Velma pulled the drawer open and shone the flashlight inside. Shaggy peered over he shoulder and eyed the drawers contents warily.
Inside the drawer was a series of white envelopes, each stacked neatly in a row. Velma picked one up, holding it up to the light. If there was anything inside of it, it certainly wasn't making the envelope bulge at the seams - a single letter, perhaps, or something else.
"Well, it's not a costume," Velma said.
"Yeah, unless the Phantom makes his getup out of origami," Shaggy snickered. "So, like, what's in there?"
"Shaggy, reading people's mail?" Velma sounded shocked. "I'm surprised at you!"
"What?" Shaggy recoiled. "Like, we just broke into this guy's trailer, Velma! We're so far beyond the point of petty mail theft that-"
Shaggy could just barely make out Velma's grin from the light of the flashlight.
"Like, you're messing with me," he said, wearily. He rubbed his face with his palm. "I'm surprised. You never were much of a joker."
"Things change," she said with a sly smile and reached into the first envelope.
Inside was a letter, folded neatly into thirds. Velma unfolded it and laid it out on the table for them both to see, dislodging another piece of paper from inside the fold. Shaggy bent down to pick it up and set it down on the table, causing both of them to gasp.
"That's a check," Velma said.
"Yeah, and like, look at all those zeroes!" Shaggy held the check closer to the light.
The recipient was one Jeff Douglass, a name neither one of them recognized. There was, as Shaggy had pointed out, quite a lot of money coming his way from this check. This in itself was noteworthy, but Shaggy and Velma were drawn to something else as well. The check was signed by Agnes Fairbrook.
"Agnes Fairbrook!" Velma whispered. "I feel like this means something."
"Yeah but, like, what?" Shaggy asked.
"Maybe the letter will make it clear," she said, and began reading.
Dear Mister Douglass,
Thank you for your patience and understanding in these trying times. I know that fulfilling your role has not been easy, but I promise you it is necessary. What we are accomplishing here might be beyond your limited scope but I promise you we are working towards great things.
As promised, here is your weekly check. I trust that you still understand the vital necessity of keeping up appearances at all times - should word of your true identity get out, this will all be for naught. So long as you keep up the charade, the money will continue. I hope you understand the risk I've taken in placing this much trust in you - I do hope that this trust will be repaid back in kind.
I am sad to say we are approaching our climax, however - with the fair almost built, we have almost everything we need to bring our little story to its conclusion. You've done a wonderful job stalling the construction thus far; the blueprints were a masterstroke. The timing of the Phantom could not have been better, as well. I am sure the "Phantom" will continue wreaking havoc on the work crew.
Now, what I tell you next may feel as though it goes against my previous statements, but you've trusted me so far and thus far you have been well rewarded for it. I'm going to list for you two investigators of good repute that I'd like you to contact and sign on. They will investigate the disturbances around the fair that this Phantom figure has caused. I know that the appearance of the Phantom has progressed our work here considerably, but we need him removed as soon as possible and these are the only individuals I'd trust for the job.
I believe our business will be concluded next week, which will result in your final check. Thank you for your assistance and your trust - I truly could not have put this project together without your help. Perhaps one day soon it will all make sense.
Yours,
Agnes Fairbrook
Velma and Shaggy stared at the page before them, neither one saying anything for a moment.
"Jinkies," Velma whispered, re-reading the page. "This is… is this it? Is this what we need?"
"This seems pretty damning," Shaggy agreed, but something was bothering him. It was a kind of mental itch that, no matter how he tried, he couldn't scratch. There was a word on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn't place. It must have shown on his face because Velma took notice.
"What's the matter, Shag?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "I just feel like we're still missing something. Like, this letter definitely proves that Lillard - I mean, Jeff Douglass - is definitely in on what's been happening here. But, like, what has been happening here? What is he trying to accomplish? The letter makes it sound like even Douglass himself is in the dark on this, and whatever's really happening here is all Agnes Fairbrook's doing."
