Porter Island Chapter Six (standard:action, 1792 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Aug 20 2024	Views/Reads: 186/92	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Agent Betty McCloud is persuaded out of retirement for a special assignment. But she's not getting any younger, and this proves to be her most demanding assignment yet.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Pleased, I'm sure.” Betty forced a smile before her eyes burned into
Stapleton as the two ladies wandered away. 

“Try to avoid accepting invitations to all and sundry, and remember we
have an operation in progress. No disrespect to the women's institute, 
but it's hardly the type of gathering likely to forward our 
objectives.” “Women's guild,” Stapleton retorted. 

“What?” 

“It's the women's guild, not institute.” Narrowly refraining from
hurling a punch at Stapleton, Betty snapped, 

“Fine, then you go alone. I need to focus on events, not distractions.”
Stapleton's pasty white features creased into a frown. “What events? 
And I can't attend without my companion ... and ... and minder. I 
insist you come.” 

“Well, I can't.” Meaning I won't. Betty stalked away before Stapleton
could argue and query what ‘events' actually meant. 

Looking around, Betty noticed that things were beginning to wind down,
and gaps were developing on the dance floor. It would soon be time to 
bid the guests farewell. Not wishing to reignite her quarrel with 
Stapleton, Betty strode through the hallway into the foyer and took up 
position. 

After Betty had acknowledged many guests' departure, Stapleton finally
realized what was happening and hurriedly joined Betty in the foyer. 

“Why didn't you alert me?” Stapleton let out through gritted teeth. 

“You have eyes, use them,” Betty snapped back, catching sight of Shriver
heading toward them. 

Acknowledging Stapleton, Shriver leaned toward Betty, “Remember my
warning,” he whispered in her ear. 

Betty couldn't resist the challenge. “And remember mine,” she whispered
back, clutching his hand, her strength contorting his face with pain. 
She let go soon enough; it wouldn't do at this stage to go breaking any 
bones, but his furious, pain-filled expression confirmed he'd received 
her message. 

“What was that all about?” Stapleton asked with a frown. Just a good
night hand massage.” The fire in Betty's eyes suggested that Stapleton 
leave it at that. 

*** 

Upstairs, Betty grabbed the pile of files she'd taken from the cabinet
in the locked room. Casting her eyes over them, it was soon clear that 
the folders contained customers' personal files, specifically former 
customers' files – they were all stamped ‘deceased'. 

The question was, what were they doing in a spare room at The Hurst?
Betty's thoughts immediately went to who The Hurst's previous occupants 
might have been. How much did Mike Anthony know of that? 

Determining to phone him the next morning, she took a closer look at the
files. Apart from being deceased and closed accounts, it was evident 
that most were personal as opposed to corporate ones. But why all 
deceased? Why the waiter's fascination with the room? 

Betty took a few random folders from the pile, noting the addresses and
determining to make a few inquiries. Since she didn't doubt that 
Shriver would have her movements tracked, it would likely put her on a 
collision course with him, but she was no stranger to confronting 
crooked cops if that's what he was. 

She was off to a confrontational start with the man, that was for sure.
He was overbearing for sure, and possibly corrupt. Or maybe he 
suspected her connection to a government body, but whatever, it seemed 
inevitable that they'd cross swords sooner rather than later. For some 
reason, that rankled her, but she dismissed the notion from her 
thoughts. 

As for the bank manager and the mayor, she could even question their
characters. Could they all be in collusion? If so, there was one giant 
ring of corruption to be dealt with on the apparently peaceful Porter 
Island. With Stapleton's snoring penetrating the dividing wall and 
grating her ears, Betty finally surrendered to sleep. 

*** 

Betty braved Stapleton's presence at breakfast the following morning and
steeled herself, as entering the dining room, the fake heiress's 
condescending tones broke the air, “Ah, McCloud, finally bestowed us 
with your presence, I see. What's up? Last night's activities too much 
for you?” 

Seating herself at the opposite end of the table, as far removed from
Stapleton as she could get (at this distance, the urge to clasp her 
hands around the woman's neck wasn't so strong), Betty smoothed her 
black tank top and fixed Stapleton with a withering glare from her dark 
eyes. “Unlike you, I have to keep up with developments if this 
operation is to be a success.” 

Stapleton accepted her plate of eggs and bacon from the housekeeper with
barely a nod of acknowledgment, then, raising her chin, “Huh! Last 
night would have presented the perfect opportunity, yet I barely saw 
you half the time. If anything, you were noticeable by your absence. 
Hardly befitting of a top-ranked FBI agent.” The emphasis on her last 
sentence being one of contempt, Stapleton turned to her breakfast as 
though she'd given a lecture to which there could be no retort. 

Betty took her cereal and coffee, thanking Jacobs and biting back her
reply. Stapleton specialized in winding people up, and she had more 
significant matters ahead than to be wasting time in a tit-for-tat with 
the pretentious make-believe heiress. 

“I'll be out this morning,” she remarked flatly, glancing out the
floor-to-ceiling windows and noting a heavy mist had again returned to 
the island. 

“Oh, and might I ask where?” Stapleton stopped eating, placing down her
knife and fork. “After all, you are my companion, and as such, I expect 
you ...” 

“I'm your companion for operational purposes only,” Betty snapped, “as
well, you know. And no, you may not ask.” Shriver and co. might or 
might not be close to figuring out what was afoot,  but she didn't want 
Stapleton, however inadvertently, blurting it out to them, and she 
could see that happening at the women's guild Stapleton was due to 
attend. Stapleton raised her knife and fork again. “I merely point out 
that if you are continually missing, then sooner or later, it will 
arouse suspicions.” 

Stapleton was correct, of course, something that didn't sit well with
Betty, but the morning after the ball was unlikely to produce a caller 
of significance, and it was something she needed to chance. First, 
though, she needed to make that call to Mike Anthony. 

“If you'll excuse me ...” 

Ignoring Stapleton's disdainful look, Betty finished her coffee and
cereal and returned to her room, calling Anthony's private number on 
her cell phone. 

“Mike ...” Betty ran through last evening's events – the locked room,
the files she'd found, and her doubts about the sheriff, bank manager, 
and mayor. “It sure seems to me that someone was storing files here and 
had no idea of the coming transaction. In fact, both the sheriff and 
mayor admitted as much, which brings me to ask, do you know who the 
previous occupants were?” 

“No,” Anthony answered quickly. “It didn't fall within my scope, I'm
afraid. But I can sure find out if you bear with me a while. I'll get 
back to you, and ... Betty ... Anthony's tone became more somber, “From 
what you said, you could find yourself in a real hornet's nest here. If 
you think you need more assistance ...” 

“Why should I?” Betty found herself firing off, “I tamed Corrisville
single-handed. I'll do the same here.” 

“Fine, Betty.” But Anthony didn't seem convinced. “Just so you know.” 

Betty broke the call and forced a grim smile.  They didn't know who they
were dealing with, though even as she thought that, Betty recalled the 
figure in her garden back home. Perhaps they did, and it was she who 
didn't know. The thought sent a seldom-experienced shiver down her 
spine.  


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