“Has he moved Malcolm?”
“I think that’s a rather personal question you’ll have to ask him”.
“He’s in a shadow, I can’t see him smartie-pants,” Jorja retorted.
“He’s on the balcony below the Bassett’s. Can you see him now Jorgie?”
“Yup, I see him. He’s going in.” Jorja put down her binoculars and looked at Malcolm. “Doesn’t anybody lock their doors?”
Malcolm looked over his shoulder at his apartment door. “We’re good. You watch the lobby door and I’ll continue watching the latest apartment he broke into.”
Jorja and Malcolm watched for about thirty seconds before Jorja impatiently asked, “Okay…any movement?”
“We’ve been through that.”
“There he is!” Jorja shouted, “He’s coming out the lobby door again.”
“He doesn’t look particularly bulky. I don’t think he’s hiding any loot on his person,” Malcolm said.
Jorja retrieved her sketch pad. “This could work, you know, if we intended it as a message to the thief.”
Malcolm watched as the thief in question walked down the road towards the local watering hole called ‘The OK Corral’.
“What phone number are we going to leave on the poster? If I leave my number the cat burglar could use his phone and find out where I live! It’s too scary to contemplate.” Malcolm shivered dramatically.
Jorja laughed and punched him in the shoulder.
“We get a burner cell and use that number,” she said pragmatically.
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Not really.”
“Other suggestions?”
“Tepid tea.”
“What?”
Jorja switched her fluffy slippers for her clogs. “We are going out for a mug of tepid tea at the local bar. This will help us stay awake and we can have an official strategy meeting of the Giant Squid Agency”.
“Do you think you’re ready for prime time in your tartan?” Malcolm asked as he got his rain slicker from the hall closet.
Jorja looked in the mirror; decided camouflage was necessary and put on the slicker. Malcolm, being substantially taller, noticed several flat spots in her short platinum hair. “Let me re-spike you” Malcolm said as he returned with some hair gel.
“Why do you even have this stuff?” Jorja questioned as she looked at Malcolm’s bald head. “Wishful thinking?”
“No, I’m a sucker for coupons. I found one in my weekly flyer from the Shop-Easy and thought I should keep some gel on hand for emergency purposes.”
“Speaking of being prepared, what have you got in Justin?”
Justin was the name of Malcolm’s battered leather case he carried most places.
“Well, I’ve got some oranges; just in case one of us has a low blood sugar incident.” He rummaged around in the center compartment. “Looks like some elastic bands, can opener, straws of varying diameters, about nine pens, some alcohol wipes and oh! You’ll appreciate this Jorja, a fine point sharpie!”
“What are all those papers for?” Jorja asked as she looked at an octopus leg dangling precariously from her outfit. She gave it a small tug and it came off in her hand.
“I always carry a copy of my will with me, just in case, and copies of my credit cards and ID and important phone numbers. And there’s this…” With a flourish, Malcolm pulled out a vacuum packed plastic bag. “A complete change of underwear including dry socks. Do you know, Jorja that this bag is guaranteed to stay dry for up to twenty minutes underwater?”
“Good to know”.
***
“What do you do with the old oranges?” Jorja asked.
They were sitting in the OK Corral, industriously carving their names in the table top. Malcolm flicked out a piece of wood and said, “I dry the rinds for my potpourri and boil up the orange for my cleaning solutions.”
“Ah! They mystery of the citrus scent in your apartment is solved. And, if I’m not mistaken, the mystery of locating the cat burglar has been solved as well. He’s sitting at a table near the dance floor. Take a look.”
Malcolm turned and watched as a tall man began walking to their table. The man smiled a dazzling smile and extended his hand to Jorja.
“How nice to see you again,” he said,” How was your friend Suzy?”
“Who?” Jorja asked as she gazed at him.
The cat burglar noticed the tiny squid legs poking out from the top of the rain slicker. “Have you ever seen the Humboldt Squid flash its red warning lights?” he asked, leaning in close to Jorja.
“Diablo rojo!” cried Jorja, “They actually go red in an electric instant!”
“I’ve just seen them on YouTube,” the cat burglar said, “but it was fascinating, nonetheless. I’m Jesse Spelunker. I, ah, work in the neighborhood.”
“I’m Malcolm Newsome and this is my dear friend Jorja Clark,” Malcolm said, extending his hand.
