Chapter 1: The Case of the 'Dead' Brother

The first chapter in P.I. Darling. Ruth and Charles take on a case for Professor Frank Lamont who is a psychologist who teaches at Harvard University.

My office was in an old building that was built before the Great War and thus, the floorboards creaked as I heard footsteps approach one chilly afternoon in December. I listened to every step as though it was an orchestra of creaks and groans. The fire crackling in the fireplace added to the sounds and the grandfather clock that struck 3 O’clock was noisy, as well. My nephew, Charles, who was unfazed by all the noise, kept still in the Victorian chair that was facing my desk. He was completely focused on reading For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. I glanced at my Nonni’s ashes sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. She always told me that following my dreams was the most important task in life. Therefore, I did what any little girl would do for her Nonni and I followed my dreams in her memory.   

Nonni had handed down the Victorian chair, that Charles was sitting in, to me. The chair’s upholstery was a beautiful shade of purple while the wood was painted a bright white that had been faded for some time. Nonni gave it to me because she knew I loved that chair as I would always go sit in it when I spent time at her house. While sitting in that chair, she read Sherlock Holmes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle with me. Even though many people did not know how to read back then, my Nonni was taught by her father who thought reading would be important one day and wanted my Nonni to be educated because she was his only child. My favorite story was The Hound of the Baskervilles and she loved reading it to me repeatedly. We loved Holmes as he would always catch the bad guys in the stories.

On her death bed, in 1930, when I was 12 years old, she made me promise to do what she couldn’t do and that was to become a detective like Sherlock Holmes. We did our secret handshake right before she took her last breath. I was whisked out of the bedroom by my mother and I never saw Nonni again. From that day on, I made it my mission to become a P.I. and when the day came that I finally bought my office in the old building, I truly believed I accomplished that goal.      

The smell of pipe smoke saturated my nostrils and pulled me from my memories. I looked at my now open door to see a man in a trench coat with a smoking pipe hanging from his lips. The war against the Nazis was in full swing at the time and most men were sent off to fight them. Therefore, I was surprised to see a man in my office as most of my clients were females with varying cases for me to solve. I decided to ask him what he needed because we were both staring intently at each other.

“Hello, may I help you, sir?” I said to the man standing in my doorway who looked ever more so impatient.

“Hello, may I speak to Francis Darling, please?” He answered.

“You’re speaking with her,” I responded, “now may I help you, sir?”

“Oh, I talked to a man on the phone. I’m sorry, but my case is not suitable for a dame of your nature. I will take my leave now. Thank you, nonetheless.” The man said while he started to leave my office.

“Now see here, just because I am a woman, does not mean I cannot solve any case that comes through my door. As for the man you spoke with, my nephew, Charles, who is spending the holidays with me, answers the phone when I am not here.”

 I stop to take a breath and think to myself, ‘My first name is Ruth, but my middle name is Francis. My father died in the Great War about a month before I was born. Thus, my mother named me after him to memorialize him.’

I continue to speak and say, “Now that you know why you spoke to a man on the phone, please sit down and tell me about your case. I’m confident I can solve it.”

The man sighed and turned back around. He came up to my desk and noticed Charles sitting in the Victorian chair which slightly startled him. I hadn’t noticed before, but this man seemed antsy and unnerved. He sat down in the chair that I got at a Red Cross charity shop a year ago. I needed it to match the Victorian chair my Nonni gave me. The fire lit up his face and I could clearly see the sweat slowly dripping down his forehead. He pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. The man, as if studying people calmed his nerves, studied Charles who was still reading the novel and then looked at me to study me.

“Aren’t you a little too young to have a nephew as old as him?” He asked cursorily.

“Why yes, I suppose so. My mother remarried my stepfather, Robert Darling, a few years after my father died and he had a son named Ronald from a previous marriage. Charles is Ronald’s… my stepbrother’s son. Ronald is 11 years older than me and that is why I have a nephew who is already a teenager. And he’s a teenager who forgot to tell me that you were coming.” I replied.

