WOW! Two updates within a week? I'm on fireeeeeeee. This one was a prompt from one of my friends, actually. It was a vague one, so was able to spin it and make it about our resident genius. Fair warning, I typed this up fast and didn't do much proofreading and editing, so please let me know if you spot a mistake or something. I hope you guys enjoy!

NOW UP: After a long day of chasing dead leads throughout town, Ingrid gets locked out of her car in the middle of a rainstorm. What could possibly go wrong?

xXxXx

Chapter Six – Bobby Pins

Ingrid stomped through puddles as she made her way to her car. She hated wild goose chases. She'd been roaming the town in circles because each "lead" she got was either phony or too flimsy to run with. She'd been on her own since the bell rang. Of her own volition, of course, since Fillmore was too far behind on his schoolwork to be chasing vague, anonymous tips around town.

He warned her about the incoming rain. She hadn't given it much thought – she quite liked the rain – but she'd realized one puddle too late that she picked the wrong day to not wear her trusty combat boots. Add getting her chain yanked to the misery of walking around in cold, wet socks, and Ingrid was crabby. She zipped up her leather jacket as the rain started to fall, again.

"How could there still be more?" she grumbled. She shoved her hands in her pockets and picked up her pace. If she could shrink farther underneath her hood, she would. It had long soaked through down to her hair and wasn't providing any dry solace, but she could at least hide from any passersby. Finally, she saw her car parked and waiting for her down the street. Relief swept over her; she was a quarter-mile away from driving home and a nice hot shower.

As she approached the driver's side door, she realized her pockets were empty.

She froze on the spot with a gasp, searching every pocket for her keys but coming up empty. She flooded with panic, as she could've dropped them anywhere: the florist, the bank, the secondhand gaming store, the arcade. She brought her shaking fingers up to her temples and closed her eyes, searching her memory for any clues.

Her eyes flashed open. Oh, you've got to be kidding me… Hands across her eyebrows, she peered in the window and saw them dangling from the ignition.

"Seven hells, Third," she groaned, shaking her head. So close, yet so far. She drew in a deep breath, trying to stifle the rage bubbling in her chest long enough to assess her options: break a window (which is an absolute last resort), find someone with a hanger, call Fillmore or her father to bring her spare key—

She rolled her eyes. Of course, that would be the thing you think of last. She pulled out her phone and quickly dialed her dad's number despite the rain pelting against the screen. She held it to her phone, tapping her feet impatiently. It rang and rang. She huffed. It was past six o'clock. He should be home by now. It rang some more. "Come on, Dad. Now's not the time to—"

"Hi, you've reached Professor Third—"

Ingrid swore and immediately dialed their home phone. She bit her lip, her foot tapping faster now. She kept her eyes peeled for anyone who might be able to help, but the streets were devoid of people. The answering machine picked up and she sighed, closing her eyes until she could speak. "Hey, Dad, if you're home please pick up. I'm locked out of my car on Main Street and need the spare key." She hung up and dialed Fillmore's number. He could get into her house or even help her break into her car if needed. Not like he hasn't done it before. She let herself fall back against the car as the phone continued to ring. The last resort grew more and more appealing with each raindrop, but she took a deep breath. Patience, Third.

"Hey, it's Fillmore. Leave a message."

"Dammit," she groaned and hung up with a sigh. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and pinched the bridge of her nose when it hit her.

She could probably break into her own car. She can pick a lock even better than Fillmore. She's never tried it with a car, but how much harder could it be? Her pick kit was in her backpack, which of course was locked in the trunk… but she always had her trusty bobby pins on hand, courtesy of Fillmore.

Their cuffed hands sandwiched between their backs, Fillmore quietly fidgeted uncomfortably behind her. "Since when did perps start using actual handcuffs?" he complained in a whisper. "We don't even use actual handcuffs. How is that fair?"

Ingrid sighed, counting all the exits, perps, vantage points, et cetera. "Considering our current situation, do you really think comparing apprehension techniques is the best use of your time?"

"I'm trying to get us out of here. What are you doing?" he asked, his voice dripping sarcasm. His fingers were fumbling with something in between their cuffed hands.

"What?" she asked as he pushed himself off the floor, pulling her hands towards him. "Ow—" she gasped, but Fillmore shushed her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I can't reach the lock on my cuffs."

"With what? Your nonexistent fingernails?"

"Nah, I keep a bobby pin in my belt in case of emergencies," he explained with a grunt of effort. Ingrid blinked. How hadn't she thought of that?

"Fillmore, that's genius."

"You can thank me later." He went quiet for a moment before he swore, and something bounced off her back.

"Please don't tell me you just dropped it."

"I didn't just drop it. It… kinda sprung."

"When we get out of here, I'm going to kill you."

Ingrid reached for the pins she now kept at her back and got down on one knee. Fillmore was right: these really did come in handy. She struggled for a moment – the lock was hard to push through with flimsy bobby pins – before they slid inside. The cold rainwater soaked through her jeans, but she ignored it for the task on hand. It was harder than she expected. The bobby pins were bending all the wrong ways and she started to think they wouldn't be strong enough to turn the lock. Maybe if she could—

Red and blue lights flashed off to her right, followed by a short burst of a siren. She froze, stifling the old delinquent urge to immediately flee, and sighed as the car quietly squealed to a stop a few feet from her.

So close, she thought, as she felt the bobby pins start to give. I was so close.

xXxXx

Haha, another short one for you xD Hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm working on another installment too, so hopefully you'll be getting ANOTHER update soon :)

Stay safe, everyone!

ellameno