Mystery of the Brightville Vanishing:Part Eight

     "You need any help with that?” Iskeen glanced up from her puzzle, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Keon Livia was looking down at her, holding a basket of something freshly baked in his hands. Golden afternoon sunlight trickled in through the living room skylight, and much like the Gruslen resting at her side, the ixi was stretched out on the floor, enjoying the warmth of the sun. She had successfully completed the section of ocean in her puzzle, and was now focusing her efforts on the dizzyingly blue sky.

     “Thanks Keon, but I think I’m going to take a break,” she said, rising to her feet. Two-thousand pieces was slowly—very slowly—dwindling into a manageable quantity. The Pink cybunny offered her a warm pretzel from the basket, which she accepted gratefully. Having walked home from Roberta’s Plaza a few hours ago, Iskeen had napped and showered. Now, her hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail, and she had changed out of her doughnutfruit pajamas into leggings and a sweater, something far more respectable. She felt decidedly refreshed from this morning. The soft pretzel didn’t hurt either.

     “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to swing by the bookstore with me in a bit,” said Keon, setting the pretzels down, “we just received a new shipment of books, and I thought I’d help Elva unpack them.” Iskeen smiled and accepted the invitation. Orlitz’s parents had been nothing but hospitable these past (had it really only been two?) days, and the ixi felt she should return the favor. It was only a short distance to the boardwalk and rare books boutique: the walk would be a welcome distraction from the events of today. But all things considered, Iskeen wondered how Orlitz

     was faring.

     * * * * *

     Brightville looked nothing like the abandoned amusement park Orlitz had stepped into yesterday morning. Now, draped in glittering lights and colorful streamers, the park appeared harmless—as though nothing sinister could have ever taken place here. There was a sense of wonder floating through the air, the decorations breathing new life into a place on its last legs. Tonight, Brightville would be hosting a banquet to celebrate its legacy through 60 years of operation. There would be live music, warm food. Orlitz could even see that certain attractions—namely the Brightville Carousel and the ferris wheel—were fully operational for the occasion. They were ablaze in multi-colored lights, creating a radiant contrast to the cloudy late-afternoon sky.

     The discoveries of today had been extremely informative. Reba had a clear motive. Erin was not just an unassuming victim: the acara had ties to Brightville, something her kidnappers must have known when they took her. Now, the cybunny needed a way into the celebration this evening. With fewer than 24 hours left before the park’s imminent demolition, she was certain that the kidnappers would make a statement—a bold statement—tonight. But where could she find an invitation on such short notice?

     “Orlitz Livia?”

     The cybunny spun around, and immediately frowned. Nora Sparks, reporter, was jogging towards her. She was even more composed than she had been the other day, for the simple reason that the Blue lenny looked well rested. Orlitz suppressed a grimace: if anyone should be getting any sleep around here, it should be her, not some journalist from the Brightvale Gazette.

     “Nora, I was wondering when I’d bump into you again,” Orlitz forced a smile, “how’s your article coming along?”

     “I heard Erin was here in the park this morning,” Nora answered breathlessly, matching Orlitz’s pace, “you found her, and then she vanished again.”

     “Now where might you have heard that?” Orlitz raised an eyebrow, “you’ve been speaking with Sophia.”

     To this, Nora adjusted her glasses matter-of-factly. “Any good reporter has her sources. Of course I’ve been speaking with Sophia, she wanted to help me with this story.”

     “Well, she really wants to help you then, considering she even agreed to help you at six this morning,” the cybunny stopped walking, “tell me, how much of the article’s profit is she receiving once it’s published?” It was a shot in the dark, and Orlitz did not have a speck of evidence to support her accusation, but the lenny’s constant appearances beside Sophia Grigsby meritted suspicion. Besides, that the park’s owner would choose to help Nora Sparks instead of a bona fide Neopian Times journalist had hurt Orlitz’s pride from the beginning.

     “I’m not sure what you’re saying,” said Nora, straightening her neck in indignation. Bingo. Orlitz must have struck a nerve.

     “I just find it odd that Sophia has been so willing, it seems, to help you with an article, when she wanted the very subject matter to be kept quiet,” shrugged the cybunny, “at least, that’s what she told me when I asked to share the news of Erin’s disappearance.” Nora sank into a nearby bench, glaring at her. “I’m just wondering what you could have to gain by sharing the profits of your article. Certainly not journalistic integrity.” Nora Sparks, novice reporter that she was, looked at Orlitz in amazement. The cybunny let out a private, shaky breath: she had hit the mark.

