7.02: Pates Down

ANGEL PASTA: PART TWO

Angel calmly replaced her teacup in its saucer before squinting back at him. “Wait, what the–”

“This captain was at fault for mooring his boat too long, and not listening to our dock master, Vesso,” Jules continued, cutting her off. “Vesso is a friend of mine, so I interceded, as I happened to be in the area.”

As he paused, Angel stared. “Why are we talking about your personal problems?”

“Because when I insisted that this captain leave,” Jules continued doggedly, “he glared at me, pulled on his beard, pointed his pipe my way and said he hoped that I lost my job. And here we are, with my job in jeopardy because of all those jellyfish disrupting our city’s tourism industry. You see the connection, surely.”

Angel began to regret her plan of using the town’s head of tourism as her first source of information. On the other hand, she now understood why he had cleared his schedule to meet with her on short notice. By now, any others he’d shared his theories with had probably given up on making any sense out of them.

Still, she had seen some weird things in her life up to this point. Best to rule out the curse angle entirely before looking for a more mundane explanation.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“I think my marriage is falling apart,” Jules sighed.

Angel resisted the urge to facepalm. “I meant about the captain,” she clarified. “For instance, who was he?”

“Oh! I have no idea,” Jules admitted.

[caption id=“attachment_3536” align=“alignright” width=“204”] ANGEL RUSÉE[/caption]

Angel tilted her head in such a way as to make one of the bunny ears on her hairband twitch. A skill she was inordinately proud of. “I need a name. Ship name. Ship records. Something.”

“Vesso would have a lot of that,” Jules assured her. “But he won’t release them to me because he doesn’t believe that this captain is linked to the jellyfish. He must be under their influence somehow. So, maybe someone else at the docks?”

“Mmm hmm, I see,” Angel said. There were so many other more plausible options. She took another sip of tea as she considered where to go next. Seemed best to frame any inquiry with this captain in mind. “Look, Jules, is there any source of jellyfish nearby, which this captain could be using?”

“Not that I’m aware. It’s sorcery, I tell you.”

“Yet… cloning ray technology, perhaps? Portal generator? Transmogrification?”

Now Jules was staring. “Those seem like very far fetched ideas.”

“Mmm hmm. You’d be surprised.” Angel leaned back in her chair. This was going nowhere. “Fine. I’ll be in touch.”

Jules nodded, leaning forwards eagerly. “Absolutely. Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

“Of course.” Angel gave him a little two finger salute, and headed back towards her van.

She had planned to head to the beaches, but she supposed the ship yards was an angle worthy of a quick look first. And it was probably best to do that now, before word of her arrival spread. Not to mention people might be getting tired this late in the day, thus more prone to letting something slip.

She double checked the map she had picked up of the area, and drove off.

To be clear, the unexpected arrival of a swarm of jellyfish into a Mediterranean beach area was not without precedent. It generally depended on water currents and a number of other factors. For instance, the summer, and higher temperatures. Overfishing could also increase the amount of plankton in an area, leaving a food source for jellyfish.

Angel had researched all of that at the library before setting out.

However, she also knew from her research that jellyfish were more likely to be present in August, not June, that the sheer number of them remaining in one place for so long was unprecedented, and in this case, they seemed to be flashing their luminescence at strange intervals. Enough to warrant an investigation.

And a number of fishing boat captains knew this was a strange circumstance too.

“I don’t know why they’re still floating out there. They’re going to kill all the fish,” one captain grumbled at her.

“They’re clogging the nets,” another sighed. “I don’t see how this could be of benefit to anyone.”

“Yeah, I heard about that disagreement,” a deckhand mused, when Angel brought up the incident with Jules. “Not sure who was really at fault, though I haven’t seen that captain around since the jellyfish came. I think he travels up and down the coast? No, I don’t know his name.”

Vesso himself was not very forthcoming.

“If there’s an issue, fill out the appropriate forms in triplicate and get back to me in two days,” he said, gesturing at the stacks of paper near his desk. “At that point I’ll take it under advisement.”

As tempting as it was to get a peek at Vesso’s records some other way, this wasn’t an emergency situation. In such cases, Angel preferred to go through the proper channels, at least to start.

She filed her request for information, based on the shaky supposition that she was an investigator, and this captain might know about the jellyfish, as he had not been seen since their arrival.

She slept in her van that night, and had a look along the beaches the following morning.

They were mostly deserted. Some jellyfish had washed up, and from what she could tell, they didn’t look out of the ordinary. She found a starfish that had washed ashore as well, and tossed it back into the surf.

