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Central Park and the Small Aircraft – Part 02

The male client leaned in with keen interest. “I know this apartment. Kids use it for dares. And Grand Central Station? That eerie purple ceiling makes it feel haunted. He worked on the New York Public Library too? It really does look like a temple. Plenty of ghost stories about it.”

Kelly Sue nodded. “Architect Druid was immensely popular until twenty years ago. Back then, immigrants from all over the world were designing buildings that recreated their hometowns, shaping the city freely. Italians created red-and-green Little Italy, the Chinese—”

“Built golden Chinatown,” the male client interjected, studying the notes.

“Yup. And the Jewish community established black-and-white Brooklyn. Immigrants from Eastern Europe created the sprawling, dark brown East Village. New York was a melting pot of cultures.”

“And now it’s… not?” Victorique asked somberly.

Kelly Sue flipped through her notebook. “Things changed twenty years ago.” She let out a sigh. “Have you two heard of the Finance King Rothschild the Fifth? Long ago, the first and second generations developed a banking system in the Old World and amassed a huge fortune. Later, the third generation crossed over to the New World. From the third generation onward, they’ve not only influenced the economy of the New World but also meddled in politics and regional development. They’ve been involved in building a grand nation alongside politicians and lawyers.”

“Hmm, I see.”

“Nineteen years ago, led by Rothschild the Fifth, a temporary committee called the 1911 Committee was formed. They proposed the City Beautiful Movement to the mayor and city hall.”

“The City… Beautiful Movement?” the male client mumbled. “I’ve seen that in the papers. Too complicated, so I skipped those articles.”

Victorique took a drag of her pipe. “The City Beautiful Movement is a type of city planning also seen in the Old World. In cities like Paris, London, or Rome, it’s about preserving architectural heritage to maintain a city’s identity. The goals are to boost tourism and honor historical culture.”

“I think… I heard something like that from the chief,” Kelly Sue replied, nodding vaguely.

Victorique continued puffing on her pipe, lost in thought. Thin wisps of smoke drifted lazily toward the ceiling.

“However,” she said, “this city’s history is shallow, and lacks a distinct New York identity. As you said, it’s a melting pot of cultures. So, why introduce the City Beautiful Movement here standardize the chaotic landscape? Perhaps Rothschild the Fifth and the 1911 Committee aim to transform the New World from a mixture of diverse ethnic identities into a massive, unified nation in the future. Their goal is to dramatically increase national power. As part of this plan, they’re imposing a uniform aesthetic on the landscape… Kelly Sue?”

“Oh, yes. I think the chief mentioned something like that… maybe…” Kelly Sue muttered, rubbing her eyes.

“I bet you lost track of the conversation, huh?” the male client teased.

Kelly Sue blushed. “Ugh! Well… anyway, when the City Beautiful Movement took off, architects like Druid, with their unique, Old World styles, stopped getting commissions. His work dried up.”

“Really? That’s unfortunate.”

“And then, the City Hall’s Regional Management Department started demolishing his buildings one by one. They were s-simple and h-huge.”

“Yes. Sublime and cohesive, fitting for a new, unified nation,” Victorique added.

“E-Exactly. They were replaced with those flashy brown steel-frame buildings that scream wealth.”

Every time the palm leaves swayed, Victorique’s silvery hair shimmered softly.

“Hmm. Your ID showed the City Hall Regional Management Department. In other words, your workplace is the very one pushing the City Beautiful Movement.”

“Th-That’s right!” Kelly Sue confirmed.

“Your ID also mentioned the Green Space Division. So, your case, finding the real map of Central Park,” Victorique said, blowing smoke slowly, “is starting to tie into this story.”

“Exactly!” Kelly Sue nodded.

The male client scratched his head. “Huh? What does that mean?”

Victorique silently puffed on her pipe. Kelly Sue flipped through her yellow polka-dot notebook, filled with photos of Central Park’s lush greenery, ancient-looking temples, and rugged cliffs.

“The Green Space Division’s main job is maintaining parks. Central Park, in particular, is huge and very complex. It’s such a weird forest that you can never really figure out what’s where.”

Victorique leaned forward. “Hmm, I see.”

“It used to be a wild forest right in the middle of Manhattan Island. The plan was to turn it into a massive urban park while preserving its natural elements. The city commissioned its design to a then-popular architect…”

“Druid,” Victorique interjected.

“Exactly. He used the existing natural landscape but added all sorts of features throughout, like old-fashioned temples and eerie gazebos. It was a huge hit with New Yorkers at the time. Families, couples, even individuals strolled through the park because it was free and accessible to everyone. But then…”

“Hmm?”

“When the City Beautiful Movement began nineteen years ago, the park was slated for a modern redesign.”

