Chapter 3

The rest of Velma's day was tough to watch. It started off well enough as she got a cup of coffee and settled in with her computer to follow Reggie's trail. Her fingers flew across the board and I could see screen after screen pass over her monitor. During her second cup of coffee, there were interruptions where she stopped and stared at the screen. The third cup of coffee brought forth the heavy typing on the keyboard which indicating the building of frustration.

I watched as Daphne stood and walked toward Velma, "Vel…"

Syllable two never came as Velma's hand shot up and she showed her palm to the approaching Daphne, "Don't."

Daphne did an immediate about-face and tiptoed back to her desk.

Velma's lunch consisted of coffee cups four and five. I walked by as closely as I dared and saw her hands shaking slightly. She seemed to gain some momentum in the early afternoon and rolled through until she stopped, slammed both her palms down on her desk, and stared at the screen while biting her lower lip. She chewed on the lip for several seconds before standing and silently walking to the bathroom. She had drunk five cups of coffee, after all. How big could the woman's bladder be?

I didn't realize the level of her frustration until she returned from the bathroom and walked up to Daphne's desk, "Daphne, I need some help."

Daphne stood without comment and pulled her chair over next to Velma's desk. Two hours later, Velma was leaning back in her chair and Daphne was pounding on the keyboard trying to somehow bend it to her will. At 4:00 in the afternoon, Velma stood and called me out of my office. When I stepped out, she extended her hand formally. Due to a lack of options, I shook it. She spoke, "Scooby, I lost the bet. But what Daphne and I did find was really strange. Let me show you."

This statement brought Fred and Shaggy over to see the show. Daphne ran the mouse while Velma narrated, "Reggie Myung was staying at the Holiday Inn in Munich. The metadata on his Facetime call with Marcie shows 4:03 AM Central European Time. The timestamp on his check-out was 4:12 AM Central European Time. Daphne, bring up the hotel file." We waited a few seconds until a black and white still picture of a hotel front desk filled the screen.

Velma continued as the action on the video began to move, "Facial recognition software gives a high probability that the man at the desk is Reggie. If you watch, you see that he finishes at the desk and walks across the lobby and gets immediately on the shuttle outside." Daphne switched from the desk camera to an outdoor camera aimed at the front door. The timestamps were blended smoothly.

"We found this shuttle at three different locations along the route from the hotel to the airport and all the timestamps are appropriate with a non-stop trip. And here we see the shuttle at the airport letting everyone off. Due to the distance and angle, the facial recognition software could do no more than give us a greater than 50% chance that this was still Reggie. But when we switch to an interior camera at the airport, the software is back up to an over 80% chance that this is him." The screen motion stopped and Velma pointed to a specific figure which Daphne enlarged on the screen. It clearly looked like the photograph of Reggie Myong. He was looking up at a listing of departures and looking down at his ticket. He appeared confused.

"Reggie had gone to the international terminal but his itinerary showed a domestic flight to Frankfurt as his first leg. Anyone who has flown through or out of the Munich Airport knows how easy it is to get confused. If you keep watching, he seems to figure it out and heads toward the door to walk across the MAC to the domestic terminal. The MAC is an open-air covered area which houses food stands and places for kids to burn off energy before a flight. The cameras are able to follow him to the exit door but we lose him right outside. When last seen, he appears to be heading directly toward the nearest domestic terminal door. But no cameras in the domestic terminal ever picked him up. Somewhere in the 300 meters between Terminal 2 and Terminal 1, we lose Reggie. We have been going from camera to camera to camera all day. Nothing. He disappeared."

That was all well and good but I needed to know the critical information, "Rwhat does rhat mean for roo and ree?"

Velma's sigh came out like a harbinger of doom, "That means, Scooby, that you are going to call Marcie and tell her that we are going with her to New York and that we will need further tickets to Munich. I will give you a list of the equipment we need in Germany."

This was not good news, "Runich?"

