CONNIE COBBLER:
TOY DETECTIVE
By
James DeSalvo
CONNIE COBBLER: TOY DETECTIVE
©2010 James DeSalvo
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied or reproduced in any form without the express written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, and any incidents or locales is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9829171-0-7
DOOZIE PRESS
FISHKILL, NY 12524
WWW.CONNIECOBBLER.COM
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following people who have helped this book become a reality: Sveegie, Gilbert, Penny Schouten, John DeSalvo, John Winphrie, (MCIYN), Arnie and Rufus, Jim and Jean Horend, Michael O’Shea, Andrew Clark, Mark Gyseck, Kevin Strauss, Greg Vogt, Lucinda H Browne, Jeremy Reppy, Laura J Mintz, Christina House, and Alex Haiken. Without your support, none of this would have been possible.
Thanks to my editor. Donna Croshier, you have been a lifesaver.
Special thanks to Barbara Lacey. You are the official president of the Connie Cobbler: Toy Detective Fan Club!
For Shmoopie
Chapter One
Toy Town is usually a nice place to live. Toys from all over the world come to live and work here. They meet, fall in love, and sometimes have little toys of their own. A nice happy place. Sometimes the toys aren't so nice. That's when I get involved. My name is Connie Cobbler. I'm a toy. I'm a detective.
I don't work for the police. I do private investigations. Usually I'm hired to find a missing toy or locate deadbeat dolls who haven't made payments on their cars. Other times I have to get rough. I know what you're thinking. 'Connie, you're a soft stuffed toy. What harm could you do?' Go ahead. Think that way. A lot of toys do. That's when I surprise them. I didn't spend all those years hanging around with action figures and not pick up a thing or two.
I remember once I was searching for a lost dog. The dog wasn't that valuable, but the diamond-studded collar around his neck was. His owner was a doll who had a lot of money and even more time. You've probably seen her blonde hair in the papers and on TV. It was Brenda Bombshell.
Brenda came to my office one sunny day last fall. I was sitting at my desk pouring myself a glass of root beer when she came in. I recognized her instantly.
"How can I help you?" I asked as I took a sip of my root beer.
"I'm sure you know who I am,” she answered. I saw from her eyes that she had been crying.
"No, ma'am, I can't say that I do," I lied. Usually, I hate lying, but in my business, it can keep you alive. "What's the matter?" I gestured for her to sit down in the chair across from my desk.
She sat and said nothing for a few moments, gathering her thoughts it seemed like. Finally she spoke, her voice cracking as she tried to keep the sobs inside her. "My name is Brenda Bombshell. My...my dog is gone. I took him for a drive this morning and now I can't find him!"
I pushed a box of tissues towards her as she started to weep. She waved me off and pulled a silk handkerchief out of her purse. The handkerchief probably cost more money than I make in a month. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes and continued with her story.
"Foo-foo and I stopped at Bearington's to pick up an outfit for a party tonight," she said.
"Foo-foo?
"My dog," she snapped. "I went into the changing room to try on a dress which I had made for the occasion. I left Foo-foo out with the employees."
She took out a picture of her dog and handed it to me. Toy poodle. It figured. The dog was wearing a diamond and ruby encrusted collar. It looked expensive.
"Why didn't you take Foo-foo into the dressing room with you?"
She gave me a look that would have stopped a truck. "They always take care of my dog when I shop. They'd better if they want to keep my business."
I was beginning to get the impression that this was a doll who was used to pushing toys around to get what she wanted. She'd better be careful, or I was going to be pushing her out the door.
"I have a question," I said. "Why did you come here? Why didn't you just go to the police?"
"I did. I spoke to a Captain Cuddles. He rudely told me that the police didn't handle missing dog cases. However, he did recommend you. He said you were the best at finding missing loved ones."
Captain Cuddles and I weren't what you'd call friends. We didn't hate each other. He was a good detective and a great teddy bear, but we were both stubborn and had crossed paths on a lot of cases.