I looked to Charles and I noticed that he had put his feet up on my desk while I was not looking. I pushed them off and I said, “Charles, it is rude to have your feet up when there is a client in the room. Please sit up straight and listen to what this man has to say. You might find it interesting.”

He rolled his eyes and marked the page he was reading. He sat up and turned to face the man sitting next to him.

“Hello, sir. My name is Charles Franklin Darling.” Charles said while giving the man a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Charles.” The man replied.

I then mentioned to the man, “Charles goes to Warren Preparatory School right here in Boston and is spending the few weeks he gets off for Christmas with me. He is preparing to go to Harvard Law School after he graduates, right, Charles?”

Charles nodded and sunk back into the chair. I could see that Charles and the man were both impatient with me. I pulled out my notebook and a pen to write down the case information from the man. I then asked the man, “Sir, please tell me your full name and any information that is related to your case.”

The man cleared his throat and said, “My name is Dr. Frank Lamont,” he turned to look at my nephew and said, “and I am a professor at Harvard University, Charles. I could help you apply when the time comes to. A lot of students from Warren get into Harvard when they apply.”

Charles perked up and said, “Really? I would be extremely delighted if you could help me get into Harvard, sir. Thank you for the offer. Let’s get back to the case at hand, though. Tell my Aunt Ruth what she needs to know about your case, please.”

Dr. Lamont nodded and said, “Miss Darling, I thought I saw my brother, First Lieutenant Michael Nash Lamont, at a bookshop in town, but he died a few months ago. Please, find out if he is indeed dead and that I am only grieving the loss by seeing hallucinations of my dead brother. I’m trusting you with this case. Please, do not let me down.”

    

“Well, sir, I do not mean to be rude, but I think this a question for a psychologist.” I told him politely as possible.

He looked at me with clear frustration on his face, “I am a psychologist!”

     

“Oh, boy. Well, I certainly think I am well qualified to solve this conundrum. Can you tell me the name of the bookshop where you think you saw your brother?” I asked him respectfully.     

“I saw him at the Brattle Book Shop down on Cornhill Street. It’s one of the oldest book shops in Boston and in America for that matter. I was in the fiction section looking for a book that was published last year called The Stranger by Albert Camus. I picked out the book when I saw it and then I paid for it the counter. Then some item glittering in the sun caught my eye outside the storefront window. I do not know why I looked at the glittering, but some feeling deep down told me to. Outside the window, I saw a man, who looked eerily like my brother, standing there. We locked eyes and for a second, I felt like I had my brother back, but before I knew it, that moment was gone, and the man scurried down the street…” He paused, and it felt like he was trying to remember an important detail.

He then seemed to remember and while pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket, he continued, “Oh, here is a piece of a paper with a cryptic message that I can’t figure out. The only words I can read are the Red Eagle and Brattle Book Shop. The man, who looked like my brother, dropped it outside the bookstore while running away.”

He handed it to me, and I looked at it. The note said, “Der Red Eagle wird um zwei vierzig Uhr im Brattle Book Shop fliegen. Ihre Anwesenheit ist erforderlich, sonst ist die Hölle los.”  I looked it over and then realized why the man couldn’t read it. It was written in German, the language of the Nazis. I shuddered at the thought but shook off the creepy knot in my stomach that kept screaming to me that there was more to this case than what meets the eye.    I then wrote down the important details that he told me and asked him, “Well, sir, do you have any pictures of your brother on you?”

Dr. Lamont pulled out his wallet and handed me a small portrait of a man in a military uniform, “Here, please don’t lose this. It’s the only picture I have of my brother.”

I nodded while sliding the picture into my purse and said, “I promise I won’t lose it. I will surely go investigate the bookstore you mentioned as my first step in solving your case. My fee is five dollars an hour by the way.”

