4~

The area of the mall's thoroughfare where Ringleader was last seen, as well as the store that was destroyed in the attack, The Bows and Bangles Boutique, was cordoned off with police tape, forcing the mall's human traffic to go around it, like cars passing a highway accident scene.

Marcie stood in the Orange Ya Glad Eatery entranceway, soda in hand, trying to look as if she belonged there, as the people flowed back and forth in tighter lanes, thanks to the cordon.

It was near closing time for the place, and the customer population was thinning here and there. However, all that concerned her was the mall security officer, who stood a short distance away, assigned to guard the crime scene.

Thinking back to how the criminals had escaped, Marcie wanted a chance to collect all of the evidence she could. If they had somehow gotten the smoke bombs locally, she could possibly trace them and the buyer's identity.

Looking down at the tiled floor constantly trod upon by patrons, she hoped that valuable clues hadn't been crushed underfoot or kicked away before she could search.

"Let's see," Marcie thought to herself aloud. "The mall cop is across from me. That Ringleader stood about where he is now, but I can't search there."

She leaned out of the entranceway casually, looking down the walkway to the right.

"But his little band was standing further up the path, where the stores were robbed, and they're not taped off. If I can look around the floor there, hopefully, I should find something. But how?"

Marcie pinched the bridge of her nose to massage the weariness of the day from her eyes. Then, in surprise, as she looked at her raised spectacles from within, she had her answer.

The electronics store that was hit earlier was still being managed by a much warier manager as he stood vigil by the cash register. He decided, after a police question-and-answer session that was made more uncomfortable by the slight headache he received after the sleeping gas wore off, that the store could still be run in the remaining hours before closing. Profit had won out over caution.

Marcie innocently sauntered into the store from the moving crowds, her eyes surreptitiously scanning every corner of the place and quickly understanding what the thieves must have felt as they cased the establishment before making their move.

The manager watched her come in but said nothing, occasionally glancing back to the throngs of people cruising outside.

Towards the back, Marcie saw the pride of the store, a giant stereo system held in a towering entertainment center, its sheer bulk saving it from being plundered.

A plan crept into her mind, and soon she was strolling up to the counter.

"Excuse me," Marcie said with a pleasant smile plastered on her slightly nervous face. "I was wondering how much is that stereo system in the back worth."

Any wariness flew from the manager in the face of a significant sale. "That's top-of-the-line, there, miss. Three hundred eighty dollars. We accept all credit cards, of course."

"Of course," Marcie agreed as she reached into her inner jacket pocket and pulled out a card that suddenly slipped out of her hand and fluttered to the carpeted floor.

"Oh, I'll get that," she said, dropping out of the manager's sight from his point of view behind the counter.

"All right," he said, shrugging the moment away.

With a careful pace, Marcie crawled around the floor like a predator on a scent trail, using her fingers to probe the carpet's fibers for anything suspect. Every few seconds, she glanced up to see if she was being watched.

"How's it going down there?" the manager asked from above.

"Oh, uh, it's a slippery little thing," Marcie countered. "I-I almost have it, though. Don't worry."

"Okay."

Self-consciously, Marcie frowned. It was bad enough to risk being seen in the mall, crawling about the floor like a dog in heat, but her hunting ground was depressingly clean.

'He must have vacuumed,' she thought grimly. Then, she saw it.

A small, shining shell of clay winked just into view from the threshold of the store's entranceway. The fact that Marcie could see it there meant that shards of the smoke bomb must have skittered into the store from where one of the kids had set it off. With that, she crawled towards the precious clue.

One swift hand motion and Marcie plucked the fragment up and deftly dropped it into an empty vial she pulled from her jacket pocket. Preparing to stand, she looked out from the store and saw the mall cop, still standing at his post, heroically fighting boredom.

Grinning triumphantly, she stood and addressed the manager. "I think I have it."

"Oh, good!" he said. "Would you like to pay for it now or with our payment plan?"

Almost forgetting her ruse, Marcie gestured to the stereo, asking, "Uh, is there any way I could hear it? Y'know, know how it sounds?"