"Okay, ma'am, I'll take your case, but we'll need to set a few rules. First, I get $500 a day."
"Five hundred! That's ridiculous! I'll give you $300 and not a penny more."
I stood up and opened the door. "Have a nice day."
"Wait! Alright, I'll pay. What else?"
"Second, you need to turn off your attitude. I'm not one of your servants."
Brenda looked like she had been slapped in the face. "How dare you? No one talks to me like that!"
"Then I guess Foo-foo will have to find his own way home." The door was still open and I pointed out into the hallway.
"Anything else?" she sighed in defeat.
"Yes, I'll report to you at your house every night at six o’clock to let you know what I've found out."
She stood up and turned to leave. As she was walking out, she stopped suddenly. "You may not know who I am," she smiled, "but I remember you."
I felt my cheeks grow red. "What do you mean?"
"Come now, Miss Cobbler. Every toy remembers you. Did you think you could just walk away from all of that fame and fortune and no one would give it another thought?"
"Get out,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
"Why did you stop?" she continued. "Connie Cobbler and the Pastry Pals. You had a TV show, tee shirts, even a movie. What happened?"
"I'll see you tonight at six o'clock," I said as I rushed her out the door. I slammed it shut and tried my best not to cry.
Chapter 2
I pulled myself together and jumped in my car. I decided to start my search for Foo-foo at Bearington's Department Store. Bearington's was the kind of place where there were no price tags on the merchandise. Either you could afford it or you shopped at the discount store down the street.
I pulled up in front of Bearington's around two o'clock. As I headed for the door of the store, the doorman stopped me. "You can't park that pile of junk there. Respectable toys shop here." He was made of blocks, the kind that snaps together. "You'll have to move your car."
I went to move around him. He poked me in the shoulder. Big mistake.
After I rearranged a few of his blocks, I walked into the store. I'd been here before in happier times. It was still as grand as I remembered it. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The smells of perfume and money tinged the air. I used to like places like this. Now they just bring me down.
I spotted a large sign at the back of the store that read Finest Fall Fashions for Females. What alliteration. I headed back there and hoped to find some answers.
The employees were whispering in panicked tones. I tried to catch what they were saying, but they shut up once they saw me. One of them, a toy with a pull string in her back, came over to me. She reached behind her back and pulled her string. "May I help you, ma'am?" She looked worried, but not enough to hide her contempt of my less than designer clothes.
"Yes,” I answered. "My name is Connie Cobbler. I'm working for Brenda Bombshell. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
She pulled her string and said "Oh...uh...Miss Cobbler, is it? I'm afraid I don't know much of anything." She turned and gave a look of help to an overstuffed elephant in a too
tight suit. He came marching over, his steps lighter than I expected for a toy of his size.
"I'm Mr. Bobo, head of this department. How may I be of assistance?" trumpeted the elephant. He smelled like peanuts.
"Well, as I just told your salesclerk, I'm doing an investigation for Brenda Bombshell and I'd like a few questions answered."
"Of course! Anything to help a valued client like Miss Bombshell. Everyone here at Bearington's will be glad to assist you." He clumsily pulled something out of his pocket with his trunk and held it out to me. "Peanut?"
"No, thank you. Just answers. What time did Miss Bombshell arrive this morning?" I asked.
"Oh, I'd say around ten. Does that sound about right to you, Agnes?" Mr. Bobo asked the salesclerk. She reached around and pulled her string. "Um...yes, sir. Ten o'clock."
"Was anyone else with her?" I asked.
"Just her dog," said the elephant.
"And her driver," chimed in Agnes.
"That's enough, Agnes. Why don't you go and see if you can go help customers?" said Mr. Bobo with a forced smile. Agnes quickly left and went back to the other salesclerks. "What other questions might you have? We really are rather busy here," he said pointing with his trunk at the nearly empty Finest Fall Fashions for Females department.
I knew that I wasn't going to get any straight answers out of the pachyderm. My best bet was to get to the salesclerks. "No, Mr. Bobo. I'm just going to look around and see what I can find."
