“Or girl hunt,” she mumbled, pretending to try on a hat but really watching the street behind her in the mirror.
“What was that, miss?” the young woman manning the counter asked.
“Nothing. I just realized I forgot my purse.” Nyssa hung the hat back on its stand and whisked out the door.
Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she kept her pace only slightly faster than the other pedestrians. A gray, three-story home with high-peaked gables stood sentry at the end of the street. A weathered sign read, “Mrs. Mayberry’s Boarding House” in large scrolling letters, and “Females Only” in smaller but bolder print beneath.
A quick scan of the street showed no sign of her pursuer. Nyssa's shoulders relaxed. She'd half expected him to be waiting, and her best back-up plan was to beg a complete stranger to use their videophone or trek the almost three miles to the police station, knowing the whole time that the man in the top hat could be just around the corner. Neither option appealed to her. She started towards the house, thinking of what to say to the officers, how to explain the attack and Mr. C's death.
A horn blared, and the traffic parted. A black motorcycle with a sidecar squealed to a halt in front of the boarding house. The driver was a uniformed officer in a custodian's helmet. The passenger wore a suit jacket and bowler hat, but Nyssa had developed an eye for plain-clothes-men in her time as a thief. Instinctively she shrank back. She hadn't summoned them, so why were they here? Could they have found the body on their own already? What conclusions had they drawn?
Her conditioning to run from the police warred with her knowledge that she hadn't done anything wrong.
I need to at least know what they are up to. In the back way. They won't expect that.
Nyssa took a side alley, then three turns, before coming out behind the boarding house. No sign of watching eyes. They might have a guard on the kitchen side door, but if she were quiet, that wouldn't matter. Her window was the second one in. None of the other residents should be home. They were all career girls like herself. Taking out her screwdriver, she wriggled the latch until it popped open.
“Told Mrs. Mayberry we needed better latches,” she mumbled. Hoisting up the window, she slipped into her room.
She set her ear to the thin wall separating her room from the parlor, another thing she'd often cursed but now found herself grateful for.
“I can't believe it.” Mrs. Mayberry's flutey voice sounded sharp and clear. “She seems like such a nice girl … you say her employer was dead? Are you certain she wasn't another victim rather than the culprit?”
“I suppose we could hope so, Ma'am,” a male voice answered.
“Well, we certainly shouldn't hope she's a victim.” Mrs. Mayberry's tone sharpened.
“No, ma'am, certainly not … Well, it seems as if she isn't here. If you hear anything from her, please let us know.”
Nyssa drew back. She rubbed her suddenly aching forehead. I have to tell my own side. The longer I'm gone, the more suspicious it looks, but what if they don't believe me? A mysterious man with electric gloves? Who I can't even name? … I could go back to the gang. Thieves' honor means they'll protect me.
The door to the house slammed shut, suggesting the police had departed. Each passing minute added to her perceived guilt. Indecisiveness wasn't an option. But would they believe her?
She stood and paced to the tiny washroom. Under the basin, she'd hidden a set of lockpicks and the scrawled address of a former compatriot. They'd take her back. Keep her hidden from the police. She'd just have to work for them.
“I'm not a thief anymore,” she whispered. A board creaked behind her, sending a jolt of terror through her.
Nyssa whirled about.
The man in the top hat smiled at her from the foot of her bed. “Once a thief, always a thief.”
“No!” Nyssa grabbed the basin and flung it into the man's face. He staggered backwards, falling onto the mattress.
“You little hussy!” he snarled.
“Who is in there?” Mrs. Mayberry called out. “Nyssa?”
An image of Mrs. Mayberry, murdered like Mr. C, flashed through Nyssa's head. I have to get him away from her!
Nyssa pushed past the still floundering man and slipped through the open window. She darted down the alley.
The man staggered after her. “I'll fry you!” he shrieked.
A horn blared and a horseless carriage jerked around the corner like a runaway train. The passenger door flew open. A woman reached a hand towards Nyssa. “With me, quick!”
Who are you? Nyssa flinched back.
“He's coming! Move!” The woman pointed past Nyssa.
Nyssa glanced back. The man snarled and raised his gloved hand.
She dove into the carriage. The door slammed shut behind her, and the carriage jolted forward. She steadied herself and glanced through the rear window. The top-hatted man ran behind them, waving his arms. Nyssa collapsed against the leather seat.
The back of the carriage had two benches, facing each other, but so close Nyssa’s knees bumped into her fellow passenger’s. A tinted glass window separated the passenger compartment from the driver’s compartment. The whole contraption moved with jerks and bumps, forcing Nyssa to clutch the edges of her bench to avoid flying into the woman’s lap.
“I fear you’ve had an upsetting morning.” The woman’s voice had a syrupy tone with a hint of a laugh. She wore a gray frock and had a veiled fascinator hat perched on