"Sure," assured the businessman, happy to help a customer and eager for the sale. "You can play this."

He bent down behind the counter, and when he rose again, he had a cd in his hand. Marcie took it and walked over to the music system.

As the manager was preoccupied for a moment, she found herself frowning again. She had gotten what she came for so far and was only wasting what little time she had before the whole mall closed. There was still the store blown apart by Ringleader, but as long as the security officer guarded the area, that was impossible to examine it. If he could be called away for a moment.

Marcie opened the glass door that protected the stereo's components, saw the cd player's entry, and place the disk inside.

She was about to press Play when she checked the volume control to ensure it wasn't too loud. Then, a thunderbolt of an idea made her full lips curl up in a devious smile.

Reaching into her jacket again, she carefully slipped out a small vial of clear gel and pulled off the stopper. Keeping her back to the manager, she poured a little dollop of the substance on the inside edges and corners of the glass door, then placed the vial back into her inner jacket pocket.

Then, she turned to the businessman. "Mind if I step out for a second? I want to tell my friend that I'm going to buy this."

The manager nodded. "Okay, but hurry back. The mall getting ready to close."

Marcie nodded back, then turned back to the stereo's controls. Pressing the button marked Play, she then turned the volume all the way to maximum. Then she closed the glass door, which sealed tight, thanks to the homemade super-adhesive she applied, and skipped out of the store before the manager was suddenly assaulted by the loudest explosion of music to ever come from his shop.

The stereo's sound system was everything the store promoted and more, threatening to shake the windows of the neighboring stores out of their frames. Patrons turned in consternation to the noise, with some seeing the panicked manager trying to open the stereo door without breaking the glass and desperately failing to do so.

Marcie quickly walked up to the mall cop and, trying to keep an innocent face, said to him with a false amount of urgency, "Sir, the manager says he needs your help. One of the stereos was damaged during the robbery, and he can't turn it off."

The officer looked in the direction of the now offending store, looked back at where he stood, and then, to Marcie's horror, reached for his walkie-talkie to probably call for a replacement.

But before he could talk into it, the mall's PA system, amazingly, could be heard over the blaring music announcing that the mall was going to close in ten minutes.

With that in mind, the officer decided to chance it, counting on no one having the time to trespass inside the cordon. Thanking Marcie, he headed off towards the store, holding his ears tightly.

Marcie thanked him back, under her breath, before quickly slipping under the police tape and then under the thick plastic tarp that covered Bows and Bangles Boutique's dark entrance.

Pulling out a penlight from her jacket pocket, Marcie swung the focused beam around the front of the store. The blast wasn't fiery, she remembered, which explained why she saw no burn marks anywhere.

In fact, from the threshold to the sales counter and the nearest shelving, the whole blast area was intact, just lightly painted in what looked like the same colored dye as the explosion. Only the inoperative security shutters were damaged, possibly by the incredible pressure wave of the colorful explosion.

Casting her light on the carpeted floor, she saw that its surface was faintly coated with the same dye. Taking out a cotton cloth from her jacket, she wiped a sample of it off and then pocketed it again.

Hearing the PA system announce that the mall was now closing hastened Marcie's investigation, so she stepped further in to do some last-minute checking.

Stopping halfway in the store's interior, she raised the penlight's beam, pointed it at the rear of the store, and noticed something.

She saw a clean rear. No colored dust anywhere, just an untouched interior aft of the otherwise tinted storefront.

Marcie found herself standing in the demarcation of a possible clue that seemed as much a mystery as the mystery itself.

Turning off her light, she briskly walked back to the entrance, peeked out to check for mall cops, and, finding none, slipped swiftly out of the messy store and out of one of the mall's rear entrances.


Walking down the concrete path away from the now locked entrance doors, Marcie's mind was running full speed. She had evidence, actual clues to a heist, and visual clues to ponder, as well. She couldn't wait to tear into her home lab and crack the case wide open.

The sound of heavy banging and shuffling inside one of two dumpsters standing abreast startled Marcie, prompting her to quicken her pace.