"Well, please don't disturb my customers or employees. Very busy indeed!" he said.
"Of course not. I'm sure we both want to help Miss Bombshell find her dog." I smiled as Mr. Bobo marched away.
I quietly walked up to the salesclerks to try to hear what they were whispering about again. "...if her driver didn't make such a racket..." "...poor dog..." "...collar must have cost a fortune..."
"Excuse me," I interrupted. They all jumped.
"Please don't scare us like that!" Agnes said as she released her string. "You could give a toy a heart attack."
"Sorry, I'm just curious. What kind of racket did her driver make?"
"Well," started an older video game cartridge, "he came swinging through here like he owned the place."
"Swinging? He's some kind of monkey?" I asked
"Gorilla. Largest stuffed gorilla I've ever seen. He knocked over most of the suit racks in Mostly Modern Menswear. It took me over two hours to clean it up," complained the video game.
"That's right about the time Miss Bombshell's dog disappeared," added Agnes. "We were all watching Foo-foo when we heard the crashing. We ran to see what had happened. When we came back...," she stopped and pulled her string again, "Foo-foo was gone."
"Where was the driver by then?"
"He was swinging out of this department," said a checkerboard whose nametag read Clyde. "He swung up onto the chandelier and then out the door. It looked like he had a bag in his hand."
A bag. "Did he come in with the bag?" I asked.
"Not that I noticed. I was spending too much time putting Miss Bombshell's dress choices back on the rack," Clyde answered.
"I thought she was having a dress made."
"Goodness, no!" the video game interrupted. "She hasn't had a dress made in a while. We still treat her like royalty even though she can only afford to buy off the rack."
The gears in my head started to turn. Brenda Bombshell lied about having a dress made. Plenty of dolls lie, so what made Bombshell any different? Money, that's what. Bombshell was used to getting the best. Now, it appeared, she was taking a step down the financial ladder.
"Did she buy a dress?"
"Um...she didn't really buy one," said Clyde.
"Shhhh!" Agnes whispered.
"Oh, she'll find out eventually. When Miss Bombshell found out her dog was gone, she made such a scene. We all tried to quiet her. Mr. Bobo gave her a dress to calm her down," Clyde said.
"Did it work?"
"Shhhh!" Agnes whispered again.
"I should say so," continued Clyde. "Miss Bombshell walked out of here almost as if nothing had happened. Mr. Bobo swore us all to secrecy. Bad publicity and all that."
I now had a few puzzle pieces to work with: swinging stuffed gorillas, free dresses, and a doll buying off the rack. I wasn't sure what it added up to, but I was sure it was trouble.
Chapter Three
As I drove away from Bearington's, I took a quick look in my rear view mirror. The doorman was finally putting himself back in order. I smiled, thinking that it would be a long time before he ever poked another toy.
Something was bothering me. Brenda Bombshell had gone out of her way to make sure that I knew she was getting handmade clothes. She even flashed that fancy handkerchief back in my office. She wanted me to think of her as rich. As far as I knew, she was. She was usually in the news or on TV, attending some party or charity event. I remembered seeing her on one of the entertainment shows the month before. The host had made some comment about Brenda wearing the same outfit to two events in the same week.
That's when something clicked. I picked up the phone and called Action Jim.
Action Jim was everything his name implied. He had climbed mountains, been a spy, joined the army, and even flew a rocket to the moon. That's why I still had trouble when he answered his phone at his new job.
"Action Jim’s Accounting Firm. How can I help you?"
"A.J., it's Connie."
"Connie! Great to hear your voice. When are you coming over for dinner? Mary and I have been dying to see you," he said with a smile in his voice.
I hated to cut him off, but I needed information. "A.J., how good are you with tracking down financial records?"
"I don't mean to brag...actually, I do, HA HA, but I am the one who developed the new program that traces all of the money in Toy Town. It runs on a mathematical principle..."
"I need you do a big favor for me. Can you check on the bank accounts of Brenda Bombshell?" I pleaded.
