"So. You worked at a hospital before coming over here? And now you're seeking employment at a clothing store?" Danielle Bliss looked at Molly from across the table, her perfectly-penciled eyebrows arching upward.
Molly attempted a sheepish expression. She really didn't need to blow this interview. "To be honest, my husband and I were wanting to settle down here in America and…raise a family, but we're having a hard time making ends meet. I'd rather not go back into pathology and then have…kids, you know?" Oh, if only St. Bart's knew what she was spending her combined vacation days on. Even picturing Sherlock as a father almost made her laugh aloud.
"Hmm." According to the internet, Victor and Danielle didn't have any children, and according to local gossip, they didn't particularly want them. Danielle wrote a note in small print on Molly's application. "Well your availability is good. Better than anyone who's applied in the past three weeks. And Ralph speaks very highly of you." She hesitated, tapping out a beat on the table with her pencil as if it helped her think. She sighed. "Can you start tomorrow morning?"
Molly quickly hid her surprise. They must be desperate. "Of course! What time?"
"9am. We open at 10, so that will give you plenty of time to fill out the paperwork. Make sure you bring your work visa and some identification."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bliss! I'm looking forward to it." Molly stood and shook her hand. Danielle smiled tautly, as if it pained her to make any sort of friendly expression, and Molly took this as her cue to leave. On her way out, Ralph looked at her questioningly. She gave him a thumbs up, and he grinned from ear to ear.
Sherlock took his time printing out his article for the paper. Once it was submitted, he was free to go home, and then he wouldn't be able to spy on Victor Bliss. He pretended to forget where the copier room was and wandered the halls, keeping his eyes peeled for suspicious activity. He ended up in front of the glossy wooden door that led to Oscar Bliss's stately office. In a moment of sheer luck, Oscar Bliss himself stepped outside of it. He was a short, portly man, with a bald head and jowls akin to a bulldog's. He was dressed in an expensive black suit and pale-yellow tie. His sharp hazel eyes—the only trait he shared with his son—remained focused on an iPhone as he strode down the hallway. All of the newspaper bigwigs were currently in a meeting, which appeared to be important enough to include Bliss Sr.
It's Christmas! Sherlock thought. With a spring in his step, he headed for slightly-ajar office door and slipped through it, making sure to crack it behind him. The office contained a great mahogany desk, padded swivel chair, top-of-the-line Mac desktop computer, minibar, and rows of filing cabinets. Sherlock walked right past the filing cabinets and focused his attention on the desk. If Oscar Bliss was going to keep records of illegal business dealings, it wasn't going to be somewhere quite so obvious. He pulled out all of the drawers, rifling through their contents. The last drawer was a bit of a disappointment, as there was nothing in it. Sherlock was about to close it, but then he noticed fine scrapes along the sides of the drawer, as if something almost the same size as it had been lifted out quickly. He ran his fingers around the edges of the bottom, and they caught on a minuscule hole on the edge of the wood. Slipping a finger through it, he pulled up, and the false bottom of the drawer popped into a vertical position.
Sherlock grinned. Inside was a stack of documents, intended for Oscar's eyes only. He sifted through them, quickly reading them, and his smile widened. Each one was the copy of an order form for some priceless object, many of which he knew didn't belong in the hands of the public. The newspaper president's large cursive signature ornamented the bottom of every form. Sherlock took several pictures of the documents with his phone before packing the evidence back into its hiding place. He slipped out of the office and blended in with the crowd going out to lunch.
Molly walked into Bliss Outfitters ten minutes early, tugging at her pastel-pink dress. Compared to what she usually wore, it was far from comfortable, but the role she was playing—and her new job—demanded a different look. Sherlock had helped her pick out her wardrobe that morning, steering her away from her selection of fuzzy and shapeless articles of clothing.
"Oh no, you're not wearing that," he'd said when she'd come out of the bathroom in a light polka-dotted cardigan, boyfriend-cut jean capris, and ballet-flat Crocs.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, unless your goal in life is to emulate a frumpy grandmother." Sherlock returned to whatever he was researching on the computer. "Check the left side of the closet. I ordered a few things for you online and had them shipped overnight."