"Yes."

She wasn't getting it, "Ree have to roe to Runich?"

"I'm afraid so."

Maybe a reminder would give her some perspective, "Do roo remember the rast time ree went to Munich?"

"Oktoberfest. We drank too much beer and very publicly made complete morons out of ourselves."

How was she so calm about this? "Do roo think they remember us?"

"A short white woman? No. A talking dog? Oh, yes. How could they ever forget?"

That explained it. There was nothing else to say but "Ruh-roe."

It was now time for me to text Marcie. I slowly punched out the message with the stylus, Scooby Doo Investigations concurs that field work will be required in the case of your fiancé. We expect to need to go not only to New York but also to Munich Germany. We should be able to get reservations to New York for tomorrow. What time do you want to leave?

The response came back so quickly, it was clear she had already typed it: Reservations already made on the redeye flight leaving Riley Airport in five hours. I will come by your apartment and pick you up at 6:30.

I turned my phone around and showed it to Velma. She glanced at it, "It looks like we better go home and pack."

"Reah, rack." I've got to quit doing that.

Fred and Daphne – with that weird dynamic still going on between them – were left alone to man the office for the last hour of the day, while Velma and Shaggy and I went home to get packed. While Velma wasted her time packing clothes, I walked to the neighborhood grocery with my suitcase and filled it up. There were a few odd looks at the checkout line but it saved a round of putting food into bags and also saved the bags themselves. Efficient and environmentally sensitive. Velma would approve. In the end, it didn't all fit so I was forced to eat about twelve sausages right there in the store in order to avoid using a bag. The things I do for Mother Earth. And besides, who takes sausages to Germany?

I returned to find Velma a flurry of motion and Shaggy watching and eating a sandwich. It looked like a good sandwich. Perfect size for right before dinner to avoid upsetting the appetite. But that is not important here. At a little before six, I ran (literally) over to Amanda's apartment. She usually got home around that time on a work night. I still averted my eyes from her door as I approached. My mind will probably always fill in the hate-filled word that we found there whether it's really there or not. Some stains are beyond paint. I turned my back on the door to wait.

She arrived at just after six with her arms full of groceries and Bettie climbing the steps all by herself just like a big girl. Yes. I spent time with a three-year-old and I talked like that now. Chill. When I had first met Amanda, I had assumed that she did not exhibit emotions. I had thought the same thing about Velma, although Velma was able to fake normal emotional reactions pretty well. Shaggy had explained to me that Velma did have certain tells about her feelings which were mainly around her eyes. They just didn't follow the normal patterns of non-verbal communication. Knowing this, I started watching Amanda more closely and she did seem to have a certain body language but it was different from Velma's. When Amanda saw or heard something she liked, her posture straightened slightly. If she saw or heard something she disliked, it sagged.

As she turned the corner on the stairs and saw me waiting at the door, her posture straightened, "Scooby. I didn't think we'd be seeing you tonight."

Before I could explain, Bettie marched up to me and pointed, "Doggy."

I pointed back at her and provided the proper call sign, "Ruman."

The call sign was accepted and she threw her tiny arms around my neck. Amanda was standing very straight. That invoked in me a feeling which seemed to be growing within me of late. But, since we've already passed the maudlin item on the agenda, I'll return to the facts.

"Rye'm not staying. Ree have a new case and Rye have to fly to Rew Rork and Europe with Relma and a client."

"With Velma?" Her posture sagged slightly. Which meant that she was saddened or bothered by the news. Why did that make me feel good? Sometimes Velma has a point, emotions make no sense. Amanda asked, "How long will you be gone?"

"Rye don't know. Rhe client is paying by the hour, so re'll stay on the case until ree rolve it or ret fired."

Her posture sagged more and I felt even better. Bettie stepped back from me. Her eyes were level with mine, "You're going away?"

"Res rut Rye'll be back."

"Daddy went away." I no longer felt good. I no longer felt good at all.