With thoughts of large, unsavory animals rustling within, looking for food, she thankfully almost passed the large containers when one of the lids swung up and open, and the goggled, disheveled head of Daisy Blake popped up.

"Whew!" Daisy said relievedly. "I thought you were a mall cop. Hey, could you be a dear and keep an eye out for them? Thanks."

Incredulous recognition of one of the town's richest girls caused Marcie to stop in her tracks.

"You're one of the Blake Sisters," Marcie said. "What are you doing in a dumpster?"

"Dumpster diving. It's sort of a hobby of mine," Daisy answered matter-of-factly. She extended a work-gloved hand out of the dumpster and shook Marcie's accepting one. "Daisy Blake. How're you doing?"

Wiping her hand, Marcie was taken aback by all of this. This was an incongruity for the history books. A Blake...in coveralls...in the trash?

"Uh...I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Marcie managed to say. Then she asked, "Were you in there all day?"

"Nah," Daisy shrugged. "I got in a few minutes before closing. That's the best time to root around and find some of the best stuff."

"Uh, don't take this the wrong way, Daisy," Marcie said tactfully. "But you do know you're rich, right? You can just buy the best stuff, can't you?"

Again, Daisy shrugged, smiling. "Yeah, I know, but what's the fun in buying everything you want? Sometimes, you just have to go out and dig things up for yourself, y'know? Discover cool, new things, even if they're old."

Marcie found herself giving Daisy a smirk. She couldn't believe it, but she could honestly sympathize with what Daisy had said. Wasn't she digging for clues, proactively getting to the bottom of this mystery because she refused to have someone hand her the results?

Like Daisy, she was prepared to get dirty, even jeered for her actions, and couldn't care a jot. The thrill was in the search; the joy was in the hallowed hunt. Inquisition would prove, in time, to be its own reward.

"I totally understand," said Marcie quietly.

"Hey, if you're interested, there are some good dumpsters around the back of that big box store up the road. But don't dig around the mall. That's my spot," Daisy suggested amicably. "We divers have to be protective of our territories, y'know?"

"Well, I hadn't thought about diving into dumpsters," Marcie said thoughtfully. "But I am currently working on solving my first mystery and may have to go inside them to get the kind of clues that others wouldn't look for."

"Well, you're in luck, then," Daisy offered. "It's getting kind of late, but, if you want, gimme a call, and I can give you a crash course in diving. How's that?"

"I'd like that. Thanks, Daisy."

"Great. Well, I won't keep you. I have to see what new treasure awaits," Daisy said before sinking into the dumpster again.

Marcie turned to continue walking, shaking her head at the strangeness of the moment, when she noticed some large cardboard boxes piled in a crude pyramid against the side of one of the dumpsters.

She would have dismissed them as just damaged boxes, except something in their appearance struck Marcie as strange, as well.

The boxes seemed more or less intact for their rough condition, except for the one side that they all sported, which was blown open with a nearly circular hole that formed petals of torn cardboard around its periphery.

Peering down at the sticker of one of the torn boxes, she saw the name Bows and Bangles Boutique printed on its surface, along with its shipping address within the mall.

Another clue, she thought decisively.

Giving a light tap upon the side of the dumpster Daisy was occupying, Daisy reemerged.

"What?" she asked anxiously. "You see a mall cop?"

"No," Marcie assured her. "I just wanted to know if you took those boxes out of the dumpster." She gestured to the pile on the ground.

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to use those to carry some of my stuff back home with me. Why?"

"I think those boxes are a major clue in my investigation," Marcie explained, surprised to hear herself sounding like a full-blown detective.

Daisy assumed a pose of serious contemplation, weighing whether or not it was in her best interests to part with such a find. Then she came to her decision.

"Tell you what. I'll give you one of the boxes if you have something to trade in exchange."

Now it was Marcie's turn to look thoughtful. It was a fair decision, but what did she have to trade with? Then it hit her.

"How about my penlight?" Marcie offered. "It must get pretty dark in those things. A flashlight could really give you the edge in finding better stuff."

If she wanted to sell the idea of having a portable source of light any further, she needn't have bothered. Daisy reached out and shook her hand firmly.

