Page 12 of In the Line of Ire

"Not onsuch short notice. Here's Samantha," he said, nodding to the womannow hurrying towards us on the other side of the door.

"Sorryto keep you waiting," she panted as she opened the door for us toenter. Looking us over as we stepped into the corridor, she noddedapprovingly. "Pest control? Good thinking. No one ever questionspest control."

Isettled my cap on my head and tucked up my hair. Solomon andDelgado both carried small cases that appeared to contain pestcontrol supplies but actually held cameras.

"I havethe master security codes for the stores you need to check on andan alert will be sent to the store managers. I need to send anemail to them just to explain the problem and why I used my accesskey."

"Say yousaw a rat and called someone out to check on it," said Solomon."Everyone hates rats."

"Sendthe email after we've taken a good look around," suggested Delgado."We don't want any over-excited store managers interrupting ourinvestigation."

"Noted,"said Samantha. "Follow me." She strode ahead and we trailed herthrough the service corridor to a door marked "MALL." She openedthe lock and we stepped out into the silent, glossy mall. When Iwas here with Lily and Poppy earlier, there were plenty of people,despite it being a weekday and hardly the peak shopping hour. Nowthe shop fronts had their shutters closed and the soft music thatusually played on the speakers was noticeably absent. The onlysound came from our footsteps.

"Weshould check Heavenly Handbags first," I said. "It's smaller andeasier to get around than Page’s department store."

"Thedepartment store will take more time if it's bigger and thestockrooms are fully supplied," said Delgado.

"All themore reason to check out the boutique first. Their stockroom willbe smaller and faster for us to examine, plus we know from thereports that two of the fake purses came from there."

"She'sright," agreed Solomon. "We can do a faster check of theboutique."

"It'sright around this corner," said Samantha, taking off but not beforeI noticed how she nervously jangled the keys in her hand. Iwondered if she were afraid of a confrontation or maybe somethingelse.

Theboutique had metal shutters that descended from the ceiling andlocked into a panel set into the ground. I barely noticed thesecurity arrangements when I entered earlier but now I saw thecontrol panel on the side between this store and the next. Samanthatyped in a code and the shutter began to roll up. "There aren't anylocks on the internal doors," she said. "I'll wait outside. Mallsecurity might come by so I'll let them know about the ratproblem."

Solomonnodded and Delgado and I followed him inside, ducking under themetal shutters once they reached halfway up. "Where do you want tostart?" asked Solomon. He handed me a pair of thin gloves and Ipulled them on.

"Ichecked all these purses earlier and they seemed legit," I toldthem as we stood in the middle of the store and looked around."Some of the stores keep their extra stock in drawers under thedisplay units but I'm pretty sure all the non-displayed stock hereis being kept in the back room."

"Goahead," said Solomon.

I walked around the cash register and pushed the door. Havingworked in a number of stores over the years—although not this one—I had a good idea ofwhat to expect. Like the service corridor that led to the mall, theback room of the store lacked all the glossy decor that luredcustomers inside and displayed the purses so temptingly. Theemployee area of the store was split into several small rooms. Anundersized office contained a desk that was pushed up against thewall and a tall bookcase crammed with paperwork and a phone and acomputer. Above it was a framed poster of one of the designerpurses, nestled in the crook of a willowy model’s arm as shestepped out of a cab on a tree-lined street.

Thesecond room was a tiny bathroom with barely enough space to turnaround. Someone tried to make it a little nicer by adding a vase ofartificial flowers and some high-end incense sticks that Irecognized as a “gift with purchase” from last year's Christmassale. The next room was a breakroom and barely larger than theoffice. A tired-looking table was flanked by four chairs and a tinykitchenette that contained a small refrigerator, sink, and a smallworktop with a coffee pot and a jar of plastic cutlery. A fewfashion magazines were tossed on the table along with an unopenedpacket of cookies. So far, it was very different from theaspirational image being aggressively pushed inside thestore.

At thefurthest end of the corridor was a closed door that must have ledto the store room. I opened it and stepped inside, blinking in thedark.

"Anyonesee the light switch?" asked Solomon from behind me. The light cameon. "Found it," he quickly announced.

Tall,metal racks rose from floor to ceiling, each laden with boxes. Atable pushed against the wall closest to us adjoined another rackthat was full of flattened bags and reels of ribbon, ready forpacking. I stepped over to the nearest rack, glancing at thesetup.

"ThisPolaroid," I said to the guys as I tapped the photo that was tapedto the shelf, "is a quick visual clue for what's on this rack. Thepurses are subdivided into sizes and colors. It looks like theycarry around ten of each size in various colors."

"Do theyalways come pre-boxed?" asked Delgado.

"Notalways but it makes sense so the store clerks don’t have to packageeverything."

"Why dothey need so much tissue paper and dust bags and padding anyway?"asked Delgado. "Serena even keeps those dust bags."

"You'resupposed to," I told him. "It's the authentic packaging thatpreserves the bag in pristine condition when it’s not in use. Plus,if the bag is sold later, the dust bag adds to its resalevalue."

"Do youhave dust bags for anything?" Delgado asked Solomon.

"Not athing," said Solomon.

"Meneither."

"I needto open some of these. It's the only way to check and see if thepurses are authentic or not. I just hope the tissue paper isn'tsealed with stickers. If I break them, they'll know someone wasinspecting them." I reached for the first box and placed it on thewrapping station. After flipping the lid, I sighed with relief whenI saw the tissue paper was closed with a ribbon tie. Feeling fairlysure I could emulate the neat bow, I slid it open and folded backthe sheets. The bag inside was cream satin in a small, boxy shape,a little too large for a clutch but not big enough for a day bag. Ichecked it over and opened the flap, searching inside for theserial number. "This looks authentic," I decided. I wrapped it upagain carefully and slid it back onto the shelf.

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