By that afternoon, word was starting to get around that a redhead wearing bunny ears with an affinity for animals was asking questions. Angel rather hoped that this would prompt people with information to seek her out, and so she rented a hotel room for at least a couple of nights, in order to be more easily found.

Of course, the other thing her notoriety was liable to do was make anyone who was behind the scheme more wary. Angel tried to keep an eye out for anyone who might be observing her activities.

Granted, she knew all too well that her ability to charm others far outweighed her general alertness skills, but it felt important to make the effort. She also tried to ask fewer questions that evening, hoping that anyone who was observing her would become bored by her doing little of interest aside from eating some delicious crêpes.

A woman came to see Angel on her second morning in town.

Angel was having breakfast in the café across from the hotel when the dark haired woman approached her table.

“Is this seat taken?” the woman asked, gesturing at the empty chair across from Angel.

Angel shook her head and gestured. “By all means.”

The woman sat, and Angel gave her a quick once-over.

Her black hair was shoulder length and mostly straight, except for two ringlets down either side of her face that corkscrewed like fusilli. She had also clipped a farfalle-style bow into her hair, which was equally black. In fact, black was something of a motif for her.

Her dress was black, her stockings were black and her ankle boots were black.

The dress, at least, had a design print on it, showing grey and white “U” or “C” shapes (depending on how you oriented yourself). It fluffed out past her waist, went down to her knees, kept her arms bare, and showed a hint of cleavage. Though the straps over her shoulders were the thickness of at least three fingers, implying a degree of modesty.

Her makeup, in contrast, was a pink blush and red lipstick. Quite the counterpoint to the black everywhere else. A glance for any bracelets or rings revealed nothing, though the woman did have silver earrings in the shape of sea shells, or rather, conchiglie. She looked to be in her late twenties, so maybe three or four years younger than Angel herself.

She was definitely attractive.

Angel briefly regretted her own choice of attire - her standard white blouse, dark slacks, and lab coat, which she had decided to put on so that she could keep notepaper and pencil stubs in the pockets. She wished she had chosen to wear something more feminine instead.

Granted, it’s not like this was going to morph into a date. And the presence of her gun in its holster also made that fantasy harder to picture. Still, Angel found herself trying to recall the last time she’d had a meal with such an alluring woman.

Alas, the fact that her mind was wandering that way meant that this was probably a trap.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Angel Rusée,” the woman said, after sizing up Angel as well.

“I couldn’t find any safe ones in town. Sorry, didn’t catch your name?” Angel added, offering a smile as she leaned her chin onto the palm of one hand.

“Hmph. Call me Pâtes, or simply Patty,” the woman said, scrutinizing Angel once more.

It was as if pasta, pâté, and burgers had become connected in one, single, intriguing name. Good thing she was already eating a croissant, Angel mused, or she might get hungry. “No last name?”

Patty grunted. “No. Listen. You should leave.”

Angel shook her head, now clasping her hands and resting them on the table. “That seems rude, given you only just sat down with me. Can I buy you something, Patty?”

Patty frowned, looking yet again at Angel. Angel fancied that this time, the other woman was trying to suss out Angel’s sexual preferences. Angel didn’t advertise them, but didn’t make a point of hiding them either. After all, if anyone was going to be bigoted towards her, Angel preferred to know sooner as opposed to later.

Patty’s gaze now darted left and right. “Wait. You… you can’t have been asking all around town about the jellyfish to get to me, surely?” she said.

“Alas, no,” Angel admitted. “I truly am concerned about the sea creatures. But that doesn’t prevent me from giving an attractive woman an amuse-bouche. Hmm? Particularly if she is connected to the case.” She winked.

Patty visibly flinched. “Y-You’re no chef,” she protested over the double entendre. With amuse-bouche being a complimentary bite-sized hors d’oeuvre offered by a chef, as well as suggesting a literal translation to ‘mouth amusement’ in english.

“Wait until I cook you a meal before saying that,” Angel suggested.

“Nngh.” Patty squirmed in her chair, visibly off balance, so at least Angel had managed to gain the upper hand there. “Are you this charming with men too?” she asked after a moment.

“If I require information from them, yes,” Angel admitted. “But I don’t derive the same pleasure from their company. Or invite to cook for them.”

Patty’s tongue ran over her upper lip as she glanced quickly around the area again. “Zut alors,” she muttered at last. “You would be a sirène.” She took a deep breath. “All right, Angel. I still think you should leave. But if you insist, I’ll level with you as to why.”

“Please do,” Angel said with a smile. “And allow me to at least order you a croissant.”

(Did I have this dark clothed woman in mind when I began writing? Not at all. So, who is she then? You tell me.)

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