"Rye'll ree back soon. Rery soon. Rye romise."

The little girl had one tiny hand on each of my cheeks and she leaned forward and kissed me on the nose, "I'll miss you."

Then suddenly Amanda leaned down and kissed me on my cheek just under my right eye, "I'll miss you, too. Come back soon."

In that second, I knew that I was going to cancel the trip and I was about to tell them that when my phone rang. It was Shaggy, "Rye'm busy Raggy."

"Dude, Marcie just called. She's on her way."

I processed that statement and looked up at Amanda who was turning toward her door. I hung up on Shaggy without further comment. The moment had passed and I had obligations to the company, to my friends, and to the contract I had signed with Marcie. Amanda wrestled with her keys and got the door open without putting down the grocery bags. It was an impressive effort. She turned back, "I have to get the ice cream in the freezer. I can feel it melting. You be safe and come back to me."

Ice cream! Stop it. Someday, I'll have to get that dog half of me under control. I ended up saying, "Rokay." There were three more words to be said but they stuck in my throat. Then the door closed. Something had just happened which was really important. I wish I knew what it was.

The 30-minute drive to the airport went by with artificial small talk and personal histories. Marcie delivered hers in keeping with the braggadocio of her newly-minted personality and Velma delivered hers with a false humility in keeping with hers. If this was their idea of 'water under the bridge', then they had a beaver infestation. No one asked for an update on my life. I was not complaining. I had plenty on my mind. Actually, that's not true. I had two things on my mind: the kiss on the cheek and the words come back to me. For the crossword puzzle fanatics out there, what's a four-letter word that means 'forever'? The answer is 'love'. And Amanda and I were getting very close to dropping that bomb.

Why is it that we wish for the things that are going to inexorably complicate and change our lives? If you had told me four months ago that I would be sitting here thinking about a person with whom I could share my life and participate in the raising of a beautiful little girl, I would have said you were dreaming. I just wasn't that lucky. But here I was, on the cusp of that very thing. And it scared me to death. I think this is normal and then I think it isn't and then I don't know. No, I didn't have very much on my mind.

Marcie dropped us off at the terminal and returned her rental car. The area around the airline ticket counter was busy and Velma was bumped and jostled repeatedly as we waited. I went untouched. Marcie finally stepped off the rental car bus and strode in dragging along her rollaboard. It took her a couple of seconds to spot us (not hard, Velma's the one standing next to the Great Dane) and she walked over.

"I'm sorry, but with the short notice I wasn't able to get business class. We're in economy plus."

Challenge accepted, "Ratch and rearn." But before I could start towards the counter, Velma's hand stuck out in front of my face.

"Scooby, we need to sit together and discuss the case. You can deal with economy seats for a couple of hours." That was easy for her to say. The seats were designed for her butt. But I acquiesced.

Marcie nodded, "I was able to get three together."

In Velma's defense, she took the middle seat and Marcie took the window in order to give me the aisle. This accomplished two things: it allowed me to get out of that torture chamber of a seat and sit in the aisle while still hearing their conversation and it limited the interference of autograph hunters (notice I did not say 'autograph hounds') to just me. The fact that neither Velma nor Marcie looked much like their earlier selves created the general assumption that I was traveling alone.

On the other hand, after Velma had kept me from getting an upgrade to business class, this detailed conversation about the case never materialized. In its stead, the conversation focused on who and what they hated about high school. This conversation was long and detailed and included Velma explaining how far Sarah Handler had fallen. They shared a great deal of pleasure in the trials and tribulations of their former nemesis. Velma's earlier speech about forgiveness seemed to have been put to the wayside. I had never actually met Sarah Handler nor any of the other ne'er-do-wells mentioned in this conversation, so it was boring. This prompted me to dig into my carry-on bag full of snacks under the seat in front of me. Of course, had the conversation been interesting, that also would have prompted me to do the same.

