Porter Island chapter five (standard:action, 2784 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jul 08 2024	Views/Reads: 236/136	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Agent Betty McCloud faces her biggest challenge yet, and she's not getting any younger.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Oh, well, yes, Miss Thornton.” Carson focussed his keen eyes on her
once more. “I mean the council, of course. As council head, I'm 
familiar with most property deals.” 

“Yes, well, the sale was arranged through my investment team,” Stapleton
said testily. “As we were explaining to your police chief, Porter 
Island seemed an ideal place to put down roots. 

“Quite so.” It may have been fleeting, but Betty caught the suspicion in
Carson's eyes. “Well, my wife and I had better mingle with the island's 
residents, hadn't we, dear?” Carson took his wife's hand. “No doubt 
we'll reacquaint ourselves later in the evening.”  Carson's eyes 
flicked back once more to Betty, and that look was back, though sterner 
than before, his hazel eyes now holding more of a warning than a 
challenge, and Betty's glare blazed in response. 

“So, we'd better socialize, I suppose,” Stapleton said, casting her blue
eyes around the room as the quartet began to strike up. “And try not to 
visually fry everyone you see.” 

Stapleton's backhand remark was undoubtedly referencing Betty's silent
mental altercation with Carson, but Betty bit back on her reply. She 
met like with like, and now Carson was aware of that. Both Mayor Carson 
and the police chief Shriver seemed uncomfortable with their presence. 
The former noticeably more so in his manner. So the gloves were off. 

Betty left Stapleton to play the hostess with all her airs and graces
while she moved around the room, sliding between the increasing numbers 
of dancers and drifting into the occasional conversation with the 
locals, some light-hearted, others noticeably prying, almost menacing, 
indicating just what existed beneath the surface of Porter Island. 
Which was, she was beginning to realize, a lot more nefarious than a 
few back-alley miscreants. 

Betty felt a hand on her shoulder and swung around. Sheriff Shriver
stood behind her, minus his cowboy hat. “May I have the pleasure of 
this dance, Miss Thornton?” 

The band had started a new piece, a waltz, not what she would have
plucked for, but Betty saw no reason to decline it. “Certainly, Sheriff 
Shriver, I hadn't realized you were here.” 

“Oh, you were looking then?” 

“Not what I said,” Betty said flatly, taking his hands as the pair
glided around the room. 

“I must say, though,” Ms Thornton, you're a very nimble mover, athletic,
and may I say you have a magnificent body, undeniably powerful. How do 
you keep in such superb shape?” 

“Oh, I work out from time to time.” Betty gazed up at him and saw his
eyes moving over her, almost feasting on her. “My employer expects it; 
after all, I never know when I might have to come to her aid.” “You're 
obviously a very capable woman, Ms. Thornton,” Shriver said, lowering 
his voice to almost a whisper. “However, I would advise you not to take 
matters into your own hands. Should you encounter any problems, Porter 
Island has a very efficient police precinct to deal with matters.” 

That, Betty knew, was far from the truth. One question she asked herself
was how corrupt the organization might be, but for the moment, she 
wasn't in a position to dispute Shriver's claim. “Naturally, I'll do my 
best to comply with that, Sheriff Shriver.” 

“Please be sure that you do,” Ms Thornton, “I'd hate to have to cuff
you.” There had been a smile on Shriver's admittedly handsome features 
as he issued the veiled threat, but it had stopped short of his eyes, 
which Betty noticed were stone cold. Also, his dance steps, confident 
and assured when he'd started dancing, were ragged, and he risked 
stepping on her toes. His handling was also rougher; he was agitated 
and struggling to conceal it. 

The question was why? 

And despite his looks, she didn't appreciate his masculinity, no matter
how unaware of it his annoyance had left him. Which meant she would 
respond. Just a little retaliation to induce awareness – accidental, of 
course. 

Betty matched his grip on her hands, then tightened further, her muscles
rippling as she watched his face contort, just briefly before the dance 
ended. She lowered her eyes for a second and then returned them to his. 
A minor demonstration of her power, her face expressionless, but the 
warning apparent by the fire in her eyes. 

