry juice is also two liters of two bottles taken out. Without forgetting to take a small plate, the cake is cut according to the number of people and distributed.
"However, the letter is a lot more bogged down than you might think, Mademoiselle McDermott. Begins with 'joke or real'. Now that you think about it a little more, don't you feel the letter lacks consistency?”
The sweetness of the cake on the tongue makes the minds of the people in the room calmer and more focused. But everyone seemed to flow on Mr. Cakes.
"Suppose I annulled all this information and I'm not a detective. I think this is a joke." Superintendent McDermott tickled her chin in surprise. “But if it's a joke, why should it be written? I mean just write some weird writing and bullshit, right?”
"That's why it's not consistent. But something will show the answer.” He pointed to the text near the sender's address. “This post, I have given you chocolate, is the key. Of course it's not alone."
When Mr. Cake was about to take something out of his coat, all eyes glanced at each other curiously. They try to say 'is this person serious?'
Mr. Cake shows an object wrapped in black cloth. I know that thing.
"This is the chocolate he meant. With a box that smells the same, then it plays on people's perceptions." The black cloth was opened, a golden glint made them extremely shocked. "Sorry, it's not chocolate, but real gold. That's what this letter tells me."
"So you mean you think Mr. Jeph paid cash because of how serious the matter is?” Egremont only spoke after hier small plate had been cleaned without leaving a trace of cake.
"Exactly! That's why M. Jeph changed my perspective. When you think the letter is serious, the content is more serious than you think. Pay attention to this sentence."
Mr. Cake pointed to a sentence similar to what Egremont had said yesterday.
“Do not open the door to anyone other than Mr. Cake. Even though I wasn't told beforehand."
The woman named Selena shook her head confidently.
“That's right, senior. So how did Serena find out?”
The mother's bass voice came out of Mrs. Innamorati, “I'm sorry if I'm presumptuous, but if the meaning is opened wider, it doesn't only mean that Miss Serena has to meet. Mr. Cake in this case may be initiated first. And since it wasn't Miss Serena, he knew right away that there must be a problem.”
Her explanation made sense although I felt odd about the 'he immediately knew there must be a problem' part. While everyone seemed to stop still not understanding.
"Fine, I'll translate it."
Mr. Cake read the whole letter, while the rest of the room seemed to stare at it.
"Please tell people at home that I won't be going home because of business, which means I'm unable to go home, please convey a message," Mr. Cake continued. “Tell Serena to send the package to the address listed below and do not open the door for anyone other than Mr Cake. Mom and Dad are waiting at 16 Millfield, Portpatrick, which means…”
.
“Mr Cake, there is currently no one at home other than Serena. If so, please reconfirm with Mom and Dad at 16 Millfield, Portpatrick. After that, please tell Serena to hand over the package.”
Spontaneously, we were all shocked. Egremont and I started looking at the two people, Mr. Savoy and Mrs. Innamorati.
“An acquaintance of mine helped confirm that in Portpatrick because we were far away. The point is, the information comes in first, then I act.”
"That's why you told us to act as investors?" I asked.
“You are indeed extraordinary, Senior!” McDermott's applause was followed by everyone.
With a big smile, Mr. Cake tells me that, there is no private chauffeur whose voice is hoarse, wipes his forehead with his hand, stands up but has tremors in his legs, chews gum or makes a snarling sound from his mouth. Or the maid holding the platter trembling. Plus they are indeed a complete package apart from the ideal home receptionist, at least with that unfriendly face.
Hearing that I began to understand why Mr. Savoy and Mrs. Innamorati now looks more kind and calm.
"So that's why you stopped me from drinking tea?" I turned to Egremont.
"Hmm? When monkeys act weird, I think so too. If that's the case, then I think it's better to be careful.”
I was a little annoyed that Egremont got ahead of me. But let it be, Egremont had good intentions.
.
.
It was getting late. Before they left, Serena tucked something like a flat, round candy can into Mr. Cakes. Based on his father's message, only Mr. Cake and the person he was allowed to know.
THE END
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