Dr. Lamont nodded and we both got up from our chairs to shake hands, but before we could, Charles piped up and said, 

“But wait… Aunt Ruth. You have once again forgotten to ask for time and day of the sighting.”

I realized that Charles was right and asked Dr. Lamont for the time and date. He told me that it was Monday the 13^th and it was around 2:35 O’clock in the afternoon. I said thanks for the information and walked him outside. I stood outside as I watched Dr. Lamont walk down the street until I could no longer see him. The wind blew and chilled me to the bone. I then went back inside and walked up the stairs to my second story office. Opening my office door, I noticed that Charles was once again in his chair reading his book with his feet up on my desk.

“Charles, get your feet off my desk, please.” I gently screeched at him.

He jumped up spooked because he was completely focused on the book and had not heard me come in. I walked past him to my filing cabinet to pull out my map of Boston to find the quickest route from my office to the bookstore. After gently putting down the map down on my desk, I traced the route with my finger.

“Aha, the bookstore isn’t far from here at all. It’s about a 10-minute walk. Come on, Charles. If you come with me, maybe I will buy you a new book.”

Charles perked up and said, “Sure, Aunt Ruth. I would love to come with you. I was feeling a little cooped up in here anyway.”

We locked up the office after donning our winter coats and walked outside to the street. With the route stored securely in my memory, we walked in silence the whole way until I saw the bookstore in the distant. Charles picked up his pace and I sauntered behind him while looking for any clues I might find. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a glimpse of a weird symbol painted on the side of the Brattle Book Shop in an alleyway. It looked like a swastika, but it had something added to it.

A red eagle was sitting upon the swastika with wings stretched out wide while taunting me with its menacing gaze. It was right then and there when I knew we were on the right track and I looked in the direction where Charles ran off to. He was lovingly gazing into the bookshop’s display window. I chuckled at him for a second. He was such a bookworm even in boyhood. I decided to get his attention by calling to him, “Charles, come take a look at what I found.”

Charles turned around and grudgingly came back to where I was standing. I pointed to where the swastika with the Red Eagle was painted on the side of the bookshop. I could see his eyes widen when the recognition of where this symbol came from entered his mind. “Aunt Ruth, is that what folks are calling a swastika?” Charles asked tentatively.

I nodded while taking out my Kodak Vigilant Junior camera from my purse that my stepfather gifted me for my 20^th birthday three years ago. I took some pictures of the swastika to ensure good usable prints and placed my camera safely back in my purse. I motioned to the door for us to go inside. There were some questions I wanted to ask the shopkeeper. Charles gleefully fast walked towards the door and opened it up for me. I thanked him and walked inside. He then preceded to follow in behind me.

The shopkeeper said to us, “Welcome in! I noticed you two lingering outside my shop. I so desperately wanted to invite you in and out of the cold, but it looked like you already were going to come in. And here you are! Please let me know if there are any books that I can help you find.”

 

I nodded and said to the shopkeeper, “Ok, I may have a few questions for you in a few minutes. I want to look around the shop first, though.” He nodded vigorously to my answer and went back to what he was doing before we entered the shop.

I chuckled on the inside at the enthusiastic shopkeeper and started to look around the shop. I noticed my nephew on the floor with a new book in his hands, but at a closer look, I noticed that it wasn’t a new book at all. It was a very old book, at the point of crumbling, and the title was The Inferno by Dante Alighieri and translated by Charles Rogers. I had heard of the poem before, but I hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing an English translated version anywhere.

I opened my mouth to say something to Charles, but before I could get any words out, Charles turned the page and a note fell out. It landed in Charles’ lap. We both noticed it and he picked it up. Charles looked at it and handed it to me for further examination. On the note was, once more in German, “Der Red Eagle hat ein neues Ziel für Sie. Treffen Sie mich morgen um Noon dreißig im Jacob Writh’s Restaurant.” I could only make out the English words, Red Eagle, Noon and Jacob Writh’s Restaurant. This case was turning out to be a more complex than I originally thought it would be. Cryptic notes, disappearing brothers, and Nazi Symbolism could be turn out to be a dangerous combination.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and asked Charles, “How are you so lucky? Picking the exact book that had another note written in German stuffed in it and have it fall out into your lap literally and figurately.”

