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(Monday nights, as always, are a good time to check the mailbox. Feline or the one and only hard worker at Moncake's shop fetches all the mail for me to read.)
The clock hands seemed to be turned backwards after Cake explained every chronology and aspect of the scenario he had made. Time to return to…
Two weeks and three days ago…
At night, Feline saw the contents of the mailbox full of clutter without gaps. When opened, most of the contents are just brochures. Then, she brought it to Cake one way. It's kinda hard to do alone.
(In my mind, the contents of the box will be difficult for Feline. If that's the case, Moncake shop's safe days are guaranteed. It should be.)
There was a rather hasty footstep up the stairs, then walked towards a small corridor. Now Feline stopped right in front of Cake's small office door.
"Mr-Mr Cake..., could you please open the door?" said Feline rather loudly, feeling troubled because her hands were filled with piles of papers of various sizes and colors.
In two seconds, the door opened. Cake's face tightened as he stared at the pile of papers instead of Feline's face. Luckily, Feline had tied the pile up to form a hill, so it wouldn't fall and fall apart.
(Feline always annoys me at this hour. And when I said the contents of the box would trouble her, it was true. However, I didn't expect the pile to cover Feline's innocent face. I still said the usual routine with a little anomaly. The pile was probably can be exchanged for a few pounds, at the recycling site.)
"Is this a face covering contest?" babble Cake. Both hands stretched out looking up immediately take over the pile of papers.
“I don't know why the brochures are piled up in the mailbox. It seems you have cultivated friendship among people?” quipped Feline, her voice sounded tired. After the burden was taken, she immediately waving her hands as she feel ached. Perhaps 10 kilos of iron weighs as much as a pile of paper which also weighs 10 kilos.
Feline immediately went to close the door from the outside. Meanwhile, Cake put the pile of troublesome paper on the floor. Cake was immediately back on his old computer screen.
(Every night, I never miss checking my e-mail on my palace's small office computer. The clicking sound of the mouse pointer has become a familiar friend to my ears. It always makes my heart flutter every time I enter an e-mail page.)
Cake's hand scrolls the screen using the scroll button on the mouse pointer. His face was serious and tightened, as if it was a civilian soldier in charge of receiving important information at the border. Even though his heart seemed to be the opposite.
(I always wait for messages of criticism from customers. Makes me smile at myself if it's a message from a woman, they even took a photo of the cake they ate while on vacation at another restaurant)
(“If only Mr. Cake had this menu, I would go to his shop to death!” wrote one of my favorite customers, Mademoiselle Ruthervendez. I know that's a bit too much, but in a good way. Once again, Moncake shop is in the spotlight.)
(I'm reeling again, looking for the messages, rather than self-soothing. Feline always tells me to go to the hospital when she sees me smiling to myself, but isn't that too much? Well, she does like to joke. Instead smiling, I looped a strange message…)
From : 49N35
This message is for an old friend, just in case he remembers.
Please look for the letter we sent through the pile of brochures. We just need a word or two to talk about. We are ready to pay an unreasonable amount.
Cake's eyebrows go up one side. Cake swept his eyes, it was not wrong to see.
“Agnes… why is the message so absurd?” Cake muttered. He read the message twice. In his monkey brain, the words that made him interesting were "Please look for the letter we sent through the pile of brochures."
With compulsion and a feeling of burden, Cake began to sit on the floor. He was confused about where to start, even though in the end he messed it up without a neat method.
“Like a cat, huh? Well, the important thing is easy," he said.
(If you're wondering why I guessed for sure that it was Agnes? After all, since when was the sender's name written Agnes? Well, I'll give it to your imagination. What's clear is that as she wrote, we are indeed old friends.)
(The piles of papers are unbelievably large, almost taking up my downtime after tending to the shop. Generally anyone would think it was a fad. Since I proved to be a good friend even when I had to, I was willing to behave like a cat picking up trash.)
(My back, arms, and brain are so tired that I want to give up. Nearing an hour…)
Cake found a simple-looking envelope, white with a black wax seal. When his fingers touched, Cake immediately knew that if the outside was very intent, let alone the inside.
(The white envelope was thick and had the texture of faux leather. One question that occurred to my monkey brain as I was about to remove the wax seal, what was in the letter? My mind never stopped.)