Marcie looked out the window during a lull in the spite-filled discussion and sighed, "V, there were times in high school when I would have added you to my list of nemeses."

"Why? I mean, we competed but it was always good-natured."

"It was good-natured to you because you always won."

"I never beat you at chemistry. Not once."

"But everything else. Everything else. Always."

"Marcie, you're a chemist. You always were and you always will be. And you knew that. You knew who you were. That is why you're worth a gazillion dollars and I work for you. You knew who you were from the beginning and I'm just figuring it out."

"So, that's what goes on my tombstone? Marcia Ellen Fleach, Chemist?"

Velma shook her head strongly, "No. It's going to read: Marcia Ellen Fleach, world-renowned chemist that contributed greatly to humanity."

When Marcie had known us, Velma was still hiding her socialization issues and Marcie instinctually reached out and took Velma's hand. I saw the muscles in Velma's forearm tense, but she held her hand in place and returned the squeeze.

Marcia had her face turned away toward the window but I could see her reflection against the dark night sky as she spoke, "But I'm a villain and you're a hero."

Velma was staring down at their shared grasp, "The line between those two is blurred."

The mutual admiration society playing out got the best of me and I decided that it was my time to be funny, "Roo two should get a room." Then, of course, I remembered the discussions of the previous two days. "Roops, rorry. Rhat ras really inappropriate, all rhings ronsidered." There was a silence between the two until Marcie started making little jerking movements. I thought that I had made her cry for a moment until I realized she was laughing. First silently and then there was a loud snort and she could hold it in no longer. Then Velma started to laugh. It had been years since I had heard that. Now, of course, I knew that it was fake – completely fabricated for the purpose of blending in. Oddly, this gave me the opportunity to appreciate it. Since she didn't have to worry about the snorts and gasps associated with organic laughter, Velma had carefully crafted a beautiful sonorous laugh. I listened and enjoyed.

The flight landed at JFK at a little after 2:00 in the morning and the limousine which Marcie had chartered picked us up for the drive to Midtown Manhattan. We Crystal Cove rubes thought that Riley was a big city with its population approaching one million. It was good every now and then to see what a true metropolis looked like. Even the sprawling low-rise Los Angeles paled by comparison to New York's compact skyscrapers. True three-dimensional living with everyone located by the cartesian coordinates of street number, avenue number, floor number. Although traffic was light, the streets were not empty and small bands of people walked along either headed home late, going to work early, or looking for an open bar. We made it to Marcie's apartment at 3:00 in the morning. I was too tired to appreciate its size, view, and opulence. I would do that in the morning. For now, I just needed sleep.

Morning came four hours later by the clock or 30 seconds later by my perception with Velma pounding on my door, "Scooby. Plenty of time to sleep when we're six feet under. We've got a lot to do today. Up and at 'em!" Exactly what I needed first thing in the morning. Bad pirate prose. I dragged myself out of bed and admired first, the view. The room had a view of the Hudson River. I don't mean like a tiny sliver of blue off in the distance. I mean that the Hudson River is right there, just a few blocks away. And then the skyline of Jersey City on the far bank. Opulence came second if the furnishings of the guest room was any indication. I looked closely at some of the artwork on the wall. It was hand-painted, not a print. To you, this might go without saying but, to me, this was some high society stuff. Size came last when I left the room looking for the restroom and it took me a couple of minutes to find it. And during that two minutes, I never bumped into Velma or Marcie.

The floors, walls, ceiling, and built-in cabinetry (which was everywhere) was mostly white with some black accents. This made the various colorful artworks and wall hangings stand out. It gave the impression of a photo shoot or a movie set. It also gave the impression of the cold, calculating work of an interior designer creating a space more for impression than livability. The bathroom was so immaculate that I couldn't bring myself to shake dry after my shower so I used a towel – which takes forever. When I finally was fresh as a Spring morning, I started dropping bread crumbs as I explored the apartment in search of Velma.

