Private Dick!; Chapter Three

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Three:

     There’s a 36DD hole in my heart this morning; Candace is gone; taken her pontoons to a different lake; taken her heaving amusement chest diversions to another carnival, and I’m left with the incredible 36DD-less heart for company. I keep telling myself that there’s other fish in the sea, but not too many fish fill out an sweater like Candace. 36 DD; the very thought of them makes me miss those extra inches worse and worse. They say you shouldn’t base your feelings on physical beauty, but 36DD! With those babies, she could fail to add 2 plus 2, and she’s still be a Rhodes Scholar to me; albeit a Rhodes Scholar with gigantic...don’t think about them--err--it, Oren; they’re--err--it’s much too heavy a subject; think about something lighter; like the case you just wrapped up.

     When we’d left Jimmyville, together, we’d ended up here, the city of Chum, a California coastal town, where fishing and fishing were the main sources of income. To tell you the truth, I was too distracted by 36DD’s to much care where we ended up. If Candace had wanted to live in a potato commune, I’d have been fine with that (just what the hell a potato commune is, I have absolutely no idea!) I hung out my shingle on the porch of the house we rented, and ‘Moe Friday Investigations’ was back in business. Of course, I’d changed my name to Butch Havelock; as I didn’t figure advertising our location to Candace’s ex was very smart. I’d been so many different people by now, I was having a little trouble remembering who I was that day. Oren Trough, to Moe Friday, to Butch Havelock; pretty soon, I’d have a different name for every day of the week. Today’s Sunday? Then I must be Ray Fordham today! It’s Thursday today? then I'm Jerry Samuels! Anyway, just before Candace pulled her disappearing heavers trick, a man had come into the office, sat down without being asked, and said,

     “Mr. Havelock, I need your help.

     I cleverly replied, “What seems to be the trouble?”

     “I think my wife is poisoning me!”

     “What makes you think that?”

     “Well, the food she gives me had a funny aftertaste. My name is Earle Fenster, by the way,” he announced, reaching to shake my hand; at least I hoped that’s what he was reaching for!

     “Lots of husband’s say the same thing, and they’re not being poisoned, at least intentionally!”

     “No, this isn’t a reflection on poor cooking; I know the difference. No, this is something sinister!”

     “Okay, let’s say you’re right; why would she be trying to poison you?”

     “Because she stands to inherit my entire fortune on my passing.”

     “And what’s the size of your estate?”

     “Just a three-bedroom; and I wouldn’t exactly call it an estate; it’s just a regular house; and what does the size of my house have to do with anything?”

     “Your estate means your net worth.”

     “Oh; so that would include the 20 million?”

     Looking at the guy, I would be willing to wager a lot that he didn’t have anywhere close to 20 million. “Twenty million dollars? I find that difficult to believe.”

     “Not dollars; pennies.”

     “You’ve got $200,000 dollars in pennies?”

     “Yeah, they’re in bags, stacked in our house; which let me tell you, aint too good for the fitting in of other furniture; feels like you’re got rolls of pennies up your backside!” ”

     I tried to think of something else; the picture that created in my head wasn’t pretty; “Well, Mr. Fenster, I still think you wife’s probably just a lousy cook, but I’ll look into it.”

    

     I bounded up the steps, and knocked on the door of his house. The sooner I could prove that Fenster was an idiot, the sooner I’d get paid. There was no answer on the door, so I figured Mrs. Fenster wasn’t home, and, turning to leave, gave the door a shove without thinking. The door swung open, and I was staring at floor-to-ceiling bags of pennies, with a pathway into the home. Boy, Fenster hadn’t been kidding!

     “Hello, Mrs. Fenster?”

     There was no answer, so I walked a couple of steps into the house, and immediately felt claustrophobic. I don’t do confinement very well. I knew I shouldn’t and probably should have backed out, but all I could think about was to get through this maze of money by walking rapidly forward. After a few more steps, the path widened, until I found myself standing in the kitchen.

     “Mrs. Fenster? I just need to ask you a few questions.” Still, there was no reply. It was then that I spotted a woman and a man talking through the kitchen window, from where they sat on the patio. Again, I knew I shouldn’t have, but I was curious as to what they were talking about. I crept up to the sliding glass door to the patio, and silently slid it open a couple of inches. Immediately, the sound of their voices could be heard.

     “...put the poison in his pancakes this morning, and soon we will be together, my love, and rich!”

     The man chuckled, “Ah, huh, huh, huh; I know it’s only $200,000 worth of these fricking dimes, but when you add in the house, it’s $700,000 dollars!”

     This place worth $500,000? Not a chance! Yeah, shopping was close and it was on a bus line, but still! Then again, it wasCalifornia, and it was on the water, but maybe if this was, oh, I don’t know, say 2012, instead of 1953, I could see it. Now why would I think 2012?

    

     I wasn’t sure what to do now. I’d managed to run the gauntlet back out, but now what? I decided to go to the cops.

     “You claim Mrs. Fenster is poisoning Mr. Fenster? that his food tastes funny? Maybe she’s just a lousy cook.”

     “That was my original thought, but when I went over there to question her, I knocked on the door, and it swung open; then I overheard her telling someone that she had put poison in her husband’s pancakes.”

     “Now, when you say ‘pancakes’, were these whole wheat, blueberry, chocolate chip, or some other kind of pancakes?”

     I just stared at the man, whose nameplate claimed he was Detective Rollins, but someone had obviously kidnapped the real Detective Rollins, and replaced him with this moronic imbecile! “Excuse me?”

     “Oh, never mind,” but I'll check it out.

     

    I can report to Fenster that his wife is now behind bars. Detective Rollins did indeed check it out, and apparently even his moronic brain could see there was something there; although the vial of poison they found while searching her house, may have had something to do with it, and after a few hours of intense interrogation, Mrs. Fenster broke down and confessed. And, more importantly, to Rollins at least, the pancakes turned out to be chocolate chip!

 

     As I was remembering the case, it turns out that distracting yourself by not thinking of her missing 36DD’s wasn't working; 36DD's!