by Steve Laracy
“No, I’ve been married for thirty, but ten of them have been great,” Phil joked.
“Don’t let Phyllis hear you say that,” cautioned Doc. “She might not find it funny.”
“She says the same about me,” Phil said, “except she reduces it to three good years.” He grabbed a handful of pretzels and continued, “Phyllis is over at Bert and Millie’s house—that’s Sam’s parents and Felicity’s brother and sister-in-law—for game night.”
“I got an invitation, but came here instead,” I said.
“Well, glad you made it over,” Phil said, and then, in mock anger, “Can’t a couple of thirsty men get a beer around here?”
Frank, who was down the end of the bar talking to Silas, said, “Hold your horses, Phil. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Frank Sinatra sang “Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing.”
By the time Frank made his way to our end of the bar, we were listening to Nat King Cole’s version of “Stardust.” After I was introduced to Frank, I made the mistake of asking what kind of beer he was serving.
“We’ve got two kinds,” he said. “We’ve got Fromova beer and we’ve got Somotha beer.”
“I’ve never heard of them—are they local brands?” I asked.
“Yeah,” replied Frank in a raspy voice. “One’s brewed by a fella fromova in Bell City, and the other is brewed by somotha guy in another town around here.”
Bing Crosby sang “Moonlight Serenade.”
I ordered the Fromova, which was served in a diner glass. Surprisingly, it was cold and drinkable. As I drank, I asked Ben about the old gent talking to Silas.
“That’s Lucky O’Leary,” Ben explained. “He’s a miner who’s been around here for about a year. He lives out in the desert and he’s searching for the Lost Dutchman’s mine.”
“The Lost Dutchman’s mine?” I was confused. “Isn’t that supposed to be in southern Arizona?”
“Yes,” Ben replied, “but he’s using a map he bought at a souvenir shop in Arizona, and the copy he got was a misprint. The lettering was added upside down, so Lucky has been reading the map upside down. He determined that the X on the map was the starting point, and he ended up in Cordoba.”
“Judging by his appearance, he doesn’t seem to be too lucky,” I countered.
Phil said, “He’s called Lucky the way a big man is nicknamed Tiny and a bald man is called Curly.”
This seemed like enough of an explanation to Ben, so he changed the subject and asked how I liked things over at the boardinghouse. I told him I liked the accommodations and the food, as he mentioned, was outstanding.
“What do you think of your fellow boarders?” Doc asked.
“I’m not sure. Costello seems a little secretive, and Collins has some interesting views on lightning. Dobbs seems like a nice guy.”
“Fred C. Dobbs. He’s a strange one,” Phil said. “His father was a big Humphrey Bogart fan and named Fred after Bogart’s character in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Fred C. Dobbs. The C doesn’t stand for anything.”
Ben picked up the story. “He was a boxer in his earlier years, known as Kid Caramel. He had a lot of fights and won a few but never made it to the big bouts. His punch didn’t pack much of a wallop. He was great at blocking punches. Unfortunately, he blocked most of them with either his face or his midsection.”
It was Doc’s turn. I was beginning to feel like I was talking to the Flagg sisters again. “Still, he was a well-built, good-looking fighter. One writer described him as Sugar Ray Robinson without the talent. His last fight was a fifteen-rounder with a middleweight contender. The Kid was knocked down eleven times and got back up ten. He never entered the ring again.”
Phil continued. “He came out pretty well, except he now has stretches, when he’s been drinking, where he thinks he’s a character from a Humphrey Bogart movie. It started with Fred C. Dobbs, but now he’s developed a whole repertoire of Bogart characters.
“Some nights he’s Duke Mantee or Charlie Allnut or Rick from Casablanca or Captain Queeg, playing with ball bearings and complaining about missing strawberries. He might be Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe, but those two are hard to distinguish one from another. If he comes in tonight, you may get a demonstration.”