Molly's search revealed a row of clothing she wouldn't have given a second glance in a clothing store. There were far too many skirts.
"I'd suggest the first dress in the row. And the…what are they called…nude wedges."
Molly hadn't bothered to argue; there wasn't much of a point when Sherlock was involved. She'd changed quickly, looking forward to slipping into sweatpants and a T-shirt when she got back to the hotel that night.
"Oh. You're early." This didn't seem to either impress or offend Danielle Bliss. She led Molly into the back room, her sky-high stilettos clicking on the concrete floor, and gestured to a stack of papers sitting on the desk. "Fill out those while I scan your ID and work permit into the computer."
Once all the paperwork was finished and Molly was officially logged into the computer system, Danielle showed her how to run the register and keep the floor stocked. Before she knew it, it was opening time, and Danielle had left her to fend for herself on the floor.
"Hey there, Molly! All ready for your first day?" Ralph couldn't have walked through the door a second sooner.
Molly smiled. "Do you work every day, Ralph?"
"Only weekends. Now that school's started back, I'll be working evenings, but if you're scheduled till five we'll still be working two hours together." Ralph clocked in on the register's computer screen. "So did Danielle show you everything?"
"A bit. Barely."
Ralph sighed. "Typical Danielle. Here, let me give you some more in-depth training."
By the time Ralph was done, Molly had a much better handle on being a retail employee. She spent most of the day keeping the store neat and helping customers in the dressing room, all the while keeping an eye on Danielle's activity. The woman spent a lot of time scrolling through Facebook on the computer in the back, content to let her employees do all the work for her.
"Excuse me, do you know where I might find Danielle Bliss?"
Molly stopped pricing a sweater and looked up. An African-American man holding a rectangular package was standing in front of her. Finally, she thought. "I can sign for it if you like."
"No, it's not that kind of—I mean, I have to deliver it directly to Mrs. Bliss."
Drat. "I'll take you to her then."
Molly led the man into the back, where Danielle was absorbed in social media.
"Someone to see you, ma'am," Molly said.
Danielle jumped and shut down the web page. She turned around. "Oh, must be the new…business cards. Molly, go dust something."
"Yes ma'am." Molly turned the corner, pushed on the swinging door so it sounded like she had gone through it, and then crept back to a spot where she'd be close enough to hear but still hidden by the wall.
"Business cards?" The man said.
"I had to come up with something. I doubt she suspected anything, though. She's pretty ditzy."
Molly felt a stir of resentment, but then she remembered that 'ditzy' was exactly what she was going for. If Danielle was dismissing her so easily, she must be playing her part well enough. She pulled out her phone and hit the record button.
"Well here's the first of your shipment. I have nine other boxes, but I'll have to bring them in slowly."
"That's fine. What is it this time?"
There was a pause, as if the man was looking around him. "Mexican black tar. Pure."
Molly had to clasp a hand over her mouth to keep herself from gasping. Oscar Bliss wasn't just selling priceless artifacts on his black market; he was trafficking drugs as well. Apparently this week's special was heroin.
"I'll let Victor know. Just leave it in the usual spot."
There was a sound of a box being placed on the floor, and Molly knew it was time to move. She stopped the recording, tucked the phone safely in her pocket, and slipped out of the back room.
"Another delivery?" Ralph asked from the cash register.
"Er, yeah." Molly slowed her breathing down and tried to look as if nothing had happened.
"I'm starting to wonder where all those go. They're certainly not for the store. When I asked Danielle, she said they're for the Cumberland Chronicle, but sometimes I wonder if they're—" Ralph dropped his voice for emphasis—"contraband." He laughed.
If only you knew, Ralph. "Maybe!" Molly said instead. She glanced at the clock, hoping the next two hours would fly by quickly so she could deliver her information to Sherlock.