A.J. whistled. "Brenda Bombshell? Wow, that's huge. You know her? She's gorgeous!"
"And you're married," I reminded him. "Can you do it for me? I'm working on a case for her."
The phone went quiet for a moment. "A.J.? Are you still there?"
"Yeah, but that's a toy's personal information. I have no problem checking out corporations."
"And I had no problem dragging you out of a burning car two years ago when you were a race car driver." I hated to bring that up, but I was getting desperate.
"Okay," he conceded. "When do you need it?"
"Soon. I'm on my way over to your office now. I just have to make one quick stop." I hung up.
One of the clerks at Bearington's had said something that might mean something. "Collar must have cost a fortune...,” one of them had mentioned. Only one place in Toy Town made expensive dog collars. That was Snookum's Fine Jewelers. They catered to every whimsical taste.
It was nearly three-thirty by the time I arrived at Snookum's. Traffic this time of day was horrible. Walking would have been faster.
Snookum's Fine Jewelers didn't have a doorman like Bearington's so I wouldn't have to deal with any blockhead. That didn't mean it was going to be a cakewalk once I got in. The toys who worked in this store were used to dealing only with the rich and famous. I had to do my best to blend in.
I wasn't wearing my fanciest clothes that day, but that wouldn't be a problem. I had on a tan trench coat and a fedora hat, the standard uniform in my profession, but I did have something that other private investigators didn't. I had some fame. Brenda Bombshell had reminded me of that, much as I wanted to forget it. It was time to use it.
I walked into the store and forced a smile to my lips. My cheeks became rosier. I took off the hat I almost always wore and let my brown curls flow out. Time to see if anyone remembered Connie Cobbler.
It took only a minute of looking at the overpriced jewelry before a clown came over to me from behind the counter. His red curly hair distracted fr
om the jewels, but the expensive suit he wore told me he had taste.
"May I be of service, madam?" he said curtly.
"I hope so. My friend Brenda Bombshell bought a diamond dog collar here some time ago. I'd love to get one just like it for my puppy."
"You know Miss Bombshell?" he said with a hint of disbelief.
"We're very good friends," I lied for the second time that day.
"You...you look familiar," he said, recognition creeping into his eyes. "It is you! You're Connie Cobbler!"
Fame can pay off. "Yes." I tried to act humble. "Are you a fan?"
"I loved watching Connie Cobbler and the Pastry Pals. It was such a fun show. May I ask why it ended?
"Per...personal reasons," I stammered. I always have trouble when toys ask me about that show. I had to lock away the pain and continue. I was on a job for a client.
"I'm sorry, Miss Cobbler. I didn't mean to pry. Just curious," he said, taken aback.
I had to keep him happy. I needed to find out how much Bombshell had paid for that dog collar. "I didn't mean to be rude. I'm always happy to meet a fan. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..."
"Bubbles. Bosworth Bubbles," he said, his smile almost as bright as the diamonds on display. "I really am such a huge fan!! I've seen all of your shows at least ten times each. And the movie! FABULOUS!! I even keep a photo of you and the Pastry Pals under the counter. It brightens my day."
"Thank you, Mr. Bubbles," I said.
"Please, call me Bubbles. All of my friends do. Oh, I didn't mean to imply you were my friend...I...oh,...um...I just put my big size 28 foot in my mouth!!!" He started to make a sad clown face. There's no toy harder to get information out of than a sad clown.
"It's quite alright, Bubbles. Please call me Connie. All of my friends call me that!"
Bubbles' smile grew literally from ear to ear. "Imagine. Connie Cobbler and I are friends!" he said a bit too loudly. "What can I do for you, Connie?"
"I was wondering how much Brenda Bombshell paid for her dog collar. I was looking for one just like it for my puppy," I repeated.
"Ah, yes. I remember that collar very well. Three large diamonds and six small rubies. Quite lovely! It cost a small fortune. She paid $750,000."
"That's a nice chunk of change," I said quietly.
Connie Cobbler Page 1