As if on cue, Dobbs walked in and took a seat in a booth near the jukebox. He said hello to everyone as he passed. Frank drew a beer and brought it over to him with a bowl of pretzels. He was on his second beer and hadn’t said a word since he sat down when a stunning blonde wearing a short, tight skirt and equally tight blouse and high heels walked in. She headed toward us. The other patrons greeted her with “Hi, Leo,” as she walked by, except for Dobbs, who muttered, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” Suddenly the Kid was in Casablanca and the tavern was Rick’s Café Americain.
Without losing a step, Leo headed over to the Kid’s booth and sat down opposite him.
“Hello, Rick,” she said, keeping him in character. “It’s been a long time. Paris, I think it was.”
“I remember every detail,” Rick said. “The Germans wore gray and you wore blue.”
“It’s good to see you again,” Leo said as she got up and walked over to us.
Ben introduced her as Doc’s receptionist.
“You’re the prettiest Leo I ever met,” I flirted.
She smiled and said, “My name’s Leonora, but I wasn’t fond of being called Nora, so Leo it is.”
She then walked over to Doc and gave him a kiss that showed she was a great deal more than just his receptionist.
“Let’s get a booth where we can be alone,” she said to Doc, and to me as she was leaving, “Nice to meet you, Milo.”
Doc stopped as he passed me and leaned in. “If you get a chance tomorrow, drop into my office. I have a little mystery myself that might be right up your alley.”
Another lost dog, I suspected. I told Doc I would try to squeeze him in between my visit to the Flagg sisters and a long side trip to Boredom. Doc chuckled and walked away with Leo. Looking at the two, I said, “Doc’s a lucky guy.”
“Sure is,” said Ben. “Leo is a heck of a receptionist.”
“That’s not what I was thinking about,” I said.
“I know,” replied Ben. “By the way, in addition to being his receptionist, Leo is also Doc’s wife?”
Echoing my thoughts, Dean Martin sang, “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” on the jukebox.
“That’s not what I want to hear,” piped the Kid from his booth. His words seemed to be directed at me. “You know what I want to hear, Sam. Play it.”
Thinking back to the movie, I said, “I don’t think I remember it, boss.”
“You played it for her, you can play it for me.”
Phil leaned in and whispered, “Drop a dime in the jukebox. E-7. There’s change in the tray on the sill next to the jukebox.”
I did as instructed. Soon the room filled with the sounds of Dooley Wilson singing “As Time Goes By.” Frank brought the Kid another beer and he sat silently listening to the music.
It was now getting late in the Cordoba time zone, about 9 p.m., and the bar was emptying out. Doc and Leo got up from their booth. Before leaving, Leo walked over to the Kid’s table and said to him, “We’ll always have Paris.”
The Kid replied, “That’s my line.”
“I know,” replied Leo. She then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and walked back to the door. As the Kid watched her leave, a single tear ran down his cheek. As I watched Leo leave, I saw a matching tear on her face.
“That’s enough for me, also,” said Ben, lightening up the mood. “If I stay up too late, I’ll sleep right through my nap tomorrow.”
Phil also got up to leave, so I joined them. I said my good-byes and walked over to Fred’s booth. “C’mon, Kid. It’s time to go home.”
He got up, dropped a dollar on the table, and we walked out together.
Not much was said on the way back to the boar
dinghouse. After we climbed up the stairs, the Kid headed to his room and I headed to mine. As we both were about to enter our rooms, the Kid hollered across the railing.
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
> CHAPTER 9
A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR
The next day I awoke earlier than usual. I was a late sleeper in San Diego, but here I was awake and alert at seven. Maybe it was the fresh desert air coming in through the window or maybe it was the smell of bacon and eggs and fresh coffee wafting up the stairway, but I was up, dressed, and downstairs sitting at the dining room table in ten minutes.
