As we touched down at the Angelo's manor, there was quite a welcoming committee. Cornberry and an entire platoon of officers. Oh, and the Chief Rita O'Law herself, not looking a day over… redacted. Chelle immediately blanched over seeing them. "Are they going to arrest me over what me and my daddy did?!"

I raised my eyebrows. "Him…yes. But I do believe there is a detention center for juvenile clones."

Chelle made a near inaudible whimper.

"Relax," I said. "I was joking. I'll explain your situation to the chief. She's a very forgiving lady. Just don't ask her one question."

"What is it?"

"How old she is…" I paused. "If you must ask, ask her how young she is instead…"

Chelle wrinkled her nose. "Aren't they the same thing?"

"Nope," I said, balancing my vape in my mouth. "She ages in reverse."

"Is she a biogenetic replica too?!" Chelle demanded.

"Nope," I answered. "Just over thirty five!"

Once the plane had landed on Mica's private tarmac, the two of us exited through the emergency hatch. We were immediately surrounded by officers. "Quickly…" I said, pointing inside the plane. "Mr. Angelo and his men are in there. They held us hostage."

The guns of the officers clicked in response. Locked and loaded.

"Luckily," I responded. "We already subdued them."

"Wowzers," Cornberry smirked. "And here I figured "y'all be doomed," as your cowpoke friend would have said. We already had a shootout with some of his private security and believe me, it was no picnic lunch."

"Damn," I said. "Bastard was determined. Anyway, we got your swindler and his lackies in there."

Cornberry raised a painted eyebrow. "And who is this kiddlywink?!"

Chelle turned to me. Panic filled her eyes.

"Just another hostage," I said.

Cornberry pointed straight at the chief. She stood on the patio. "Take her to the chief. See what she has to say."

"Got it," I answered.

"Whether she's a witness or a suspect," the fop said. "Our chief sure has a way of making people cough up the truth like some bad medicine!"

Chelle double gulped. I placed a hand on her trembling shoulder as we walked away. "She's not that scary," I whispered in her ear. "In fact, she has a fondness for children. As long as they don't cry or steal her drinks."

Chelle stopped shaking. She turned to face me. "This is random," she whispered. "But you kinda have big sister vibes."

I laughed deeply. "Go ahead, call me big sis."

Chelle smiled for the first time since I saw her. We approached the chief. She smoked a cigar as she observed the replicated painting.

With long, shiny locks of brunette hair, a fully wrinkleless face, and a buxom, yet toned body, she was somewhere between 30-55, but you'd have to hire a private investigator to track down her actual age.

"I know nothin' about art," Rita O'Law said, tilting her head sideways. "You could give me a Ren Brant painting and I'd use it as a placemat for my bourbon. But whoever did this forgery, is one helluva an artist."

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"Thank you!" Chelle said, beaming brightly. She immediately covered her mouth.

"Gotcha babycakes," the chief said.

Chelle's mouth gaped as the Chief removed the cigar from her mouth to grin.

I had totally forgot. For the chief, interrogation was a superpower. She got criminals to confess entire crimes from small talk alone. I'd hate to be her third husband if I came home late one night.

Chelle's eyes turned nervously to me. "Are you gonna turn me in, big scary lady?"

"No," she said, putting her cigar back in her mouth. "But we do have a detention center for juvenile clones!"

Chelle turned her head back to the chief. "Jacky made the same joke!"

The chief's eyes widened. "Oh did she? She stole my smoking habit too."

I put my hands behind my head. "No, but really, chief. What do you want to do with her?"

I wide smile spread on her face. "I dunno," the chief answered. "What does the clone want to do with herself?!"

Chelle let out a squeak. "You mean…I get to decide?"

The chief crossed her arms. "Mica Angelo held you against your will. The man may be your guardian, but he's going to prison. Therefore, I'd like to offer you a place to stay. Can even be a boarding for the fine arts. There are plenty in this district."

