Something Missing by Matthew Dicks

model number initially seemed to be less dangerous than removing the entire toothbrush, Martin was worried that if he failed to return in time, Cindy Clayton would unknowingly use the contaminated toothbrush this evening, and there would be nothing that Martin could do to stop her.
    On the other hand, if he removed the toothbrush and did not make it back in time, he would have no choice but to discontinue the Claytons as clients. A missing toothbrush would likely be more obvious to a client than a missing china plate or pearl necklace. Therefore, the decision was clear. He would take the toothbrush with him. As much as he valued the Claytons as clients, he could not take a chance on Cindy Clayton placing this contaminated device in her mouth.
    With less than fifty seconds remaining, Martin went into action.
    Moving quickly, he scooped the toothbrush from the bowl, shaking it over the sink briefly in order to prevent dripping, and then slid it into his pants pocket.
    As he exited the bathroom, he made a mental note to burn these pants later that day.
    He then turned and headed for the rear door adjacent to the Clayton’s kitchen, scooping up his backpack along the way, removing his rubber moccasins, and relocking the door with the key that he had made seven years ago after locating the spare set in the Claytons’ empty sugar bowl. He was crossing the patio and squeezing between a space in the high hedgerow that bordered the rear of the Claytons’ property when the alarm on his watch began vibrating, indicating his time in the Clayton home was up.
    The Claytons lived in a relatively new housing development off Route 3 in Cromwell. A total of eight large homes lined the short street that ended in a cul-de-sac, and these were spaced sufficiently apart to allow Martin to exit the property without being seen. The Claytons’ backyard, which included a swimming pool and bocce court, was also enclosed by a high row of hedges, allowing Martin complete concealment when gaining entry through the back door. Best of all, the Clayton home, on the eastern side of the cul-de-sac, backed onto six acres of state-owned wetlands, complete with several walking trails. In less than ten minutes, Martin could safely cross through this forested area and make his way into a retirement village with plenty of visitor parking.
    As Martin crossed through the forest, picking up a trail that headed directly east toward his car, he began unconsciously thumbing the ten-sided die in his coat pocket. There were four other trails that he could have chosen, and on a typical day he would have rolled the die before leaving in order to determine his route, but time was suddenly of the essence, and so he chosethe shortest and most direct means of returning to his car, even though he recognized that this was breaking another of his important rules.
    He wondered how many more rules he would need to break in order to correct his mistake, and, more important, what consequences it might bring.
    With this thought in mind, he broke into a run.
    As he climbed the short hill leading out of the forest and into the parking lot, Martin began plotting his next move. He would need to locate a match for Cindy Clayton’s toothbrush as quickly as possible, and he had several alternatives. About two miles down the road, at the junction of Route 3 and Route 9, was a Stop & Shop, a CVS pharmacy, and a little farther down the road, a Walgreens, any of which could potentially carry the toothbrush that he needed. With about an hour before Cindy Clayton arrived home, it was imperative that Martin choose the correct store.
    After slamming his car door, tossing the incomplete sack of acquisitions into the backseat (another serious violation of routine), and starting the engine, Martin removed the toothbrush from his pants pocket (while keeping his latex gloves firmly affixed to his hand) and examined it more closely. About six inches in length, the toothbrush was primarily white, with