Early the next morning, I made my way to a small diner close by to my place, located at the corner of two streets nearby to the main thoroughfare. It was out of the way enough that it wasn't inundated with crowds, but still close enough to get steady traffic, mostly from regulars like myself.

Over a fry up breakfast of eggs and bacon, tomato and mushroom, toast and a pot of thick, black tea, I pulled out my notebook and the photo that I had taken from Hanes’ place, setting them on the counter before me as I considered what I knew, and what my options were.

It wasn't unheard of for people to disappear in Spire. Often it involved them having been killed and the bodies dumped over the side, to vanish into the mists beyond the city. I just had to hope that Hanes hadn't suffered that fate. It didn't seem likely though. Given what I had found out about him, I couldn't see a lot of opportunities for that to have happened.

So far all of the leads I had found resulted in seemingly dead ends. It didn't leave a whole lot to go on, besides the photo, and I wasn't sure what exactly that could tell me. I stared at it as I chewed on a piece of bacon. There was still some element of it that struck me as out of place and yet I could not for the life of me figure it out. It had bugged me all during the night.

There was one person I could ask about certain aspects of it. I would have to visit them later on, to see if they could glean anything from it for me.

In the meantime, I considered what else I could do to further the case. Hanes didn't get out much, which meant that tracing his movements should not have been hard. Work and the Blue Butterfly were it by all accounts. Maybe a return visit to the Blue Butterfly was in order, to ask more about him there and to see if I had missed out on anything.

My fork halted halfway to my mouth as a sudden thought came to me. No, that wasn't true about work and the Blue Butterfly being the only places that he had been to. He had a sister whom he must have visited on occasions. And, if he was planning on asking Miss White to marry him, then he would have been looking for places where they could live. Perhaps he had stumbled across something during his search that had resulted in his disappearance. It was worth a look into at least. No stone left unturned and all that. Trying to find out where, though, now that would be the trick. It would have to be nearby to his work, and modest too. I didn't know what exactly an accountant made, but I didn't think it likely he could afford more than that. And while Miss White had the appearance of wealth, I doubted it went further than that, an appearance only.

I finished off the rest of the meal and slipped the notebook and photo back into my coat pocket. That line of investigation would have to wait for later. First, I had another visit to make.

Leaving the diner, I made my way through Baybury to a little place, a building tucked away in a quiet street well away from the main thoroughfare. A bell chimed as I opened the door and stepped inside, out of the drizzle. The interior of it was filled with racks upon racks of clothes and the air had a heated, steamy quality to it.

From out of a back room an older lady wearing an apron appeared, her greying hair bound up by a scarf.

"Mister Stone, back so soon? I hope that you haven't damaged another suit on me. That last one took some doing to mend and clean. Especially the blood stains.”

I held open my coat and turned around. "All still in one piece still, I promise," I told her.

That seemed to mollify her some. "That is good. What brings you here then?"

I took the photograph of Miss White out of my pocket and passed it over to her. The woman took a look at it.

"She is a pretty girl. Who is she?"

"A client."

"I haven't seen her before, if that is what you were going to ask."

"No, not at all, Angene."

"How can I help you then?" Angene asked of me.

"I am not exactly an expert on women's clothing," I told her.

Angene laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. "Don't feel bad about that. Few men are."

"I was hoping that you could tell me about the dress that the woman is wearing."

Angene took another, closer look at the photograph. "It is well made. Not exactly cheap when it was made either. Haven't seen one in that fashion for some time though,"

"How do you mean?"

"That dress went out of style twenty years ago."

"Really? My client was wearing it just yesterday. Why would anyone be wearing a dress that that is twenty years old?"

“Could be any number of reasons," Angene told me. "Nostalgia. They could just like the style and are not a slave to the most recent fashions. It might be their only good dress. She is doing well to still be fitting in it after twenty years, this client of yours."

"I doubt she was even born twenty years ago."

A flicker of a frown crossed Angene's face.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked of her.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"It is not just the dress. This photograph, it was taken twenty years ago, at least."

Now it was my turn to frown. "Are you certain?"

Angene nodded and held out the photograph to me. She pointed to someone in the background, a man playing on a trumpet. "That is Skull Trelour, dear. He could tear it up on the trumpet, let me tell you. I used to listen to him all the time when I was younger. The thing is, he died twenty years ago."

I stared at the photo. "That makes no sense. He isn't a Departed is he?"

"No. Could it be your client's mother?" Angene asked. "She could have passed the dress on to her daughter."

"No. That photograph was in the possession of my client's young man. Take a look at the back."

Angene turned the photograph over and read the inscription on it. "Ah, I see what you mean. Not the type of thing you'd use a photograph of your mother for. This is a bit of a mystery then."

I nodded in agreement before giving a sigh. "This whole case has turned out to be a bit of a mystery. I wanted simple. It certainly sounded simple to start with; find a missing man. I'm no closer now than when I started. I may even be further away than when I started."

Angene handed me back the photograph and gave me a sympathetic smile to go with it. "I am sure that you will figure it all out."

"Unless it kills me first." I slipped the photograph back into my jacket pocket. "Thanks for your help, Angene."

"Anytime, dear."