     The lenny brushed back the feathers from her eyes. “Look it’s… it’s not what you think. I was planning on just writing about Brightville, same as you. But then when your colleague was...” she exhaled, searching for the right word, “taken, Sophia promised me an exclusive scoop on Erin in exchange for a cut of the profits. It would have been a huge scoop. Probably a huge scandal. Probably would have made my career too,” Nora sighed again.

     “Why did Sophia strike that deal with you, Nora?” asked Orlitz, “did she think she could salvage the park with the profit?”

     “She wouldn’t have asked you because the Times is not a for-profit newspaper. The Gazette is. And there’s no way she would have been able to save her park, even with the cut. Maybe she just wanted the NP,” offered the lenny. The cybunny sank into the bench and thought for a moment. She had to give the lenny credit where it was due: Nora was after the story—same as any reporter.

     “I believe you,” she said after some silence, “but then why were you in the park so early this morning?”

     To this, Nora laughed: “same as you, I guess. Sophia let me in so that I could look around for clues before—” the lenny swallowed and glanced at Orlitz, “before you got there first. So much for that, right?”

     Orlitz let out a small chuckle and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She was tired, so tired. She was also relieved. Nora was, in a small way, an ally in this quest to find Erin. Sophia, on the other hand, was another matter altogether. Throughout Brightville, Orlitz had found evidence—a keyring, an ID card—seemingly falsely pinning the crime on the chomby. Yet it might be altogether possible that she was also behind Erin’s disappearance, using it as a means to raise money and save the park, planting evidence of herself to evade suspicion.

     “Before you say anything, I had nothing to do with Erin’s disappearance. I haven’t even found any evidence of her,”

     Nora expressed suddenly, squirming under the silence of it all, “I only have a ransom note that Sophia gave me.” Orlitz was not surprised by the lenny’s lack of findings. She had the inkling that every clue she had found—especially leading up to Erin’s sudden manifestation in the lost and found building—had been laid out expressly for Orlitz to find, and Orlitz alone. She turned towards Nora:

     “By any chance, do you have an invitation to tonight’s party?”

     “I do,” Nora answered hesitantly, “why do you ask?”

     * * * * *

     “Livia: Rare Books Sellers,” as the shop was so titled, was a distinctly small affair overlooking the pier. The bookstore was nestled in between an ice cream parlor and a stickers vendor on the boardwalk. If one stood by its weathered door frame, they could see the ocean shimmering in the late afternoon sun, as if flecks of gold had been peppered into the waves. Iskeen stood by the entrance, entranced by the rolling waters. By this time tomorrow, she’d maybe have the chance to go to the beach. May be. If they found Erin.

     “Any idea if Orlitz will join us later?” Iskeen turned at the question: Elva Livia was diligently unpacking boxes of books on the floor. Discarded cardboard littered every inch of the store, punctuated by rocking stacks of tomes, some as high as Iskeen herself. Donning cotton gloves, Keon was busily inspecting the newly-arrived volumes and filing them into the labyrinth of bookshelves snaking through the space. It was quite the undertaking, this whole business of stacking, sorting, and filing books, but Elva was confident that everything would be put in its place by sundown.

     “She’s probably still searching Brightville,” answered Iskeen, “but I’m sure she’ll get back before it’s dark.” Truth be told, Iskeen wasn’t sure if Orlitz would be home at all tonight. It seemed that she had gotten no further in the investigation than where she had been yesterday, and time was running out.

     “If she’s not home for dinner, let’s all go to Brightville and help her,” offered Keon, “and then once we find Erin, we’ll take you on a tour of Brightvale. All of you deserve a break.” In his hands was an enormous tome, dubbed Encyclopedia of Brightvalian Landmarks, with the subtitle “Volume 46” printed underneath. He held it out for Iskeen to take, and her knees nearly buckled under its formidable weight. “Maybe you’ll find places you want to visit in there.”

     “That’s the most impressive travel brochure I’ve ever seen,” Iskeen said with much effort. She gingerly placed the—well, the brick, atop a nearby table, which nearly collapsed under its weight. The encyclopedia did not appear particularly old, and it was in immaculate condition. The ixi brushed her fingers over the ornate cover: “this book must be worth a fortune,” she murmured.

     Carefully, so as not to crack the spine, she opened it and flipped to the table of contents. Her eyes browsed through the text. They weren’t looking for anything in particular—that is, until they landed on “Chapter 7: The Family Heritage of Brightvale, and the Tradition of Tradition.” A few lines underneath this imposing title, Iskeen happened upon the line: “Page 1134 - Brightville’s Legacy.” Though not what she supposed she would find, the ixi turned to the indicated page nonetheless. Her eyes scanned through the paragraphs, detailing the founding of Brightville by Emnor Miranelis and his vision of the park.