Costello and Silas Collins were also waiting for Felicity, and she didn’t keep us waiting, entering with a big platter of bacon and eggs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said. “Breakfast is served. You can have your eggs any way you like them, as long as you like them scrambled. If you want them any other way, you can take a walk down to the diner. Dig in and I’ll be right back with the toast.”
After a little small talk and a lot of breakfast, everyone arose from the table.
“I reckon I’ll head out and see if I can sell a few lightning rods,” said Silas as he turned toward the front door.
“I shall also take the opportunity this fine day provides to take a stroll,” Costello said. “I’ll see you later.”
I was in no hurry, so I again helped Felicity with the cleanup.
“We’re getting to be like an old married couple, doing the dishes together like this,” Felicity said. “We better be careful, or people will start talking.”
I laughed and replied, “From my observations, once people are married, that’s when they stop doing the dishes together and find separate activities to get away from each other.”
“That’s a pretty cynical view of marriage right there,” Felicity came back. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“No, just from using my keen observational skills when I’m around married couples.”
The dishes were finished, so we headed to the parlor to have coffee and continue the conversation.
“I don’t know who you base your theory on, but most of the married couples around here are very happy together,” Felicity said. “Sure, they have their arguments and differences, but they enjoy being around each other. My brother Bert and his wife Millie have been married for ten years and have two lovely children, and they still act like newlyweds.”
“Speaking of Bert and Millie, how was game night?” I asked, changing the subject, since I think I had hit a nerve. “Did you go for a game of Monopoly or just break out the old Ouija board?”
Felicity frowned. “Go ahead and be sarcastic if you like, but everyone enjoyed it. And we ended up playing Clue since Sam insists on showing off her detective skills since you arrived in town. She won most of the games, with Phyllis Childers coming in second.”
“That’s Phil’s wife, isn’t it? I was down at the tavern with Phil last night.” I was tempted to remark about married couples having separate activities, but decided not to venture again into those waters, which seemed to be shark-infested. “By the way, Doc Fletcher and his wife seem to be quite a couple.”
“There is an age difference and they look mismatched, but Doc and Leo are one of those happily married couples I was referring to earlier. She acts a little older than her age and he acts younger than his, so they sort of meet in the middle.”
“How did they meet?”
“She’s been his patient since she was a little girl, then she became his receptionist when she got older. After Doc’s first wife died of cancer several years ago, the relationship blossomed into romance.”
“Speaking of Doc Fletcher, I told him I would drop by to see him today. It seems he has something he wants my professional opinion on.”
“I can’t think of why Doc would need the services of a detective”—she said the word detective as if her mouth were full of dirt— “but if you need directions, he’s on Third Street, the next street over. Turn right as you go out the door, make another right at the corner, then make a left onto Third Street and his office is about halfway down the block.”
I figured now was as good a time as any, so I got up to leave. I wasn’t sure what I would do for the rest of the day until a remark from Felicity reminded me I had plans.
“The Tri-County Fair is in full swing if you need something to do,” she said.
“That’s right, Ben invited me to join him. Will you be going?” I asked as I headed for the door.
“I may go later with Bert and Millie and the kids. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
The afternoon heat had not arrived yet and the temperature was comfortable for a morning walk. As I strolled down the sidewalk, I heard footsteps running behind me. I turned around to see Sam gaining on me.
When she approached, she slowed down and said, out of breath, “I was afraid I’d missed you. Mom insisted that I eat all my breakfast and help with the dishes before I left the house.”
“You needn’t have worried,” I replied. “Your Aunt Felicity insisted that I do the same.”
“What are we doing today?” Sam asked.
“I am headed over to Doc Fletcher’s office, but don’t you have anywhere you have to be?”
“Nope. School’s out and I don’t have to be at the store until noon.”
“Well, you’re welcome to tag along.”
As we walked Sam asked if Mr. Costello had said anything about her following him yesterday. I lied and told her Costello hadn’t mentioned it.
“I guess I shadowed him pretty good then,” she said proudly.