"Deal," she agreed, accepting the penlight.

"Deal," Marcie confirmed before walking off with one of the damaged boxes, satisfied.


The next day, in school, Marcie was jolted by something she wholly did not expect. A summons.

"Will Marcie Fleach please report to the Principal's Office," the school's venerable PA system crackled from the speaker hung over the classroom. "Will Marcie Fleach please report to the Principal's Office. Marcie Fleach, please report to the Principal's Office."

"Go on," the teacher bade her.

Marcie felt a bit conflicted by all of this. She worried about what the Principal would have wanted with her. As far as she knew, no one knew about the attempts to have keys made to get into the school after hours and use the science labs' spectroscopic analyzer during those trickier analyses, but that could change.

All in all, she thanked Heaven for the small favor of being called from the boredom of German language class as she left the room.

Principal Quinlan allowed Marcie to enter after the girl knocked cautiously upon the oak office door. Upon entering, Marcie was surprised to see not a fuming father but a woman she hadn't expected to see.

Joanne Barlow, recuperated owner of the still destroyed Boutique, sat comfortably in front of Quinlan's desk, watching Marcie slowly walk in with a confused look on her face.

"I believe you've met Miss Barlow already, Marcie?" Quinlan asked as a way of introducing the two. "Please sit."

"Yes, Miss Quinlan," Marcie answered, taking the chair across from Joanne.

She could have sworn that the woman was a little bigger than she looked now. Chunkier. But maybe that was a trick of the eye due to all of the excitement of yesterday.

"Marcie," Joanne said. "I know that it was you who helped me when my store blew up yesterday. After I got out of the hospital, I wanted to find you and thank you personally. You risked your life to look after me when that horrible hippy attacked, and I want you to know that anything I have, is yours."

Marcie's eyes doubled in size after that. A childish person might have taken the woman up on her offer, but in the presence of two adults, looking upon her as mature in their sight, Marcie knew she had but one response.

"No, ma'am," the young woman said firmly and proud. "I was there, and I just did what I had to do to keep you safe. I am sorry about your store, though."

Joanne waved the matter away. "It's alright. It was insured, and everything in it can be replaced."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Call me Joanne."

"Okay, Joanne," Marcie said, then added, "Oh, if it means anything, I'm pretty close to finding out who that hippy guy was, this Ringleader."

Joanne perked up somewhat. "Really? Are you sure? Do you know his name?"

"Not yet, but he and his crew left some pretty good evidence behind in the mall yesterday. Not to brag, but I'm pretty good with chemicals, and I should be able to narrow down wherever he went to to get his little smoke bombs and whatever explosives he obviously used to wreck your store."

"You should let the police handle him, Marcie," Quinlan advised her. "If that guy could stop a mall full of people, there's no telling what he could do to you if he thought you were trying to stop him."

"Yes, Miss Quinlan," Marcie falsely assured her.

Joanne took the time to glance at her watch during the lull in their conversation and started.

"Oh, goodness! I have to go. I have to meet with a man from the insurance company to assess the damage to my store. I still wish I could give you something for all your help, Marcie."

"No problem," Marcie told her, standing when Joanne stood to leave. "I just wanted to help."

Then, Joanne brightened. "Ah! I know what I can do."

She opened her purse and took out a slender, golden bracelet with a fiery ruby set upon it.

"It's my favorite piece of jewelry, way better than what I sell in the store, that's for sure," she joked, handing it over to a humbled Marcie.

It looked fragile, delicate, and glowed like wrought sunlight, in the office. Marcie thought it would look stunning on her but didn't want to feel like some mercenary by quickly accepting it.

But then the choice wasn't hers to make, as Joanne's slender fingers placed the delicate bangle into Marcie's palm and then closed Marcie's slim fingers closed around it.

She closed her purse and marched towards the doorway but said in passing, "Think of what you'll be able to tell your grandchildren!" Then she left the office and the two perplexed women therein.

After a minute, Quinlan regarded Marcie and said, almost churlishly, "It could've looked good on me, too."


The chalk dust tickled her nose when Marcie went up to the chalkboard to work on the assigned algebraic equation in next-period Math class.

