Z is for Zed Alley # 1

- part I of a summer story for the final week of Kerrie´s alphabet in crime meme –

Bewildered, Rhapsody Gershwin turned another corner, looking around her, trying to figure out where she was. The streets grew narrower all the time, and this one looked particularly discouraging.

Zed Alley. Why on earth hadn´t she remembered to bring a city map?

She was on her way back to her own hotel after a wonderful gala dinner at the Marriott in Bristol. Her first crime festival. She had walked the short distance between the two hotels several times, but always in bright daylight and sensible shoes. Now it was dark, and it was as if her silly stilettoes and a glass of red wine – or perhaps two – had robbed her of all her senses.

Frustrated, she kicked the dark thing that lay in front of her on the narrow pavement. It flopped jerkily and spilled open, and now she saw that it was a black handbag. Rhapsody looked around her, but there was no one around it could belong to. No one female at least.

She picked up the rather heavy bag to see if she could find contact information inside or other clues that could lead her to the identity of the owner. She wasn´t very interested in the pink iPod or the ballet shoes. Neither did she look at the gold locket twice. She studied the diary and the red passport with interest, though, but the most surprising thing was the small, yellow cardboard box. When she saw what was nestling in the coarse salt, she thought ´this is exceedingly interesting. It isn´t exactly the cosy sort of mystery I am used to back home in Knavesborough, but this is Bristol, and it just can´t be helped.´ Besides, her fiancé, Constable Penrose, wasn´t around to remind her to stay out of danger.

Rhapsody was a librarian and a conscientious young women who knew her duty. She also knew that she was fairly curious even though she rarely admitted as much. She turned around, noticing for the first time that she was standing outside a whitewashed house with the most charming, tarred half-timbering. Z-Bra the place was called. She wondered if the owner was dyslectic or had a keen sense of humour.

She pushed the heavy door open and ventured into the semi-darkness. An immensely fat woman was leaning against the counter, pulling a pint of lager in the lazy fashion of someone who never did much else. Her hairdo was an intricate novelty, but the effect was ruined somewhat because it looked – and smelled – as if she had deep-fried it to keep it up there.

- Thirsty, luvver? The giant tried optimistically.

- Hello. I just found a black handbag outside your establishment, and I wondered if you had an idea whom it belonged to?

The fat woman looked at the leather bag, put a chubby hand in front of her small mouth. – Oh, that ambag? Eh, yeah, it is mine. Canave it?

- It is your bag? Isn´t that just perfect? I am sure that you won´t mind telling me what is inside it then.

- What´s inside? She scratched the oily wig. – Lipstick, compac, hankie, eh, pink phone.

- Sorry, but I don´t think it belongs to you. I´d better leave it with the police.

- Zat right? The woman grunted rudely and slapped a ham-sized fist down the counter next to Rhapsody, but she didn´t try to argue her case. She turned to serve a newcomer, leaving Rhapsody to figure out how to find the police station as she still had absolutely no idea where she was.

She bit her lip and stared vacantly at a large photo which seemed to have been taken recently. The massive bartender took up most of the space behind the counter, and next to her stood a thin, tanned man with a bronze earring. The incongruous couple had put on bright, commercial smiles while they were pulling the blank lager pumps. In the background there was a blonde woman who seemed to be stocking the shelves. She looked less happy than the other two, but she was extremely beautiful with her classical, Slavic features. What did a woman with those cheekbones do behind a bar; she should have been an actress or a model.

To be continued tomorrow…