Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 34 – Floor 4: Part 2

Something besides the files and the pictures drew Mathew’s attention. The room smelled of fresh coffee, and he followed it to its source. Ignoring the mystery and purpose of why he was here, Mathew poured himself a large cup, added cream and sugar, and took a sip.

It was heavenly. Mathew hadn’t had a coffee in months. For someone who was accustomed to having multiple cups a day, his time in the Tower had been difficult without it.

But there was also a bonus. Next to the pot of coffee was a large, open white box with donuts. Covered in powdered white sugar, Mathew felt it calling to him. Taking a bite, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was blueberry.

“I understand that Arlen’s bakery makes a fine donut, but could you focus on the task at hand?” Albert Curtis interrupted him. Mathew grinned, turning away from the box of donuts with powder covering his lips and the front of his jacket.

“If you had been through what I’ve experienced, you wouldn’t be interrupting me.” Mathew mumbled through a mouthful of donut.

“You solve this, and you can have all the donuts you want. Come take a look at the board.” Albert replied, pointing to the giant corkboard they had erected with pictures of the victims, as well as images of the rooms they were last seen in.

“We’ve had eight people go missing, all from different parts of town. No blood or notes. No one saw them leave their homes or businesses.”

“All over the past week?” Mathew asked, licking his fingers clean. He was tempted to grab another donut but was satisfied to just drink his coffee. Taking a seat at the table where he could still see the board, he studied it carefully.

“Since last Sunday. The first victim was Tim Burnson, 67 years old. His wife was making dinner in the kitchen while Tim was in the living room watching television. He called out, asking for her to bring him a beer. When she did, he was gone.”

“Alright. You’re sure he was the first? No other deaths or disappearances that could have gone unreported for a while?” Mathew asked.

“No, Tim was the first. We’ve tracked when all the missing were reported, and we’re fairly confident about the timeframe. Sunday evening was the beginning of whatever this was.”

“Fine. Then, we start with Mr. Burnson as well. Something targeted him, and we just need to figure out why. Tell me about him.” Mathew said, draining his cup of coffee quickly and standing to get another, along with a honey cruller.

“Retired a couple of years ago. He is, or was, a car salesman. Married, two kids. Both his children live in town with families of their own.” Albert said, not even needing the file on the victim to recite the information.

“Any enemies?” Mathew asked. Albert gave him a look that called him stupid without voicing it.

“He’s a retired car salesman in Texas, Mr. Larson. No, he didn’t have any enemies. Besides, a murder or kidnapping would have left traces. There was nothing but an empty chair; the door was still locked, and the windows closed. Supernatural, which is why you’re here.”

“What was he doing all day? Anything out of the ordinary? Did he go somewhere he wasn’t supposed to?” This time, Albert dug through the pile of documents, pulling out one from the bottom and handing it to the Champion.

Mathew flicked it open, skimming through it.

“Mowed the lawn, went shopping with his wife, Mary. A Farmer’s Market?” Mathew read aloud, looking to Albert as he asked about the market. The Sheriff nodded.

“According to Mary, they go every Sunday. There’s a flea market attached as well.” Albert clarified.

“Alright, can we go by his place? Maybe I’ll see something.” Mathew asked, standing up. He left his jacket on the chair. The Texas heat was too much for him to want to wear it. He could have put it in his inventory, but he figured he would just be coming back here anyway.

“Sure thing.”

Page Break

The Burnson house was the embodiment of the American dream. A large, detached house with two stories, a white picket fence and an immaculately kept green lawn. A car was parked in its driveway, pristine and perfect.

If it hadn’t been for the file proclaiming Mr. Burnson’s disappearance, Mathew would never have suspected anything out of the ordinary.

They were greeted at the door by Mary Burnson, who was wearing a dress with an apron stained by flour. Evidently, she was in the middle of baking. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked exhausted. Her husband’s absence had been difficult for her.

“Afternoon, Mary. This is Mr. Larson, he’s come about Tim.” Albert stated as soon as he saw her. He had his cowboy hat in his hands out of respect.

“Oh, Mr. Larson! Of course, we’ve all heard about your arrival. Come in, please.” Mary said, letting them into the house. It was beyond tidy and clean, and Mathew could see a part of the kitchen from the entrance.

Piles of baked goods covered every available surface, and he assumed that keeping busy kept Mary’s mind from dwelling on her husband.

“Can I get you anything, Sheriff? Mr. Larson? I just made some apple pie. How about a slice and some lemonade?” Mary said, moving into the kitchen and disappearing around a corner. Mathew could hear the fridge open and the sound of dishes.

“That would be lovely, Mary.” Albert replied, giving Mathew a look that said to humour her.

Sitting on the sofa, Mathew looked around the room. A chair was tucked into the corner, a lounger with the television directly in front of it. The last place Mary had seen her husband. Mathew didn’t see anything out of the ordinary except for the fact that it was a house from the fifties.

The contrast that nearly seventy years made was stark.

Mary returned with two plates and two glasses of lemonade on a tray. She placed it down on the coffee table and offered one to the Sheriff and another to Mathew.

Only intending to take a bit out of politeness, Mathew dug in after tasting it. It was delicious. On the other hand, the sheriff kept it on his lap as he asked Mary to sit with them.

“Mary, I’ve just been covering the case with Mr. Larson here, and we’ve had a few questions.”

“Of course! Anything to help.” Mary exclaimed, and Mathew put the empty plate on the table. Taking a sip of lemonade, he cleared his throat and began.

“The Sheriff told me about some of the things you and your husband did last Sunday. Was there anything out of the ordinary?” Mathew started.

“Oh, let me think. Tim woke up early, around 6, and we went to church. Afterwards, we had our Sunday drive, and then we went to the farmer’s market and the grocery store. Then Tim mowed the lawn while I started on dinner.” Mary explained.

To Mathew, it sounded like a prepared list that she had gone over a dozen times with the police and the ‘Feds.’

“And nothing out of the ordinary?” Mathew pressed, and Mary shook her head.

“No, nothing. Not that I can think of. It was a rather pleasant day.” Mary clarified.

“What about in the week before, did you meet anyone new? Pick up something that was strange?” Mathew asked, thinking about what could have caused her husband to leave without a trace.

“Mr. Larson, we know nearly everyone in Arlen. We rarely meet new people, and we barely buy anything at all now that we’re retired. We only bought a few antiques from the flea market all week.” Mary replied, and Mathew’s breath hitched at the statement.

“A few antiques?” Mathew asked for clarification. He shared a quick look with Albert.

“Mary, why didn’t you mention this to us before?” Alberta said crossly. This fact wasn’t in the original statement.

“That we bought a few odds and ends at the flea market? Because I didn’t think it was important. It was just an old travel chest and a few knick-knacks. Nothing strange or odd, as Mr. Larson was asking about.” Mary retorted.

“Where are these ‘objects’ now, Mrs. Burnson?” Mathew asked, his voice deadly serious. It looked like he had his first lead.

“They’re in the garage! I had them in the living room, but with Tim gone, I packed them away.” She said. The pair of men stood immediately, making their way to the door that led to the garage. Mary led them to the corner where she had placed them, but there was nothing left.

Whatever she had bought that day was gone.