I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Okay, I came up with a compromise that all parties seem happy with. I've quit conniving with the Oompa Loompas and Mr. Wonka had dropped the bounty and all threats of chocolate withdrawal. We've agreed to judge a Loompa Idol contest – although I don't know if we can afford Simon's bar bill. – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 20
Clara Bucket and Veronica Carmichael strolled the city street in companionable silence. The holiday decorations were up and bright lights and colored streamers added a bright touch to the dreary day. Snow was still falling in light patches off and on as they visited the shops.
Clara had directed Veronica to a Marks and Spencer. After changing immediately into the first outfit they could find, since the clerks were regarding her eclectic apparel with a jaundiced eye, she picked up most of her basic requirements. One pair jeans, pale grey cargo pants, a couple of shirts, one zip front sweater with hood, socks, plain black boots, underwear and a few personal supplies were all that she grabbed despite Clara's protest for more. Veronica had been living simply for a long time and knew what items were critical and was able to keep the purchase under €100.
Clara nodded with approval as Veronica picked out a pair of men's wild maroon and black print bedroom slippers to replace the tattered specimens she had worn to the store. She had swiped them from under Willy's desk as she made her phone calls realizing that going out into the slushy streets in socks wasn't conductive to a long and healthy life.
"So what next? Is there anything else you need?" Clara asked, as they stopped by a tea shop for a quick cup before braving the brisk weather once more. The warm busy atmosphere was a welcome relief from the brisk wind and cold wet flakes.
"Nothing I really need right now. I want to go to my apartment building to see if anything can be salvaged," Veronica said over the rim of her steaming mug of hot cocoa.
"As you please then. How long had you lived there?"
"About five years. It wasn't a lot, but it was mine," Veronica said softly, starting to realize her loss.
"I'm sorry this happened to you. It's a terrible thing, but you haven't lost what is most important." Clara said, sipping her own mug of fragrant Earl Grey. "You are fine, your family is safe. It was only things that were lost – things that can be replaced."
"Indeed. I worry that I'm becoming more and more reliant on Mr. Wonka and his charity though," Veronica frowned. "It's not that I don't appreciate his help – far from it! I just feel like I am losing control over what's happening to me."
The other woman nodded sympathetically remembering their own transition from the extreme edge of the poverty to living in the strange world of the Chocolate Factory. "He is rather overwhelming at times. Mr. Wonka starts off on an idea and you find yourself swept along rather than let him down," Clara set her empty mug down. "But he has one of the largest hearts ever known and isn't afraid to do everything in his power to help someone or do the right thing."
"I know. I also want to make sure that I have my own say in the matter though. I'm not some pity project. After this project is done I don't want to rely on Willy to get my bills paid or find a new home. I've got to have some self-reliance, damn it!" Veronica scowled, setting her mug down with an angry thump and gathering her bags
Clara wisely stared at her and waited – this was a ploy that worked on Charlie many times. It apparently worked on Veronica too.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I just want to be able to stand on my own two feet without running to Willy for everything. I know he means the best. He's a wonderful man," she said softly.
"You just want to know what he's getting in return. Why is he doing this for you of all people?" Clara replied, sagely.
"Exactly. I'm no one. Why pick me?"
"I think you underestimate your appeal, dear," said Clara. She made up her mind to show the downcast young woman something special. "Here! Follow me for a moment and then we'll head toward your building."
Clara took Veronica's arm and together they walked three blocks toward Cherry Street in silence. They stopped in front of a festively decorated candy store. "This was Mr. Wonka's first store. It's run now by Bill and they use it for testing new candies for public release before world-wide distribution," Clara said. Veronica just studied the sidewalk with a mildly rebellious expression on her face.
"Yes, yes. Great things start from small places…"
"Look," Clara ordered, gesturing through the large plate glass window.
Veronica rolled her eyes and looked, only to have her jaw drop in amazement.
Her candy globes!
The store was quite busy with boxes of the candy globes set out for display in hundreds of colors, designs and décor. Everyone who walked out of the shop had at least one box and judging by the display tree, they made stunning Christmas decorations as she'd first envisioned.
