Two hours passed…
The black Japanese car that departed from Norham Gardens had arrived in front of the shop. We have also completed the restock of the cake’s jam. In order to maintain quality, we make our own jam without buying a party.
We wasted no time, immediately locked the place and got into the car.
“Hello, hello, hello~” Egremont greeted brightly as the car door opened.
"Isn't this a holiday? Why are you wearing a formal suit?” I asked him.
His short hair slicked back in a man's quiff, nothing has changed about Egremont other than her more well-groomed car.
"I don't know, I feel more suited." He looked at the rearview mirror. "Well, where are we going?"
“3 Westfield, Blean Canterbury,” added Mr. Cake. "If that's possible, take the easiest route."
The car engine was started, Honey Egremont stepped on the gas pedal in response. I suggest to drive not too fast and keep it constant.
At a glance, my head popped out a bulb. “Oh yes, Mr. Cake, why is the letter not written on the delivery address for the package?”
“I think it's still a guess, Feline. But the words 'send the package' and 'at the address listed below' and then overlaid with 'mum and dad are waiting at' can be assumed to be one indication. In other words, the shipping address actually refers to Portpatrick,” explained Mr. Cake, who from the beginning to the car ride looked seriously at the letter.
Stepped on the brakes at the Newnham fork, the traffic light turned red.
"Mr. Monkey, here I borrow the letter, "
"Hush, Honey! Call him polite!”
Mr. Cake handed her the letter.
"It's okay, I used to call him that, really!"
She noticed the light was still red, Egremont stole a glance at the letter. About a minute, it was returned back, the car we were riding in moved.
"Can't you just say it's a joke, huh?" She looked at Mr. Cake by rejecting the contents of the letter outright, through the rearview mirror. “As expected, it must be.”
But Mr. Cake just stayed silent without giving an explanation.
.
.
-----------------------30 MINUTES LATER------------------------ --
Now Mr. Cake tucked the letter into his coat. Instead of smiling as usual, he buried himself in the car sofa, closing his eyes. I think this issue is more complicated than before.
"Mr. Cake, what is Route54B?” I asked suddenly curious about what Mr. Chad worried about yesterday.
"Why?"
"I'm just curious whether this case has something to do with it or not," I said pleadingly.
"Let's hope not," he replied curtly and closed his eyes again. He didn't seem like he wanted to talk about it.
"What is the problem?" Egremont was also curious.
While filling the conversation, I briefly told about Route 54B, according to what Mr. Chad.
"Hmm? I'm not surprised about that. Back when I was a freelance taxi driver, many of my customers forbade them to go to certain places and at certain times. Especially the dark narrow alleys.”
"Eh? Where's that? Then what did you do?” I asked Egremont curiously.
She sighed. “In the middle of any city, my ears are always filled with that kind of talk which basically means paying attention to time and place. Well, basically my life is hard, so what they say, I consider the wind to pass. Not working means not eating. That night it rained heavily at the Swanwell roundabout, Coventry, two men in coats and sunglasses carrying suitcases running frantically, seen through the windshield. I think after crossing the wide Swanwell, then meets a small town. Suddenly, they stopped in the middle of the road, pointing a gun. Haven't had time to pull the trigger yet. Luckily they didn't mean to rob my car, but the gun was still threatening me from behind the passenger seat. As directed, my car is half an hour to Hinckley. Right at the fork in Hollycroft they came down and gave me a hundred pounds. Whether it's bad luck or luck. But since then, I started to consider the time and place of my operation.”
"That was close enough, Honey," i said concerned.
"Yeah, I didn't hope for second time…." She looked at me through the rearview mirror.
"When did it happen?" Mr. Cake mouth finally spoke up.
"Anything else you remember?"
Egremont explained that she remembered a little that the two of them seemed to be scared and in a hurry. One of them said wanted a vacation after the matter was over. The other said, more or less according to Egremont, after the package was received it was better to rent the most isolated place in England.
.
The conversation was getting more and more exciting. Our four-wheeler took a Whitstable turn and turned right following the sign that said 'M2, Canterbury A290, Blean'. Rather than an in-depth conversation, this is where the scenery is more interesting.
.
Entering the Clapham Hill area, a row of trees and wide type housing. According to Mr. Cake, the Whitstable area is a relaxing place that is quiet but still has a natural feel. Unlike housing in our area, Cambridge, lined up as if uncomfortable and forced. They stand majestically, large yards, comfortable terraces and some use grass fences. Travel in your own home, I thought.
In the past few kilometers, you can still see sweeping green fields that are empty. A yellow cross stares at us quickly, a sign that Clapham Hill and the next place still has potential for developers, Peach Hill and Honey Hill.
Our eyes gleamed with gold, we both looked out of the car windows along the road. Peach hill looks a few structures smaller than before, Clapham hill, although the land is still relatively the same width.
Deeper into Honey hill, several villas and inns are visible. Still with the concept of nature, lush trees like a replica of a forest. The facade looks more attractive. One of them is a wide roof that touches the ground, that's more or less what I can say.
In a journey that did not feel lost for an hour and a half, we finally entered the Blean area. Settlements began to be busier, with wall architecture using red brick blocks, two levels.
Egremont swerved to the right, into the residential alley. "Number three should be in the front row."
I squinted my eyes, peering out the left window. A small brown board greeted me slowly, luckily the writing was white.
"Ah, it's next to the house where the red car is parked." I pointed at the red car.
"I just remembered, the letter earlier, are we going to be honest? Or sneak?” Egremont asked Mr. Cake while pulling the brakes of her car.
"Eh, what do you mean?" I asked confused.
I mean, why did it have to come in such a weird way? Can't it be the usual way?
"Let say that we are one of the Mr. Jeph Investors." Mr. Cake said while tidying up his suit and bow tie.
Oh so this means he's been wearing neat clothes since morning? But why should it be convoluted? I thought.
"That's it, it says 'don't open the door to anyone'. Doesn't that sound terrible?"
“Um… on second thought it's true.” I nodded in agreement, even though I only obeyed and pretended to understand.
Mr. Cake immediately opened the car door. "Get ready, you two."
My brain stimulates half understanding, it will be easier if you follow Mr. Cake.
Walking on a stone-textured path, left and right is green grass like a football field.
After we rang the bell, two slightly arrogant faces turned to our face.
"What do you need?" Out of the mouth of a woman in her fifties wearing a white apron maid outfit was a bit jerky.
While the man next to her, with a wrinkled face, his eyebrows pointed downwards, his mouth chewing gum as if to curse our presence.
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