"No…" Chelle said, abruptly. "No more painting. Even if it'sa gift, I've never liked it. Art is for stuffy old people! I'd rather…" her eyes lit up like stars in the night sky. "Be a detective like Jacky!"

"That's quite the endeavor," the chief responded at last. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I don't want anyone as uncool as my dad taking advantage of anyone again!"

I laughed cooly. "For someone you met a few hours ago, you sure take after your big sis…"

"Ma'am!" Cornberry shouted. "We've apprehended all the suspects…except for one."

Indeed, Cornberry had managed to cuff the big, bald thumb man, the two lesser lunkheads and Mica himself. "Who?" The chief said and raised her eyebrows.

"Wait a friggen minute," I exclaimed. "Maria! Maria Santiago. Where in the world is she?!"

A rumble from the plane's turbines sounded and the jumbo jet propelled itself down the tarmac. Judging by the dumbfounded looks on the cop's faces, they had made one fatal miscalculation. The plane soared overhead, and we heard a contented laugh. "Where will I go next, muchachos?! Oh, the thrill of the hunt is so romantic!"

“Maria Santiago!” Cornberry shouted. “She was inside the plane too!”

“You better do something!” I shouted.

The unoccupied officers reached for their guns. With a wave of her hand, the chief ordered them to stand down. "That girl is dangerous, but she's not a killer. Let's focus on securing the Angelo mansion."

"Yes ma'am!" the officers said with a salute. Some of them did it so hard they whacked their helmets.

"Besides," Rita O'Law said, turning her sultry eyes towards me. "We have bigger fish to fry."

I watched as the jet plane became a small blip on the horizon, before fading into the cold blue sky. That was Maria for you. Once she’s escaped, she left no trace like a trail of disappearing ink. If only my jilted feelings could elude me just as easily.

The chief didn’t seem too interested. Instead, she guided me towards the painting of the Justine Chapel ceiling.

"Hold my comphone!" I exclaimed to myself. “Is that really the…”

Painted in excellent acrylics on the Michelle Angelo ceiling, the horned creature reared its ugly head again. I'd recognize those questions mark shaped horns anywhere and those soulless, pupilless white eyes.

The unsolved mystery grinned at me widely, mocking my very existence.

"Chief…" I said. "Do you know what that thing is?"

"I was gonna ask you the same question, hun. You are the prodigy after all!"

I activated my vape and put it in my mouth. "The only thing I know is that both Mabel Syrup and Mica Angelo are both privy to it. If only we had some kind of a lead."

The chief tilted her head, giving a kind, knowing smile. "We have a lead. Both of those criminals are behind bars. Tomorrow, I'll have them coughing up all their secrets and then some!"

"Great!" I said, feeling relieved. "This mystery was eating through me like a termite."

"Just relax and live a little," Rita said, in her motherly way. "Perhaps treat yourself to a pizza and a bottle of wine. We are in Little Roma after all."

I raised my eyebrows. "Should the chief of police really be recommending wine to an underage drinker?"

"As of now," she said, and removed a pair of sunglasses from her pocket. "I'm off duty. And I happen to be the coolest person from 35 to 55 you know!"

I rolled my eyes. "Ok mom!"

"That's cool mom to you!"

Chelle and I left said goodbye to our hip adult friend. I offered my new little sister to stay at my house while they situated her dorm at the Enigma Academy. Instead of just relaxing, I invited Olive over for a pizza party. The three of us devoured a whole box of martini and olive (my friend's nickname came from her peculiar taste in toppings) pizza and stayed up laughing and watching the telly until 1 AM. For a second, I forgot all about the mysteries that dodged me like a millionaire with taxes. It was only when Olive bid us adieu that I was taken back to the cold hard ground.

"Big sis!!" Chelle exclaimed, cross legged in some of my old Enigma Academy pajamas.

She was whiter than the mozeralla on our pizza.

"What's wrong?!" I shouted.

The telly answered my question and then some. A newscaster proclaimed a dire headline: "Restaurant owner Mabel Syrup and famed art dealer Mica Angelo were found dead tonight in Noirberg prison. Cause of death unknown."