I stepped back out of the shop onto the street even more confused than when I had gone in. Miss White hadn't aged a day in twenty years? No, that couldn't be possible. There were some out there that didn't, but they weren't human, and few could pass themselves off as human. I had seen no evidence to that stage that Miss White wasn't human. If she wasn't, though, just what was she and how was she masking it?

Questions, questions. I made my way back through the district to my office, hands shoved deep in my coat pockets, rainwater dripping off my hat. I didn't really notice it, deep in thought as I was, turning over ideas in my head.

Arriving back at the office, I found a package waiting for me, one that I had been expecting. The only other mail with it was a couple of bills. I shoved them into a desk drawer. They could wait. I tucked the package under my arm and headed back out again. The package related to another case I had been working on and I decided to deliver it right then. I would let Miss White's case rest in the meantime. Finishing at least one case satisfactorily would improve my mood and take my mind off all those unanswered questions for a time.

Another trip on the autotrolley followed, catching a ride back at the thoroughfare. The number of trips I was taking, I was burning through the money that had been left to me at a fair rate already. The trip was only a short one, barely five minutes in length, up to the next district immediately above. I hopped off at my destination and headed deeper into the district, arriving, after a walk that lasted longer than the trolley car ride, at a small block of apartments, typical of Spire. I entered in, took the rattling elevator up a couple of floors, headed along the carpeted, dimly lit corridor and stopped outside a door that bore the number seven in the form of a brass numeral upon it.

I rapped my fingers on the door. After a moment I heard a chain rattle from behind it and the door creaked upon just a fraction. "Who is there?" came a man's voice through the crack.

"Mister Stone."

The door swung fully open. A middle-aged man stood before me on the other side, his grey hair thinning across the scalp. He had an unlit redwood pipe in his mouth. "You have news Mister Stone?"

"More than just news," I told him and held up the package I was carrying.

The slightly worried frown on his face that had been a permanent marker on my previous meetings with the man was washed away by relief and he even managed part of a smile.

"Come in, Mister Stone, do come in. Missus!" he called out as he led me inside. "It is Mister Stone. He has found it."

I followed the man into a small sitting room and saw a woman come out of another room, drying her hands on an apron. Almost as grey as her husband, she had a grandmotherly look about her lined face. She looked me over and nodded to herself. "You are looking tired there. Fancy a cuppa?"

"Thanks Mrs Kochak. I'd kill for one."

"You take a seat. I'll be right back out." Mrs Kochak disappeared out of the room while Mr Kochak pulled out a chair at the table in the sitting room and sat down upon it. I joined him at the table, setting the package down on it.

"It wasn't too much of a challenge was it?" Mr Kochak asked.

"Hardly had to hurt anyone."

Mr Kochak laughed. He took the pipe out of his mouth, a pouch out of his pocket and started to thumb tobacco into it. "You are a kidder, Mister Stone, and no mistake." He returned the pipe to his mouth, still unlit. "May I?" he asked, indicating the package.

I nodded.

He began to removing the brown paper and the string that wrapped it.

A small cardboard box was inside, which he opened. From it he took a smaller box, of a size that would be used to hold jewellery. It had been made of polished brass and redwood, engraved and embellished in the image of a forest grove.

"Belonged to my mother," he explained, rather unnecessarily given he had already told me that when the Kochak's had sought me out to recover it for them. "Old family keepsake. Would have hated for it to have been lost." He looked up at me, eyes sharp and troubled. "Didn't open it did you?"

I shook my head. They had been most explicit about that in their instructions, and, curious as I was, I wasn't about to betray my word. That kind of things is bad for business, reputation and trust. Once gone, it is hard to win back.

Mrs Kochak returned, carrying a silver tray. Upon it was a silver teapot, a number of teacups and saucers made of delicate, coloured chinaware, a pitcher of milk, a bowl of sugar with a couple of sugar spoons and a plate of biscuits. In fact, everything needed for a morning break and a chat. She set the tray down on the table, though her eyes were fixated on the box. "Looks as good as new," she said, starting to pour the tea into the teacups. "Milk and sugar?'

"None and one," I replied.

Mr Kochak removed a key from his jacket pocket and slipped it into the lock of the box. "Best check it to make sure than no one else opened it when they had it." There was an almost anticipatory gleam to his eye and a muscle twitched in his cheek. He was both relieved and excited to be doing so and doing his best to mask it.

"Now, dear," Mrs Kochak said as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into a teacup, "We'd have like to have heard about it if it happened." She passed the teacup to me with a smile and a biscuit.

"Aye, that is true," Mr Kochak replied. "Best to be sure though."

The key turned in the lock and the box ground open with the sound of turning gears. Mr Kochak looked inside, the gleam in his eyes growing stronger. He nodded to himself with satisfaction and shut the lid again. "All there," he announced. Locking the box once more, he returned the key to his pocket.

"That is a relief dear."

I must admit that their reactions to the box had me really wanting to know what was in it. The Kochak’s weren't about to spill on that, though, and the conversation soon turned to other, more mundane matters. The pair had raised their children and seen them move out one by one until now they were all alone in their home. It must have been quiet after all those year with their children around and it seemed to me as if they were desirous of company, of a need for conversation with other people to fill that empty hole, if only for a little while. I was more than happy to provide it. A little distraction from my current case was what I needed and so I spent a pleasant hour or two with the pair, talking, drinking and sharing tales.