“I see.”

“And then, guess what? It turned out City Hall didn’t even have an accurate map of Central Park. They’d left everything up to the architect Druid when they built it. When a city official rushed to the architect’s place, he was already furious because the buildings he’d designed were being torn down left and right.”

Kelly Sue lifted a photo of Druid from her notebook, mimicking his grumpy expression.

“’You want a map? Well, too bad. I hid it somewhere in Central Park. I’m not telling you anything, you dummies!’ And then he snatched the official’s glasses, waved them around, and said, ‘Even with these glasses, you’ll never find it!'”

“What a spiteful fellow,” Victorique said, oddly amused.

Kelly Sue puffed out her cheeks. “Right? Anyway, there are still buildings by Architect Druid scattered across New York, and Central Park is one of them. Parts of it were altered—like turning areas into plain lawns—but nobody really knows what’s hidden where. There are urban legends about secret bases underground or artificial caves in the hills… though, of course, that’s ridiculous, right?”

“Is it, though?” Victorique’s interjection was unusually sharp, almost ominous. Kelly Sue gave her a curious look before continuing.

“So, near the entrance, it’s just a regular park. But deeper inside, it’s… a mystery. I tried mapping it out myself. And as I went further in… can you guess what I found? Detective, even if you claim there’s ‘no mystery unsolvable,’ I bet you wouldn’t…”

Kelly Sue pointed at her bandaged left foot.

Victorique puffed on her pipe thoughtfully before speaking with rare finality. “You probably fell into a pit trap, climbed out, and found a sign saying ‘Pedem tuum edam,’ or something like that.”

“Wh-What?! H-how did you know?!”

Victorique stayed silent, her expression weary. Suddenly, she snapped out of her reverie. “N-no, that wasn’t a deduction. It’s just… well, this morning…”

“Amazing!” Kelly Sue exclaimed, deeply impressed.

Victorique shook her head repeatedly, muttering “No, no…” under her breath, but Kelly Sue didn’t notice. Instead, her face darkened as she addressed the detective.

“Listen, I don’t really get all this talk about nation-states or strengthening national power. But I do know one thing: leaving holes in the park’s ground is dangerous. What if a little kid or an elderly woman fell in? A sprained ankle would be the least of it! That much, I understand!”

She punctuated her point by thrusting her fist into the air.

The male client, seated on the nearby dresser, nodded. “She’s got a point. Kelly Sue’s right.”

“See? So, I thought about asking Architect Druid for the map again. But when I visited his home in Brooklyn, I found out he’d already passed away. I scrambled for ideas and made all sorts of suggestions: ‘Chief, ask the police!’ or ‘Hire a detective!’ But all I got was, ‘Stop spouting nonsense and make some tea.’ Totally rejected.”

“So, is that why you grabbed your piggy bank and rushed into a detective agency? Like some eight-year-old kid?”

“Well, you see, while I was sulking this morning, I saw an ad for this place in the newspaper my dad was reading. The address caught my eye… because it said ‘East Village’s Carousel.’”

“The address? Wait, are you saying… you know Wonder Gi—”

The male client started to say something but quickly clamped his hand over his mouth.

Kelly Sue looked puzzled. “Wonder Gi…? What’s that? No, never mind, look at this.”

She flipped through her yellow polka-dotted notebook and stopped at a page. It contained photos of buildings designed by Architect Druid. She pointed at the edge of a page labeled Apartments.

Victorique’s green eyes widened ever so slightly.

The male client exclaimed, “Ah! This… hey!”

The photo showed a peculiar, spiraling apartment building shaped like a seashell. Its tiled exterior gleamed as though submerged underwater. Below the photo, the building’s name was written: East Village’s Carousel.”

Victorique took the pipe from her mouth, nodding. “So that’s it. This bizarre apartment complex is yet another creation of Architect Druid—Arthur King, to be precise.”

Her gaze swept the surroundings slowly.

Sunlight poured in through the open ceiling, dazzlingly bright. A large, tropical red bird flapped its flame-like wings, flying past. An anteater scratched its belly with its forepaws as it waddled away.

Flanking the shimmering blue-tiled spiral staircase were rows of small, peculiar rooms brimming with exotic charm. They resembled homes for tiny fairies living inside a seashell.

In one of those rooms, Victorique de Blois sat in all her silvery radiance. The hem of her green, frilly dress rippled like whipped cream decorating a cake as she gently swung on a claw-footed chair.

She opened her lovely lips and, without changing her expression, remarked dryly, “No wonder. Ha-ha.”

Kelly Sue’s face flushed. “That’s right. So, when I learned a detective agency had opened here, I rushed over. I guess you could say, Detective, that it felt like fate.”