"Hmm," Velma intoned pensively, "that's a good point. We have what amounts to an admission of guilt here, but other than passing off some bad blueprints to the work crew, we don't have an actual crime to speak of. Furthermore, it seems to imply that Lillard - or Douglass - really isn't the Fair Phantom. But then, who is?"
"Yeah, and why did he dognap Scooby Doo?" Shaggy crossed his arms angrily. He scowled and leaned against the desk. "That's the part that bothers me the most. Like, why did he take my dog? I can't imagine a single reason he'd take Scoob."
Shaggy felt his eyes grow watery at the mention of his friend. Velma gingerly put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.
"Hey," she said in an intimate tone. "It will be okay. We can do this. We'll get him back, and solve this mystery too.'
"I hope so," he said, placing his hand on top of hers. "I really hope so."
A feeling of unease rested heavily on Shaggy. Of course his dog would get kidnapped. He'd known that when he'd continued his work as a private eye, hadn't he? He'd brought Scooby to every case he'd ever looked at, even when it had bugged his clients. He'd put his companion in danger countless times before and, if he continued on the same path he'd always been on, he'd do it again, and again.
He grimaced.
Why had he always brought Scooby with him? It had made sense when he'd been with the gang - Scooby had been a helpful member of the team, cowardly as he was, with his sensitive nose and low profile. Shaggy had leaned on him for support and courage many times, and the two of them had worked together to capture countless criminals.
But after Fred got shot?
Things had fallen apart almost immediately. The entire gang seemed to have a moment of clarity. For the first time in years, the danger of their own situation had really set in. Sure, they'd been face-to-face with criminals hundreds of times, but they'd always made it out just fine, and usually with a little extra cash in their pockets. It had become a game to them - go out, look for mysteries, capture the villain, make the local paper, and repeat. It had been fun, because they'd all known they were going to be safe at the end of it all.
And then Fred had gotten himself shot. There hadn't been a villainous monologue, there hadn't been a grand reveal or an evil plot. A desperate man, caught in the gang's trap, had simply pulled out a gun, taken the shot, and ran for his life.
There had been no one around to help. They'd been in the middle of nowhere, in an old abandoned mansion, miles from town. Velma had tried to keep pressure on the wound, but an artery had been hit. Fred had faded before their eyes.
And after that, the game was over. The reality of their actions and situations fell with a crushing weight on the gang, and they'd all split up, one last time.
Why had Shaggy continued doing things exactly the same, then? Why? Because he'd always done it that way before. Because it was comfortable. Familiar. Friendly, even. It was reassuring to have his companion with him, even though he knew he was placing him in harm's way.
Velma had too, it seemed. She'd continued along the same path he had, almost exactly. It was if she and he had been caught up in some kind of riptide that had torn them away from reality and pushed out to sea, carried by the momentum of their own history. And Daphne-
The thing gnawing at the back of Shaggy's head suddenly came into full focus. Removing Velma's hand from his shoulder, he turned around and took another look at the check on the table.
"What is it, Shaggy?" Velma asked, startled by his sudden shift in mood.
"This signature," he said, holding the flashlight closer. "Agnes Fairbrook. Doesn't it look a little… well, I'm not sure. But, like, there's something about it that's bugging me."
Velma peered down at it again.
"I'm not sure what you see, Shaggy," she said. "It just looks like a signature. I wouldn't know if it's the real Agnes Fairbrook's signature, if that's what you're after."
"An fake…" he scratched his head. "Maybe. Like, maybe that's it. Or maybe it's nothing."
He leaned back, frustrated by his own ability to pin down his problem.
"Forget it," he said at last. "I can't think straight, this is a lot coming at me, very fast. But if I can put the pieces together in my mind, I'll let you know. It's just... that signature looks familiar, somehow-"
Shaggy was interrupted by the sound of a car screeching into the fairground parking lot. Whoever was driving had been moving so fast that Shaggy could actually hear the dirt and rocks go flying as the driver slammed on the breaks. The door of the vehicle slammed shut, and Velma and Shaggy held their breath, listening as the footsteps drew closer and closer to the Trailer.