"Somebody open a window," someone whined behind Marcie, back at the seating area. "It's as hot as an oven in here."

Marcie faced the board, calmly sizing up the numbers in her head, as she had been taught, finessing sense from the equation.

Equation...

Her mind shifted without warning to her latest formulaic wrestling match, her newest attempt to create what she termed simply "Super Helium," a synthetic analog of true helium that would lift far greater weight per cubic foot of volume. It had been her brass ring, her Philosopher's Stone, the one goal that always eluded her, tempted and taunted her, ever since she was old enough to grasp the Periodic Table of Elements and then think outside of it.

However, with every failure, she wondered if it was more her Moby Dick than Holy Grail, an obsession that would reward her, not with glory, but ultimately, social and scientific suicide. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she would win in the end. The conundrum of the formula would yield to the strength and flexibility of her young mind...

Yield...

All of those traffic signs, and she would have to learn and respect them. The markings on the streets that she once hadn't acknowledged now shook her, chastising her for her ignorance.

Marcie dolefully embraced her insecurities about her upcoming driver's test. She only ever saw driving as purely a mechanical exercise of lever pulling, pedal pushing, and wheel turning. Glumly, she realized that that the real expertise had lain with safety and not just the technical manipulation of a two-ton machine.

She thanked Heaven that the school had a Driver's Education course and had attended it every week, after school. When the mystery she was currently chewing on was solved, then the fun would really begin. The search for a car to call her own!

Mystery...

She felt a thrill of pride in starting her first investigation against Ringleader and his crew, pitting her wits against his to bring the foolish throwback to justice.

Ironically, outsmarting and outmaneuvering the law to help the law gave her a rush of rebellion she had never experienced before. It made her senses sharper, and everything felt electric and alive because she doing things she wasn't socially supposed to do, yet doing them all on the side of the angels.

Technically doing bad to do good, it was like some dangerous, forbidden tonic. If Marcie could bottle it, the girl would never sell it but horde it, like a miser.

With a salacious smirk, she wondered, jokingly, if this was ever covered in Sex Ed class...

And then, while standing, she suddenly drifted off to sleep, her face pressed against the blackboard, with chalk dust coating it like some coarse make-up.

"Miss Fleach," math teacher Douglas Gamble called out patiently amid the chuckles from the class. She didn't stir but snored softly on.

"Miss Fleach!" he said firmly, yet loudly enough that she snorted herself awake.

Rubbing her eyes and ignoring the students' laughter, she turned wearily to face Mr. Gamble.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Gamble," excused Marcie.

"Miss Fleach, this is a classroom, not a flophouse," Mr. Gamble commented. "When you decide to sleep at your home is your concern. What you do in my class is mine."

Marcie's head dipped in embarrassment. "Yes, sir."

"Now, just because you're one of my best students, don't think that will get you off the hook for daydreaming about chemical formulas, street signs, and a circus ringleader."

Marcie stood confused. "Huh?" He pointed at the board.

She turned to see where she worked on the algebra problem. It began to degenerate into a downward, increasingly sloppy scrawl, first, of a half-completed formulaic expression, then, of a shortlist of traffic terms, and lastly, the word "ringleader" ending in a crooked line from the final r drawn straight down before she nodded off.

"Focus on your studies if you are to pass my class, Miss Fleach," Mr. Gamble told her.

"Yes, sir," she said, wishing hard that he would dismiss her, so she could leave his sight and sit down again.

In fact, "Be seated" was about to be said when the school bells rang, signaling the end of lessons for the day.


Walking to her bus stop, Marcie's stomach flip-flopped with worry. Her eyes fought to stay open, and she fearfully wondered why she couldn't stay awake.

She had managed to keep her wavering balance in the afternoon heat, but she knew it wouldn't last as long as she kept trying to walk the streets.

The rush she had from her embarrassment in Math class had worn off with a vengeance, and now it was taking every erg of energy, every scrap of willpower, just to stay conscious, in the middle of the street.

She wished she could sleepwalk, praying that some preternatural homing sense would guide safely home, but that was not to be.