“I guess you did,” I lied again.
Doc’s office turned out to be in his house, a pleasant-looking older building guarded by shade trees out front. His waiting room was to the right, off the hall. The waiting room was empty when we entered except for Leo, who was behind the desk at the far end of the room rifling through some papers. Other than Leo, there was nothing remarkable in the room. There were about a dozen straight-backed chairs for patients, and the walls of the room were covered by medical charts and several Norman Rockwell prints in plastic frames. The tables were stacked with the usual supply of magazines.
Leo looked up as we entered. “Hi, Sam. And Milo. Nice to see you again. Did you get Fred home yesterday? We saw you leaving after we left.”
“Yes, we managed to find the boardinghouse with little trouble.”
“That was nice of you to take Fred home. Sometimes I worry about him, but he always seems to find his way. But what brings you here? I hope you’re feeling all right.”
“He’s fine,” Sam chimed in. “We’re here to see Doc about some detective work.”
“I can’t imagine why Doc would need detective work,” Leo smiled, “but have a seat and Doc will see you. He’s with a patient right now.”
We sat down and I picked up a magazine from the table to kill time. I discovered that the Reader’s Digest I’d picked up was dated 1957, even older than most I’ve seen in doctors’ offices. After reading an ad and deciding I wasn’t interested in purchasing a Kelvinator, I searched for a more current magazine among the pile, but all the other magazines—with various titles, some now extinct—were of the same vintage.
We were only seated for a few minutes when the door behind Leo’s desk opened and Doc walked out with Silas Collins. Silas had a bandage wrapped around one of his fingers.
Doc saw us and came over, touching Leo affectionately on the shoulder on the way past. Silas stopped at the desk to talk to Leo.
“Thanks for stopping by,” the doctor said. “Come into my office and we can discuss my problem.”
“Can I come too, Doc?” asked Sam. “I’m Milo’s assistant.”
Doc laughed and said, “I guess so, so long as you’re Milo’s assistant, but promise to keep what you hear confidential. I wouldn’t want it to get out all over town.”
“Cross my h
eart and hope to die,” Sam said, giving the appropriate cross as we headed for Doc’s office.
We entered through the door behind Leo’s desk into a narrow hallway that ran to the back of the building, with three doorways on the left. The first room was the examination room, which I could view through the open door. The second door, also open, led to a small supply closet. Doc’s office was the last room on the left. It was furnished with a plain-looking desk and chair, a couple of visitor’s chairs matching the chairs in the waiting room on the opposite side of the desk from Doc’s chair, and a well-worn sofa against the wall on the left. Next to the sofa was an end table stacked high with more old magazines.
Doc motioned us to the visitor’s seats and sat in his swivel chair and leaned back. After a little small talk, he said, “I guess you could tell by the looks of the waiting room and my office that I have accumulated quite a collection of magazines.”
“I did notice there were quite a few copies of older issues,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve been collecting magazines ever since I opened my office many years ago, first as reading material for my patients, and then I got into more serious collecting. Nothing current but copies of old magazines from the forties through the sixties—Life, Look, The Saturday Evening Post, Reader’s Digest, TV Guide, magazines like that, some of which went out of business a long time ago. I’ve obtained complete copies of several issues over the years, but instead of keeping them locked up where they are of no use, I leave them in the waiting room for the patients to read. I have a whole collection in the supply room next door, and I rotate the copies I put out in the waiting room.
“Well, sir,” he continued, “I straighten out the issues at the end of the day. Last Tuesday when I was stacking the magazines in the waiting room, I noticed that two of the issues were missing. I always place ten copies out so I can keep track and change them every month. On Monday there were ten issues. On Tuesday there were only eight.”
“Were you able to identify the specific issues that were missing?” I asked Doc.
He nodded. “One was the issue of Look and the other was a TV Guide, both with December 1954 dates. I put magazines of the same time period out.”