"They've been selling since last week and are very popular. Mr. Wonka wanted it to be a surprise," Clara said, smiling.
"I knew it would work!" she whispered ecstatically. Something of hers finally worked out the way it was supposed to.
"See. Mr. Wonka just gave you a hand – you're the one who did all the hard work." Clara said, scanning the crowd around them with a protective eye. "Let's get to your apartment before it gets dark and we can't see what we're doing."
--
Veronica's jubilant mood abruptly disappeared as they approached the ruins of her building. There were a few people in jumpsuits picking through the wreckage and a small crowd of neighbors gathered on the corner to watch them. She recognized two men in blue cloth jackets and kakis, "Tom, Dave!"
One of the men, sipping a paper cup of steaming coffee turned at her voice, "Hey Veronica! Hell of a mess, huh?"
Dave Jenkins and Tom Dailey worked downstairs from her in the drafting office. She had baked her beignets and brought fresh coffee every Monday morning as an offering to keep quiet about her living in the space she had originally leased as an office. They had cheerfully accepted the bribe and were kind when she occasionally bumped into them in the halls.
"Sure is. What's going to happen to you guys?" she asked.
"Nothing much – corporate is collecting the insurance and we'll eventually get set up in a new office. We back up all our files daily, so we haven't even lost work," said Tom, watching as one of the workers lifted what may have been a printer. "Honestly, we were more concerned about you. It was your home that went up – and I know you didn't have insurance.
"Too bad about that new office on the top floor," commented Dave. "I wonder who had that one?"
"It was mine as well. I got an investor and had just started up. Things were turning around so I might have even had a chance to find a real apartment. So much for that," Veronica said sadly.
What the fire had not destroyed, water damage and the collapsing structure had. Where a four-story brick building stood 24-hours earlier, were only the gently smoldering remains scattered across the lot. Snow was falling from the sky again sporadically and in a few spots, she could dimly hear the hiss as an errant flake landed on a hot area. It was a dismal sight guarenteed to bring down the spirits of anyone.
"I'm sorry. Tom and I were heading to the pub to have a few to drown our sorrows. Interested in joining us?" Dave asked.
"No thank you. I need to find out what I can about what comes next. Is there some kind of report or investigation being done?" she asked, shuffling the bags a bit more comfortably.
"Nah. They already know that the fire started in your studio. Apparently, they're on the lookout for some guy who broke in," said Tom, sharing the gory details with relish.
"My studio?" she asked, a cold chill running down her back. Her lips felt numb. For a moment, she thought that she had misunderstood Tom.
What the hell was going on here?
Dave looked a bit guilty when he realized that the juicy details wouldn't be quite so thrilling to Veronica.
"Yeah. I think there's some detective or something that wants to get in touch with you to ask you some questions," Tom said.
Veronica's mind was racing. Who had broken into her apartment? What about the security measures on the studio? Someone was after her…
It was one of her worst nightmares reanimated from the grave of her past.
"Really, well then, I should probably go check my messages. There's nothing to salvage here is there?" She turned robotically and started walking toward the factory. Tom and Dave shrugged and turned themselves to head for the pub. "G'Luck Veronica. Hope things turn out for you!"
Clara caught up with Veronica after a few steps. "What's going on? You look pale as a ghost!"
"Someone broke into my apartment and the studio. The fire broke out in the studio," Veronica said woodenly, her mind still cycling through its hamster wheel of questions. "I can't save anything because there is nothing left for me to save."
Clara put her hand on Veronica's arm to stop her. She was frightened for the woman. Her face was white and her eyes bright - she looked feaverish. The stressed woman stared back at Clara with shocked eyes. "You knew."
Clara nodded guiltily, "Mr. Wonka let me know as we left and asked me to keep an eye out for anyone following us."
Veronica pulled away and started walking faster toward the factory. Her face was losing its pale color and a flush of anger colored her cheeks. "Oh, did he now?" she said between gritted teeth.
"Veronica, he was trying to protect you. He didn't want to frighten you after everything else that had happened." Clara protested, breaking into a trot to keep up with her long strides.