“Apologies, sometimes I don't know my own strength. If you'll excuse me
...” Betty turned, slipped out of his grasp, and headed away, sliding 
between the bodies, her eyes finding and locking with the waiter who'd 
caught her attention earlier. Something about him continued to niggle 
away at her, yet she couldn't determine why, but his returning stare 
told her she wasn't wrong. He was certainly over-attentive of her 
movements. Was it merely her appearance? After all, Betty was aware her 
looks made her the focus of attention, but no, the steely glint in her 
eyes told her it was more than that. 

Betty committed the waiter to memory, breaking their locked gazes and
glancing around for Stapleton, catching her in conversation with a 
portly, check-suited middle-aged man close to the raised platform where 
the quartet was performing. Stapleton raised her hand in her normal 
regal manner and beckoned her over. 

Amanda, please be introduced to Mr. Edward Castleford, the president of
Porter Island bank. Mr. Castleford, this is Amanda Thornton, my 
companion. 

“Mr. Castleford.” Betty met his handshake and felt the flaccid grip, the
sweaty palm. 

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” he said, covering a cough by
placing his fist to his lips. “Excuse me. I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. 
Thornton. May I call you Amanda?” 

Betty narrowly resisted rolling her eyes at the old quote. The man was
practically drooling over her, although that might have been attributed 
to his physical condition, for the man was red-cheeked and did not look 
well. 

“Yes, Mr. Castleford has been encouraging me to consider investing with
his bank.” Stapleton returned her gaze to the man. “I've advised him 
that my investment team handles all monetary matters, though, of 
course, I'll give it consideration in due course. 

“Might I persuade you to consider likewise?” Castleford pressed. 

“Perhaps I could arrange a dual appointment so that you both might
consider all that the bank has to offer?” 

“Well, we'll consider it, Mr. Castleford,” Betty broke in, a
condescending smile on her face. As you'll no doubt appreciate, this is 
a recreational gathering and hardly an appropriate time to be 
discussing financial affairs.” 

“Perhaps not ...” Castleford paused, his expression hardening. “Though I
thought I'd take this opportunity to emphasize the wisdom of investing 
with our highly respected island bank.” Castleford turned as if to go 
and then looked around, giving them both frosty glances. “We are, after 
all, a close community here ...” 

“What's that got to do with ...” But Castleford had already started to
march away, and Betty laid a hand on Stapleton's arm. “Leave it. He's 
not listening. He's said his piece and served his warning.” But 
Stapleton's attention was on her arm. “You're getting rather fond of 
that.” 

Betty flashed a withering look, her muscles flexing. “Just be glad I
haven't broken it yet.” 

Before Stapleton could respond, Betty was off, powerful shoulders
clearing a path across the ballroom floor. She'd seen the waiter down 
his tray, take a shifty glance around, and leave the room, heading into 
the hall. The bar was adjacent to the ballroom and the restrooms 
nearby, leaving no reason for him to go into the hall. 

Betty followed, keeping her distance as the waiter advanced further
along the hallway, paused at the central staircase, and then seemingly 
assuring himself he was alone, hurried up the staircase. 

Betty watched the man disappear around the curve of the staircase and
then sprinted up after him, pausing on the second-floor landing. 
Further along the corridor to her left, she heard rattling and 
jiggling. Renewing her sprint on the balls of her feet, Betty tore 
along the corridor, but as hushed as she'd been, somewhere along the 
passage, the floor creaked.  The waiter shot a look toward her, 
promptly stopping his lock tampering and taking off along the 
passageway. 

Betty had acquired enough knowledge of The Hurst's layout to know that
the end door led to the servants' staircase and the labyrinth of narrow 
passages that lay beyond. Betty pulled up, bit her lip, and thumped the 
wall in exasperation, knowing that as powerful as she was, to pursue 
the waiter beyond the passageway door would leave her exposed, the man 
presented with any number of possibilities of ambushing her. 