"I...I gotta...sit somewhere," Marcie mumbled into her chest, so difficult it had become to lift her head.

With effort, she managed to raise it just enough that it canted to one side, but she could blearily see an alley up ahead. Devoting all available energy to the task, she stumbled like the town lush towards its general direction.

She was aware enough to appreciate the pungent odor of the denizens of the deep as she swerved further into the alley. Apparently, part of the passage was the rear of a fish market's property, with a pong that only cats could love, but with its cooling shade and out-of-the-way walls for leaning against, to Marcie, it was nothing less than Xanadu.

"Why do I feel so...tired?" she asked herself, though the act of doing that drained her. "Should've...stayed...lab...after school...for Ringleader..."

"You called?"

Marcie's waning adrenaline spike created enough of a response from her to clumsily turn to the sound of the cocky voice and feel the hard grip of a man in 60's period clothes practically hold her upright.

"Rrrringleaderrr," she droned, too tired to even facially express surprise. "...Ssstop...youuu..."

"I don't think so, Kitten," the hippy said with a confident chuckle. "You don't sound it now, but you had a lotta spunk at the mall helping that lady out yesterday. And y'know what? I think I have room for someone like you in my ministry of miscreants. Can you dig that?"

"Nnnnoooo..."

Ringleader laughed at Marcie's impudence. "Girl, you sound like a stretched 8-track. Now, check out my cool shades."

Marcie held desperately to a shred of her mind, trying to resist the demand, and closed her eyes, looking away.

Ringleader gave her a shake, hard enough to rouse her, and commanded again, firmly, "Look at my glasses."

Resigning to the fact that he would just shake her again or do worse if she didn't obey, Marcie unsteadily focused her eyes on the lenses of his rose-colored sunglasses.

Her mind was set to auto-pilot while her eyes simply watched and reacted to the tiny specks of rainbow glitter that seemed suspended in the depths of the lenses.

From what little light there was in the alley, the glitter, incredibly, caught it, and as Ringleader slowly turned and tilted his head slightly, it reflected it, creating a fireworks show in Marcie's sight and mind. Dazzling gold, silver, and white sparks flared softly across the dark contrasts of the rosy tint.

Terrified, Marcie could feel herself falling, though she still was held up. The spectacles' mesmerizing sparkle was tearing the fingers of her consciousness away from the cliff's edge of her mind. The helplessness and vulnerability, in the face of this villain, frightened her most of all.

Then, it happened. A sound, like a scream, but too weak to be heard, whispered from her throat, the last sound of fearful defiance before Ringleader's hypnotic assault completely devoured her will and only minute scraps of what was once Marcie Fleach's self remained.

Dismissively, he let go of her, and she fell in a heap against a dented trash can.

"Beautiful, baby," Ringleader said, seemingly more to himself, due to his handiwork, than to his victim.

He knelt down to where she slumped and whispered in her ear.

"Welcome to the Cult of Crime. You're one of my loyal disciples, now, Chickadee. You'll do all you can to steal for me."

The words flowed into her mind like opium smoke, echoing and yet clinging stubbornly to her subconsciousness, refusing to let her forget them.

"Chickadeeee...Steal...for mmmeeee..." she repeated groggily.

"That's right. And just to show you that I'm not such a bad guy, what is it you want most in the whole wide world?" he whispered.

Marcie slowly closed her eyes, and then, a single tear slowly escaped its containment.

"Velllllmaaa..."

Ringleader's face scrunched into a perplexed expression. He hadn't a clue who this "Velma" was, but if that was what this new member of his felonious flock wanted, who was he to argue? As long as it got him results.

He shrugged and whispered slowly to her once more.

"Hear me, child. For every mission you finish for me, your friend, for a day, will spend with thee..."

He waited for the command to take effect, but he needn't have worried. Marcie parroted as best she could in compliance.

"Missssionn...for meeee...Frrrriend...wiiith...theeeee..."

"Out of sight," he said, satisfied. Then he stood up, brushed the dirt from his knee, turned about, and, whistling a casual tune, left his newfound acolyte behind on the cold ground of the dark alley.