"How very considerate. Why bother my pretty little head with such minor details like someone had broken in and set fire to everything I own," she snarled. The bags crackled and popped with the vigor of her movements.
"It's not like that!" Clara cried, seeing that Veronica was furious.
"It isn't? Well then, good! I'm sure he'll be glad to illuminate the situation when I speak with him."
"Maybe you should calm down first. You might say something that you regret," Clara warned. Her breath came in short spurts and dark hair bounced into her eyes.
"Perhaps – but in either case I don't feel safe out here and I don't want to do any more shopping."
Veronica hurried through the hoards of holiday shoppers, anger and fear warring within her. She felt like stranger's eyes were crawling all over he - that every movement was subject to intense scruitny and disected like some alien anthropology experiment. Every face seemed to be twisted and leering at her. She had to get back to the factory!
Clara tried her level best to keep up and kept a wary eye on Veronica. She was pale but sweating, her eyes darting about like a hunted animal.
They reached the front gate and Clara took the lead to punch in the code to the small one-person gate to the side of the main gates. Veronica stood impatiently to the side when she caught sight of a stout man in a windbreaker and skull cap puffing up the sidewalk toward them, "Hey! You!" he shouted, running toward them.
"Oh no!" breathed Clara, working faster at the complicated lock.
Veronica felt the adrenaline spurt through her system. It was fight or flight time!
Was this her arsonist? Was he going to attack them?
"Freeze!" the man was yelling, getting closer. He was groping for something to pull out of his pocket. Fear clamped a strong hand around her throat – her heart pounding so hard she could feel it slamming against her ribcage
"Hurry!" she nearly shrieked at the other woman. Clara threw open the gate and they bolted through to slam it shut just as the man reached them.
She was just turning to sprint to the safety of the factory entrance when the man's arm shot through and latched onto her coat. Veronica screamed in terror and dropped her bags to beat at his arm.
"I told you to wait," he growled, his face darkening in anger. He started to draw something out of the parka pocket, something small and dark.
Clara joined in the struggle, hitting man's arm with vicious accuracy using a small clenched fists, "Let her go you monster!"
Veronica screamed shrilly again – her feet scrabbling in the slushy snow for traction trying with mindless teror to throw her body clear of the object he finally jerked from his pocket. She was going to die…
The man flipped open a black wallet with a badge on one side and an official-looking identification card on the other.
"Will you calm down! I'm Detective Cavenhaugh of the Metropolitan Police Department. Are you Veronica Carmichael?" he growled, releasing her to fall onto the slushy courtyard.
He was the police! She took a shaky breath and was glad to already be sitting on the ground, so weak were her knees with relief. She panted, trying to get her breath back. "Yes, I am," she was finally able to answer in a small voice.
Clara helped her to her feet as the door behind them crashed open and Willy and Charlie sprinted out. "Are you alright? What's going on?" demanded Charlie as he reached his mother.
Willy grabbed Veronica by the shoulders and looked frantically into her eyes, "Are you alright?" She nodded and she was relieved all over again to be clutched to him. She wrapped her arms around him and let herself shake with the aftermath. Willy stroked her back soothingly.
"Sorry to frighten you, Ms. Carmichael. Mr. Wonka, I arrived early for our appointment and caught sight of these two coming in. I'm afraid I didn't come across right," Det. Cavenaugh apologized sheepishly, his hands resting on the gate.
"I'm fine," Veronica said firmly, pushing away from the worried man to stand on her own. She was still mad at him, damn it!
"How can I help you, Detective?" she asked the man, a mask of poise dropping over her. Willy reluctantly stepped away.
"I need to ask you a few questions. Might I come inside?" Det. Cavenaugh asked, shooting a questioning glance at the Chocolatier.
Willy nodded and with a few short jabs at the control pannel next to the entrance and the small gate sprung open. Det. Cavenaugh came inside and sauntered over to where Veronica held herself stiffly. "I'm truly sorry Ms. Carmichael. If was insensative of me to approach you like that. Please excuse me."
She nodded, "No hard feelings, Detective. I overreacted."
"Shall we go inside?" asked Willy, shivering slightly in the cold.
They all went inside.