I found her sitting at the counter of an enormous, and equally white, kitchen with a mug of coffee. She was dressed and ready to go. In the adjacent breakfast area sat Marcie. Also dressed but with her feet bare and pulled up into the seat with her. The position, which also included a mug of coffee, appeared extremely informal in the ultra-luxurious surroundings. Like so many things I had seen in the past two days, this position ran at variance with the Marcie I remembered. That Marcie sat in chairs with her feet either dangling in a gawky fashion or with both feet on the floor and her ankles together with her hands in her lap. There was something about this relaxed position that struck me as posed and artificial. Those words kept coming up in my head where Marcie was concerned. How much was she like Velma? Were all of her interfaces with the world around her contrived? As far as that went, were mine?

She looked at me, "Come into my parlor."

"Ray rhat?" I shook my head and replayed her words in my head. She had actually said, Coffee is next to the pantry. I definitely was short on sleep but I recovered, "Rounds rood".

She pointed at a large machine in the kitchen which looked like it belonged in Mission Control, "Help yourself."

My mouth dropped open and I was about to admit that I had no idea where to start when Velma hopped off her stool, "She's joking with you, Scooby. She had to show me how to use it. Let me show you." Saved.

Marcie hugged her knees to her chest, "You're no fun. Imagine trying to operate that monster with no thumbs. It would have been hilarious."

Velma looked down at me. She knew that the tendency of the human race to design all of the necessary equipment of life with a requirement for opposable thumbs was one of my pet peeves. But at least a joke which was completely tone deaf and awkward was more in keeping with my recollections of Marcie, "Reah, rilarious."

Marcie uncoiled out of the chair, "I have given Velma the layout of the place and given your list of needs in Germany to my logistics people. It will all be delivered to the hotel before we get there. I'll head over to my office which is about two blocks away. The apartment is yours to search as you please. When you're done here, come to the office and you will be just as free to search there. Leave your suitcases in the front room here and they'll be picked up before the limousine gets us at the office. We have to be at the airport by 6:00 for our flight to Munich." She finally took a breath, "Got it?"

Velma hopped off the stool, "Marcie, do you mind if I grab a comb or toothbrush or something of Reggie's for DNA testing?"

Marcie shook her head, "My toothbrush is blue and I don't use combs. Take what you need."

No moss was going to grow on Marcie. She had been walking around the room as she talked and she was now completely outfitted with shoes, light jacket, and a matching handbag. She stopped at the door on the way out, "Toodle-oo kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." And she was gone. If I were her, I'd be more worried about us doing something she would do.

Velma began her search in the master bedroom which Marcie shared with Reggie while I began my search in the kitchen pantry. That search extended to the refrigerator, the stovetop, and the oven. I left no stone unturned. After I had signaled the completion of my initial assignment with a proud belch, Velma came in and showed me which room was Reggie's office. I took that while she searched Marcie's. The centerpiece of Reggie's office was a large antique mahogany partner's desk with seats on both sides. He had docking stations set up for computers at both seats. One wall was floor-to-ceiling window with yet another view of the Hudson. The second was built-in mahogany bookshelves to match the desk. These were filled with books with beautiful spines that no one would ever read. I pulled at several of them to see if a wall would slide open – force of habit. No wall slid open.

The other two walls were directed with more tasteful paintings clearly chosen by an expert third party. Everything was chosen with the theme I am a man's man. One of the paintings was the running of the bulls. Another was an expressionist painting of the New York Jets. I checked and it was an original LeRoy Neiman. The third painting was something with ships and the fourth painting was cowboys. Exactly what a female interior decorator would choose for a man's space.

I stood up and pressed one of the buttons on the wall and wall-mounted sconces lit up. I pressed the other button and drapes began to close across the window. I pressed it again and they stopped. I pressed it a third time and they opened again. A third button opened a panel in the wall to the right and revealed a flat screen television. On the wall to the left between the ships and the cowboys was a bar complete with a mirror and two shelves full of bottles behind it. Like the rest of the apartment, it felt more like a movie set than a real room.