Cake opened the envelope and inside of the envelope was printed soft velvet, with a red rose pattern on it. When he picked up the letter, there was a flashing gold lettering.
“Lady De Polcester? Never heard of that name before,” Cake exclaimed, shaking his head slightly in surprise.
Cake probed inside just in case there was something to hide. Sure enough, Cake almost missed it. A piece of paper written with information that made Cake fully prepared to accept the letter request.
(As if it were written by someone who didn't have time, with all this seriousness and beauty, and… a piece of paper whose content is so valuable, it prompted me to act quickly and conclusively. Feeling quite sentimental, I asked myself. How important is the content of this letter? ? How important is that person?)
He read it silently, Cake's eyes like a scanner highlighting all the letters from the very beginning.
From : De Polcester
Dear M. Cake,
I am not an expert on rhetoric, metaphor, hyperbole and other beautiful language. I'll be frank, I need help fast. Through Agnes, a good friend who recommended your name, I'm sure your reputation is not playing games.
The prize I'm offering is bigger than that piece of paper. Maximum two days after this letter, please meet us at:
Tay Forest, A827 Dunkeld, Scotland.
NB : Line A827 towards Fearnan border after passing three inns è Scotch Lodge, Brothy Shoreside, Letterellan.
Cake eyebrows was like shook hands, their brows furrowed. Cake flipped through the message, maybe there is another secret message. Apparently not.
(I was very surprised. Well, I have a shop that has been raised like a child with limited employees. It's impossible to leave it especially on the day they are running. So I thought….)
(I thought... and kept on considering... Until I reached a point of conclusion, although it wasn't conclusive.)
What cases allow one to act quickly? Cake asked himself. Through the letter, Cake was actually not surprised that the client wanted to meet in two days. The problem is that the message came suddenly which made him nervous, he had not made any preparations.
(A murder? No way. It just takes time to process data such as forensic data, investigations and others.)
(An assassination attempt? It's possible. It could happen at any time. But because of that, two days time seems too slow. Never would anyone guess the thoughts of another person, let alone one with a murderous mind. The sender should have met me or… at by the time this letter was sent, it is possible that the sender might have been killed.)
(I'm still thinking and thinking again….)
(This case emboldened my client to give me a deadline. Meaning, maybe my client knows the actual deadline so she can give me time?")
As if lightning hit the factory inside Cake's head, the idea came with a feeling of surprise.
"If that ..., maybe that's what happened!" exclaimed Cake. He then paced around his small office. As if infected with the worry of the contents of the letter, Cake's heart was trembling. Cake was in a hurry, but also forced to be calm.
(About half I understand the message. Then my brain factory moves its gears quickly, until the smoke is overflowing. Then a list is created of what I have to do today and tomorrow.)
(It makes my head a little dizzy, even after 30 minutes thinking about crashing the next 2 days of activity in a structured way.)
Cake walked quickly out of his small office, turning left to go to his room. He grabbed his usual black double-breasted coat and bowler hat and headed quickly to the bathroom to deliver a message.
Cake stopped right at the frosted glass door. “Feline, tomorrow the shop will close for a temporaly time. Meanwhile please prepare a stock for flour, fruits to make jam, milk, eggs and sugar. Tomorrow there is a big discount, please pay attention to it. I'll be back in about two days. I'll message you if anything changes." Cake then go.
There was the sound of splashing water.
“E-eh? W-what how?” Feline was taken aback by the sudden information. But Cake didn't pay attention and immediately looked for a taxi.
(That night I immediately decided to borrow a car. For some reason, my monkey brain said that I needed a car, even though there was actually an option to take public transportation such as the train. In the end, the choice that was the most troublesome, borrowed the car belonging to the shop landlord. Yes, queen land of the Moncake Shop, Mademoiselle Rachel Flemming.)
That night, a taxi took him to Mlle. Rachel Flemming’s house, in Grafham.
(A Career female, surgeon with specialist forensic and criminal surgery team head, Mlle. Flemming's successful career has cost her a lot flying hours. I only have tonight. As a foster sister, of course I have to beg her properly.)
(With that, I made it to Scotland the next morning, early in the morning.)
ns 15.158.61.21da2