     “Oh,” she finally said, “Orlitz might want to see this.”

     * * * * *

     “Why in Fyora’s name did I do that?” muttered Orlitz. She was once again marching along the paths winding through Brightville, without a destination in mind. Her arms were crossed over her sweater, but in her hands (and slightly wrinkled from the grip of her fingers) was an invitation to tonight’s banquet. “Honestly Orlitz, you really expect to get anywhere with those tactics?”

     Stupid, stupid…

     Back at the bench, Orlitz had managed to get Nora’s party invitation… in exchange for exclusive rights to the scoop, once the story broke. Not that Orlitz even needed an invitation—she snuck into everything anyway. Not that she had spared a single thought to her Neopian Times assignment since Erin had vanished. But Nora’s struggle as an up-and-coming journalist pulled at her heartstrings, and Orlitz had felt compelled to nudge the lenny in the right direction.

     “Sure,” she had said, “once we find Erin and this whole business is done, you can write the breaking article first.” And she had immediately regretted it. Well, it was too late now anyway. At least she had a ticket, something she could use to her advantage. The front gate would certainly be heavily guarded to prevent any uninvited guests or protestors from milling with esteemed guests: this invitation would be her ticket into the event without attracting too much attention. Her grip on the paper tightened in affirmation.

     All that was left now was for Orlitz to go home and get ready for tonight—and then of course hope that Erin’s kidnappers would indeed use the party as an opportunity to make a statement. If they didn’t… well, she tried not to think about that.

     Ahead of her, the cybunny noticed a few members of the Brightvale Guard gathered near a bench.

     “Any luck finding Erin Baker?” she said as she approached them.

     “Oh, hello again miss Livia.” It was the guard from the outpost who had collected Orlitz’s found evidence, “we just finished our sweep of the entire park—” The cybunny perked her ears hopefully—“Nothing.” Her ears fell. “We searched everywhere: the tunnels, the northern pathways, the southern. The rides, all the buildings… no sign of any acaras according to your description.” Orlitz’s heart sank.

     “We’ll make a final sweep tomorrow morning,” interjected a second guard, “but if we still don’t find anything, we’ll have to turn Brightville over to the demolition crew.” It didn’t matter. Orlitz suspected Erin wasn’t even in the park: it wasn’t surprising that the guards hadn’t found anything. She asked them if they would be in attendance at tonight’s celebration.

     “A few guards will be positioned around the perimeter and at the front gate,” answered the first guard, “and don’t worry. We’ll be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”

     * * * * *

     Orlitz did not realize how famished she was until she stepped inside the living room of her home. By now, the sun had nearly set, and every house on her street was aglow with light. Every house, that is, except her own. The cybunny walked into the kitchen, expecting Iskeen or her parents, but was only met with the glowing gaze of her Gruslen.

     “Hi you,” she cooed, and gave the petpet a quick head scratch. Her eyes flickered up at the kitchen clock: nearly six. This left the cybunny with just over two hours to eat and get ready… and perhaps even squeeze in a nap, as she was dizzy with exhaustion.

     With her petpet following closely behind, the cybunny dragged her feet to her room and flicked on the light.

     “May be a quick power nap wouldn’t hurt…” she reasoned, stepping towards her bed. She did not make it very far, however, because her foot hit something hard. Orlitz didn’t know what had happened until she was halfway to the floor and she braced herself for impact. She winced at the pain in her toes, and turned to pinpoint exactly what had had the audacity to trip her. Her eyes landed on the culprit: Erin’s unassuming duffel bag, sitting innocently by her feet.

     “What?—” muttered the cybunny, struggling to get back up. She reached for the bag—it was obscenely heavy—and threw it onto her bed. “What on Neopia did you pack, Erin?”

     She undid the clasps, opened the pouch, and peered inside, and as she did, any thoughts of remorse for snooping through a friend’s belongings vanished in a puff. Orlitz’s thoughts rushed from confusion, to realization, and finally settled on disbelief. The bag was just filled with books. Five, to be exact: not too many to give the bag a bulky appearance, but enough to give it weight. Erin hadn’t even packed a toothbrush.

     The rattling of keys at the front door notified Orlitz that her family was home. She looked up as Iskeen stepped into her room.

     “So, I don’t think Erin was ever planning on staying.”

To be continued…