The lack of dust on any surface indicated a regular maid service. One of the sides of the double desk was barren. I quickly opened the drawers to confirm they were empty. The other side of the desk had a notepad with some handwriting on it and several post-it notes. The handwriting was barely legible on any of the papers and was reminders of various meetings and phone calls. The ones with dates were all at least two months out of date.

The mental image of the man based on the immaculate nature of the room was bespoiled by the chaos and clutter within the top drawer on the left side of the desk. They were jammed with an amazing assortment of items ranging from scraps of grid paper with hexagons, letters, and numbers all over it (Velma science stuff) to a white sock. The middle drawer on the left side was the exact opposite. It was neat and orderly and contained a stapler, a notepad, a pair of scissors, and a staple remover. The bottom left drawer returned to the chaos of the top drawer. What appeared to be drawers on the right side were actually a door which opened on a cabinet area in the desk with a cable/satellite television receiver and a DVD player. Just inside the door to that cabinet were three buttons which my keen instinct told me were probably the same as the three next to the door.

Private Eye Stuff 101: when all other drawers are jammed full and one is neat and nearly empty, the good private detective takes that one out, turns it over, and looks for a false bottom. It was, indeed, a false bottom which I slip open to reveal 12 DVDs laying six on six and sandwiched between the actual bottom of the drawer and the false one which slid off. That means that I get to play with the buttons. Yes, I know. They were probably data disks and the DVD player would not be able to make heads or tails out of them. But I really wanted to play with the buttons.

I pushed the button that turned off the lights. Then the button that closed the drapes – which were black-out drapes. And then the one that opened the television cabinet. I did not have to move from the chair to make all this happen and that was very cool. The DVDs were completely unlabeled and unmarked. Neither DVD cases nor DVD players were particularly paw-friendly so it took me a moment to fight the DVD out of its case and into the player. I found the remote lying next to it as the starter screen came up and hit 'Play'. It was porn.

The fact that it was porn was triggering my subconscious. There was something very important about that fact. Something vital and urgent. I began mentally retracing my steps as I had searched through the desk trying to force this information from the lower levels of my mind. And then it came to me. There was a sock in the desk… and I had touched it. Do not stop. Do not pass 'Go'. Go directly to the bathroom and wash the paws and then wash them again and then a third time. I washed my paws three times only because I couldn't sandblast them.

When I returned to the office, I found Velma waiting for me. I had left the DVD running and something was happening on the screen which seemed to involve a loaf of bread.

She looked at me as I came in, "You found porn."

"I round rorn," I agreed.

"How much?"

"Relve reeveerees."

She shook her head, "Great."

I reached in and turned off the DVD player, "Reah. 'reat." Sometimes the 'yeah' thing worked okay.

The reason we were so unexcited about the porn stash find was that pornography was problematic in our business. Had these been simple data discs, we could have copied them onto Velma's computer and sent them back to Shaggy, Fred, and Daphne to read through back at the office while we continued our field work. But sending large amounts of pornography by electronic means could be (and frequently was) misconstrued by the FCC and other members of the Government thought police. This could cause headaches.

Worse yet, a lot of people knew this and therefore hid their data deeply embedded in pornographic DVDs. So, Velma and I were going to have to sift through 12 DVDs of human porno to see if a rose was just a rose. We didn't have time today and it was not something we could do on an airplane. So, we would divide the discs between us and be spending a lot of time in our hotel rooms looking at porn. And getting paid for it. Is this a great country or what? Even worse, neither Velma nor I had the remotest interest in the erotic content of these videos and so the windfall was wasted.

Even still worse, I watched as Velma put on a rubber glove, picked up the sock, stuck it into a baggie, and shoved it into her purse. Our job was just nasty sometimes.