Charles answered with a shrug, “I don’t know. I was just born this lucky, I guess.”

I laughed and turned around to notice that shopkeeper standing there looking a little annoyed. He said, “Ma’am, could you please have your son get off the floor? We have some nice chairs he could sit in to read while you shop.”

My cheeks turn bright red and I help Charles off the floor. The shopkeeper showed us to the chairs by the wall and Charles has a seat. He continues to read while I say to the shopkeeper, “Now that my 16-year-old STEP-NEPHEW,” with emphasis on step-nephew, “is seated comfortable, I think I will ask you those few questions on the case I’m working if that’s ok with you.”

The shopkeeper looks surprised and intrigued at the same time and says, “Case? I assumed you had a book you wanted explained to you that your step-nephew couldn’t explain to you.” I roll my eyes at the assumption by the shopkeeper and reply with, “No, I do not need you to explain some plot in a book to me. Let me introduce myself, I am P.I. Darling. I am working a case for a Professor Lamont who said he saw his dead brother outside this bookshop last Monday. Do you know anything about his brother whose name is Frist Lieutenant Michael Nash Lamont?”

I’m quite used to assumptions from witnesses when it comes to solving cases for my clientele, but it still gets me every time when someone assumes that I’m incapable. My Nonni pushed me to do my best and I will always strive for greatness in a way she couldn’t. The shopkeeper clears his throat and it brings me out of my thoughts. He looks irritated and uncomfortable at the thought of my question.

“I think it’s best that you and your step-nephew leave. There will be no mention of that name in my shop.” The shopkeeper demanded. He pushes us out of the shop and puts us squarely back at step one. Charles looks confused with The Inferno still in his hands and asks, “What just happened, Aunt Ruth?”

I answer him with, “I don’t know exactly, but I think that shopkeeper definitely knows more than he’s telling me. Let’s head back to my office and examine that book further. The shopkeeper may have just given us a valuable clue. And tomorrow we will go to that restaurant to have a talk with hopefully whoever is the Red Eagle.”

Charles nods and we start to walk back to my office. We’re halfway back when Charles, who was lost in thought it seems, asks, “But why didn’t the shopkeeper take the book when he kicked us out? If he knows something, wouldn’t he want the book that had the note in it?”

‘That was a good question. If the shopkeeper was a part of this, he would want the book and the note, but he didn’t take either. Granted he may not have seen me tuck the note safely into my purse, but still why not take the book?’, I thought to myself.

“Well, Aunt Ruth? What do you think?”, Charles piped up impatiently.

“I think that we need to do more research back at my office and get some supper into our bellies. How does that sound?”

“That sounds amazing, Aunt Ruth.” Charles answered.

We arrive back at my office to see an unfriendly looking stranger standing outside my door. I put my hand on my Smith and Wesson .38 in my purse just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time I would have to use it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The stranger spots me and opens his mouth to say, “P.I Darling, I assume?”

I hesitantly nod my head and he continues talking with a stare that could curdle milk, “If you value yours and your nephew’s life, you will immediately stop this silly little investigation of yours and tell your client that his brother is dead.”

Before I could get any words out, he pushes past us and runs downstairs in a flash before I knew what was happening. Charles and I look at each other totally confused. This isn’t the first time I’ve been threatened and it’s the reason why I carry a gun wherever I go. I unlock my door and we go in. I sit down at my desk to log how many hours I’ve spent on this case in my logbook. Charles is gathering his belongings into his bag. I ask him if he’s ready to walk back to my apartment and he nods. We lock up my office once more and take the 15-minute walk to my place. By the time we get there, it’s already 6 o’clock and that means supper time.

Author's Note

Footnote: Nonni is Italian for 'Little Grandma'