Saturday, December 9, 2006

   Cream Filling & Nougat: Half-Julkalender (Chapter II)
[I think it's noteworthy to say right now that for a series of stories about two detectives, this current story is actually the first one to be told in the style of a detective story!]


"So you got most of the info?" Nougat asked as he turned off the main street onto the smaller residential one.
"More or less," Cream answered back, pocketing his cell phone and looking over the notes he had just jotted down. Before he could speak, both took a moment to quickly adjust to the new, unplowed road with hard snow packed over it. Nougat decellerated and took a breath, remembering that they were almost at Selleri's house and did not need to rush as frantically anymore.

"So let's see . . ." Cream said, reading from the long, black notepad, ". . . name's Vezel Carbono, seven years old, three-foot-seven tall, about fifty pounds, medium-to-slim build, blue eyes, straight shoulder-length red hair . . . and . . . . . was last seen wearing blue jeans and a red and green sweater with Christmas trees on it."
"I guess she was already dressed for the party, huh?" Nougat wondered out loud.
"Seems like it," Cream replied, pocketing the notepad inside his trenchcoat. "Hey, do seven year olds dress themselves or do their parents still do that?"
"They probably dress themselves, I'd imagine," Nougat answered. "Why, think that might be important to know?"
"Oh yeah, just tryin' to get into the mind of the victim . . . or suspect . . . or . . ." Cream stopped to think some more. ". . . I dunno, quarry?"
"This bit probably isn't important to know."
"Yeah."

Cream was already out the door while Nougat was still shutting off the engine. Cream quickly took in everything he could see as he headed up to the house; the moderately sized house, the single string of old Christmas lights across the edge of the roof gutters, and the apparent family of waist-high snowmen - one smaller snowman between two larger ones - sitting at the end of the heavily-salted walkway. Nougat jogged up to the house, snow melter crunching under his shoes, while Cream waited for an answer at the door.

Cream could already feel himself getting ready to emotionally detach himself from the situation as Selleri opened the door; her eyes were puffed and red and she just had a sense of illness written all over her face.
"Hello, Ms. Carbono," Cream said. Nougat stepped in and nodded quickly.
"We got here as soon as we could," the elder detective said. Selleri tightened her lips and nodded back.
"Please come in you two," she said, stepping over with the door, "and thank you for coming."

The two detectives pulled their feet from their shoes and headed into the hallway behind Selleri. The hallway itself was short with few things of notice save a sparse line of old family portraits showing a simple age progression for the little girl in the foreground of each photo. Selleri led them into the kitchen
"Ms. Carbono," Nougat began as she sat them all down at a small round table with a list of phone numbers on it, "please tell us everything you remember from the last time you saw Vezel to the point you noticed she was missing." Cream retrieved the notepad from his coat as Selleri started.

"It was about five-twenty when I told her to go to her room and change for 'Mel's Christmas party," she said. Cream and Nougat quickly exchanged a glance as their earlier question between each other was deftly answered; Selleri continuned. "I went to take a quick shower after that, and was probably only in there for about ten minutes or so . . . maybe fifteen, but it wasn't long in any case . . ." Cream recorded her information swiftly.
"So after your shower," Nougat said, "you came out and noticed . . . no wait . . ." Nougat stopped himself as he ran all the information back through his head. ". . . the sweater she was wearing, was that what she changed into or was she wearing it before?"
"She wasn't wearing it before, no," Selleri replied. "No, I saw her in it when I was still in the shower. It was through a reflection in the bathroom mirror to the hall outside, where she was . . . I usually leave my door open like that in case she needs me."

Cream stopped his writing after deciding certain points were unnecessary to record.
"Did she need anything?" Nougat asked.
"I guess," Selleri answered. "She was asking about where her scarf was, I think." Nougat noticed a sad smile momentarily present itself on Selleri's face. "I just remember the two of us yelling back and forth over the noise of the running water . . ." She trailed off and again pulled her lips tight together. Again, the two detectives exchanged another knowing glance; they both knew Selleri needed time to recompose herself, but they simply did not have the time.
"Can we see her room?" Cream asked, breaking the short but telling silence. Selleri nodded and quickly turned her face away from the two, leading them back down the hall towards her daughter's bedroom.

It was a small room, with a single bed pushed against one wall, a dresser next to it, and a writing desk against the opposite wall; as befitting a seven year old, the chair next to the desk had a phone book with a cushion on top of it.
"Pretty tidy kid," Cream commented as he looked around the mostly clean room. "Or . . ."
"She does it herself," Selleri answered, sensing the question. "I suppose she's always been kind of good like that . . ." Nougat, meanwhile, was absorbed in the amount of paper and pencil crayons on the desk; he also noticed the number of drawings taped on all the walls all around them.

"Would you say Vezel is a pretty open person?" Nougat asked. "Or is she kind of quiet?"
"I'd have to say quiet, mostly," Selleri said. Nougat nodded.
"I had a feeling . . . also pretty good in school?"
"Very smart, yes." Cream looked towards his partner.
"Feel like sharing, Noug'?" he asked.
"Whip'," Nougat said, "you're young and emotional, right?" Before Cream could even begin to answer, his partner interrupted him. "Just look at the pictures she's been drawing . . ."

at first the younger detective could only see pictures drawn by a child . . . but as he went on, he was definitely catching on.
"This kid has a lot of things running through her head every day," he concluded, looking at the range of topics and ideas the young girl had seemingly brought up in each picture, ranging from going to school to any recent movies she may have seen; one even seemed to be her thoughts on the wars overseas.
"I have noticed that, yeah," Selleri added. "she doesn't speak a lot, but she's always thinking, looking around . . . . ."

Cream was thus compelled to look around once again.
"Damn Noug', good eye," he said quietly as his eyes fixed on the jar of coins on the desk. "Ms. Carbono, does Vezel collect just pennies or change in general?" Selleri noticed his gaze on the money jar.
"Change in general," she answered. "That's pretty much her new piggy bank after she filled up the last one and we smashed it before putting it into her account . . ." Cream nodded along as he continued scanning through the glass jar.
"I only ask because I don't see any quarters, nickels, or dimes in there right now . . ." Selleri looked back to the jar.
"It's true, it's usually a pretty good mix in there . . . this is new . . . . ."

Nougat scrunched his face slightly before looking to his partner.
"Okay, now you need to share . . ." he said.
"Well," Cream explained, "when I was a kid I saved coins too . . . but I always put pennies and nickels in one thing, and quarters and dimes in another different one . . ." Nougat smirked once he caught on.
"So one was your savings account, the other was chequing?" he queried.
"Something like that, yeah . . ." The logic made enough sense to Selleri, and the original sadness in her eyes was now replaced with a sort of excitement that perhaps they were indeed making progress. "So the question is, what reason would a seven year old girl have for suddenly wanting to have all that spending cash?"

"I'm not for sure yet," Nougat replied, "but I do have one thought that's pretty much for sure . . ." Selleri and Cream both looked at the other detective. ". . . for what it's worth, I don't think she was kidnapped or anything . . . she left this house on her own . . ."


[Well, this went on for longer than I had originally planned. But I'm happy with it. You?]
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