Private Dick!; Chapter Nine

The following may be grammatically incorrect, to highlight the

main character's lack of smarts! 

Chapter Nine:

     My investigative business was not going very well; in fact, it wasn’t going at all. Havelock Investigations was would be taking it in the shorts, except it’s not wearing any, because they cost money; money I just don’t have! Things had gotten so bad, I’d decided to take on a few odd jobs while I waited for clients.

 

     I was cleaning up the yard of a wealthy woman, dreading the rest of the day’s work it would take to pick up the branches and leaves blown all over by the windstorm last night, and trying to figure out what how many boxes of macaroni and cheese I'd be able to buy, when I heard a car squealing away from out in front of the yard, and a few seconds later, I heard a crash from inside the back door, from where I was working in the back yard. I tried to ignore the noise, as once again I thought of all the work that lay ahead, but I just had to see what the crashing was. At this point, I hadn’t connected the car speeding away with the crashing noise. Mrs. Snoot (that was the name I had given Mrs. Davis) had probably dropped her tea tray or something, but being a curious dick, I had to find out. I climbed the stairs onto the porch, and knocked on the back door.

     “Mrs. Davis, is everything okay?” No answer. “Mrs. Davis?” Still no answer. I tried the knob; it was open, so I went in. “Hello, Mrs. Davis?” Nothing but silence, at first, then I heard a noise like a person trying to talk with a pillow over their mouth, inside a cotton bag. I looked around the quiet house, and notice a shut door; the pathetic mumbling seemed to be coming from behind it. I turned the knob, the door swung open, and there was Mrs. Davis, bound and gagged, and red-in-the-face with anger. I rushed over to her; it looked to me like she hadn’t ended up this way by herself. I pulled the gag out of her mouth, and she started right in,

     “My jewelry! the a silver-haired lady yelled. “And where were you? How could you not notice? And you call yourself a private eye!”

     I seriously considered putting the gag back in, but answered, “Sorry Mrs. Davis.”

     She then said, “Well, what’s done is done, I'm just glad I managed to reach the sidetable, and upend it. My jewelry is still missing. I don’t want to rely on you to get it back, but you’re here, and I’m not familiar with any other private detective, so, against my better judgment, I’d like to hire you to get it back.”

     Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence! “Don’t worry, Mrs. Davis, I'll look into it.”

 

     I wasn’t sure where to start, so I began with questioning her neighbors as to whether anyone had seen the car I’d heard roar away while I was in the backyard. It may have just been a drunken teenager in his parents’ borrowed car, but I had the feeling it was connected. I knocked on the neighbor to her left’s front door, and a spindly-looking spinster opened the door.

     “Yes?” she said, sounding like she hadn’t spoken to another human being in 20 years.

     “Yes, I was wondering if you heard a car peel out and race away from Mrs. Davis’s house?”

     “Why, is Mrs. Davis alright?”

     Someone tied her up and gagged her, but never to fear, her mouth still works, unfortunately! “She’s fine, but she had some jewelry stolen.”

     “Oh, poor Mrs. Davis, and for something like this to happen to such a nice lady!”

     Nice wasn’t the first word that popped into my head, but I only answered, “That’s why I’m checking with you to see if you saw the car, or heard anything?”

     “Why, yes, I looked out the window just as a delivery van went screeching by.”

     A Delivery Van? “Did you happen to see if there was a name?”

     “No, no name, but it did say “Walker’s Flowers” on the side.”

     I briefly wondered if this woman might be under psychiatric care, and thanked her, after declining politely her offer of coming in for homemade rhubarb pie, I hate rhubarb pie, and walked back to Mrs. Davis’s house. I asked her if the name meant anything to her.

     “I should say so; I ordered a dozen roses for my grandson’s graduation, that’s another story; the boy is a lump, how he managed to graduate, with his pea-brain, is a wonder!”

     “As much as I’d love to hear about your slope-head grandson, you were going to tell how you know Walker’s Flowers?”

     “Oh, of course; like I said, I ordered a dozen roses for my grandson’s graduation, and the brought carnations, as if he’d won a horse race! I tell you, it’s so hard to find competent help now da--”

     “Mrs. Davis, Walker’s Flowers?”

     “Yes, of course; so anyway, they brought the wrong flowers, so I refused to pay, and that’s when the young man knocked me down and tied me up!”

     Wait a minute! “Mrs. Davis, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

     “Because you didn’t ask; and I just wanted to see how long it took you to ask the obvious.”

 

     As I pulled open the front door to Walker’s Flowers, a chiming bell announced my presence, like a high-mountain goat in a field of clover, and a bespectacled older man in a red cardigan sweater looked up from the newspaper he had splayed out on the desk in front of him, and I quickly saw that it was the living section, before I replied,

     “Yes, I was wondering if your shop made a delivery to a Mrs. Davis earlier today?”

     “Davis, you say? Well, let’s see here,” and he opened a notebook cleverly entitled, “Deliveries”.

     “Yes, one dozed carnations were delivered there by Edward.”

     They were supposed to be roses! “Edward, he was the delivery person?”

     “No, Edward offered to drop it by on his way home. He’s my son.”

     Well Mr. Walker, your son is a violent thief! “I’ll need to speak to him.”

     “Why, what’s this about?” asked Mr. Walker.

     “I just want to see if he saw anything.”

     “Saw what?”

     “I’d rather just talk to him first.”

     “Certainly; I’ll call him at home and have him come back in.”

 

     The bell over the door chimed, and a young loser-looking kid slouched his way over. “Yeah Pop?”

     “Yeah, Edward, this is, is...err--I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

     “Butch Havelock; did you make a delivery to a Mrs. Davis’s home today?”

     He looked around wildly and turned to run, but I grabbed a shovel from the ground where they were displayed, and threw it, hitting him in the legs, and sending him sprawling. He crumpled in a heap on the floor, and Mr. Walker shouted in surprise,

     “What the hell did you do that for? Edward, Edward, are you hurt?”

     “Your loving son here, tied up Mrs. Davis and stole her jewelry.”

     “No way; tell him you didn’t have anything to do with this!”

     Edward struggled to regain his feet, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re--” As he was professing his innocence, a ruby broach fell from his jacket, where it sat gleaming in the rays of the overhead light. Edward watched this, and said,

     “Oh, okay, I did it, but talk about a b***h! I’m not sorry; I figured she could afford it!”

     “While I agree with the first part, you still stole from, and assaulted a woman.”

     Mr. Walker chimed in with, “How could you, Edward?”

 

     After the police had hauled Edward away, I went to tell Mrs. Davis the crime was solved, and she rewarded me with, “Well, I see that even you, when you’re given who did it, managed to solve it.”

     I thought how good it would feel to deck her with one of Mr. Walkers’ shovels, and replied only, “Well, I figure you owe me one day’s wage.”

     “One day; you were only gone an hour, and that’s all I’ll give you.”

     Edward Walker didn’t know how accurate his descriptive powers were about Mrs. Davis!