Cursing the loose flooring that had given her away, Betty checked the
door the waiter had been trying to enter. She could use her strength 
and force entry easily enough, but that would be pointless. It wasn't 
her room, and it wasn't Stapleton's; she knew that well enough. The 
housekeeper, Janet Jacobs, would know, of course, and she was a vetted 
employee. Betty deliberated on how much to reveal but decided there was 
little point in concealing anything. She set off in search of her. 
Betty found Jacobs in her small basement office. She closed the door to 
muffle the noise above as much as anything. 

“Ms. McCloud ...” Jacobs swung round in her chair in surprise. “I hadn't
expected to see you down here this evening. Is all okay?” 

“I caught one of the hired waiting staff trying to gain entry into a
first-floor room, Mrs Jacobs. I'd like to see inside if you'd unlock it 
for me.” 

“Of course. Which room is it?” 

At Betty's response, Jacobs removed a key from a glass-encased wall
cabinet. “I'm not familiar with the room; we've had no cause to enter 
it, though I know to which you refer.” 

“It could be the man was little more than an opportunistic thief, but I
have my doubts,” Betty told her as they headed upstairs. “He took off 
along the passageway to the servants' stairs, but I decided not to give 
chase. I know what those stairs and corridors are like.” 

“Very wise.” Jacobs unlocked the door, and the stale odor immediately
hit the pair. 

“Heavens.” Jacobs held her nose, made for the sash window. “This can't
have been opened in years.” The housekeeper tried to lift the sash, but 
the catch refused to yield. 

“Here, let me try.” Betty gestured the housekeeper aside, swept her
black hair over her shoulder, and placed her hands on the rim, her 
muscles surging as the catch crumbled, the woodwork groaning and 
splitting as her raw power forced the window open. 

“There, if it weren't so dirty, we'd be able to see out.” 

“I'll see that it's cleaned.” 

Betty snorted, giving Jacobs an ‘as if I care' look as her eyes swept
around the room, leaving Jacobs to marvel at her strength. 

“Either the waiter was set on trying every door, of which there are
many, or he had a specific purpose for getting in here.” Betty thumbed 
her chin in thought. “I take it these cabinets are empty,” she pondered 
as much to herself as Jacobs, glancing around at the four metal 
cabinets comprising the room's only furniture. 

“I've really no idea.” Jacobs shrugged. “I assume our chiefs ensured all
was removed when they purchased the place.” 

“Locked,” Betty muttered, a hand on the catch. “Now, why would an empty
drawer be locked? Soon change that.” A lightning-fast tug on the catch 
and the lock gave with a bang, leaving her to stare into a pile of 
brown folders filling the drawer almost to capacity. 

“Oh, my ...” Betty gasped. “Would you look at that?” She turned to
Jacobs and shook her head.  “Well, all I can say is that whoever 
checked this place out totally forgot about this room ... unless ... 

“What?” Jacobs frowned. 

“Unless the so-called waiter was trying to get in here.” Jacobs crossed
the room, peering at the files. “You mean there's something here 
valuable enough ...” 

“Maybe ...” Betty cut in with a nod of her head, “maybe something
valuable enough to make someone want to break in and retrieve it.” 
Betty rapped her fingers on the cabinet. “We're gonna keep this to 
ourselves, not a word to the police – I don't trust them – or to 
anybody here. Not even Mrs Stapleton, understood?” 

As Jacobs nodded her greying head, bepuzzlement written in her
expression, Betty scooped the entire top drawer's contents into her 
arms. “Now, I'm taking this lot to my room. I'll go through them later 
and see what I can dig up. Lock up here, and we'll carry on as if 
nothing happened.” 

Jacobs nodded.  “Oh, and Ms. McCloud?” 

Betty checked the passageway and then turned back. “Yes?” 

“When they told me how strong you were, they weren't joking.” 

“No.” Betty smiled as she made for her room. That was nothing compared
to what she was capable of.  


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