Jorja raised both eyebrows. “Possessive much?” she asked with a bemused grin.
Malcolm put down his knife. “We’re amateur detectives, but really hope to make a big name for ourselves in the table top carving business. Just drink in the beauty of this.” Malcolm pointed to the gothic “M” in front of him.
“Hmmm, wood carving. Does it remind you of …Escher?” Jorja asked with a leer.
Quite unlike the Humboldt squid Jesse Spelunker blanched.
“What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked, “Are you feeling a little antsy?”
“Who are you people?” Jesse Spelunker whispered hoarsely.
Jorja wanted to shake his hand again. “Jorja and Malcom founding members of the Giant Detective Agency.”
Jesse shook her hand hesitantly.
Jorja gave him a big smile and said, “We’ve been spying on you.”
Malcolm cleared his throat.
Jesse looked at Malcolm curiously. “Don’t you work at Connelly General Hospital? In fact, I think you took the staples out of my knee ten days after my surgery.”
Malcolm bowed and pinched his fingers of his left hand together. “Does this look familiar? Click click?”
“It is you! How have you been? Busy with spying adventures I see.”
“Good thanks, yourself? How’s the knee? Good as new? Able to leap or climb tall buildings, are you?”
The waitress came by and asked if Jorja and Malcolm wanted more hot water, while Jesse Spelunker declined a second tonic water. “I only drink one a day to maintain my electrolyte balance,” he explained.
“Speaking of balance, why do you sometimes stand for long periods of time before proceeding to the next balcony?” Jorja asked.
Jesse Spelunker smiled. “You noticed that! Wow. You know, I’ve told my surgeon that my knee will occasionally lock up, but he doesn’t believe me.”
“Perhaps we could vouch for you, in like a non-larceny exposing way,” Malcolm said, “But why don’t you go back down the same way you go up?”
Jesse Spelunker smiled again, although not quite as brightly as he had at Jorja. “It’s much easier to go out the door and take the elevator.”
“How do you disconnect the alarm?” Jorja asked.
“No alarm”, said Jesse Spelunker, “I just open the door.”
“Ever get caught?” Malcolm wondered.
“A few times, before I had laser surgery done on my eyes? For some years, I worked only in the daylight. I liked to get an early start on things. A lot of people would find me in their house in the morning.”
Jorja finished her little squid relief on the table top. “What would you do?”
“Oh, just sit and watch cartoons with the kids and let the parents know the coffee was on. If it was the wife up first, she’d naturally think I was her husband’s buddy who had crashed on the couch the night before. If it was the husband up first, and quite frankly, it rarely was, I’d just say I was ‘the cousin’ and wave at him.”
Jesse Spelunker demonstrated with a small friendly wave and Malcolm a
nd Jorja waved back.
“Then I’d load up my back pack with their CD’s, blue-rays or smaller things, like smart phones when they first came out. But, with the knee, carrying heavier items were cumbersome,” he finished, while Malcolm and Jorja nodded.
“Effective, but what have you done with the ant?” Malcolm asked.
The thinner man pulled up his pant leg and revealed a rolled piece of paper clipped to his leg. He unfastened it, handed it to Jorja and said “Could you please return this for me?”
“You took it,” Malcolm said. “You should put it back,” he added petulantly.
Jorja pushed the roll of paper back to the thief. “You keep the Escher sketch, but be careful not to shake it up or it’s gone forever.”
Jesse Spelunker frowned, re-fastened his paper and limped out of the bar.
It was Malcolm’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Our first case, our first loss,” he said sadly as he picked up the pen knife.
“Loss?” Jorja frowned, “What loss? We detected, we investigated and we brought to light a criminal. Well, to the neon light of this bar.”
“True, true, my dear, however we neglected to see the safe return of the purloined valuable to its rightful owner.”
“It’s not as if we are getting paid, Malcolm, so I see no need for us to return anything.”
Malcolm carefully scratched his left eyebrow. “So basically our Detective Agency finds out things and does nothing?”
“Pretty much.”
Back at his apartment, Malcolm said, “Well, it would be a lot easier that way. But what about moral indignation? Do you have any of that kicking around?”
Jorja thought for a moment. She thought of poor Jesse Spelunker and his intermittent freezing knee. And his all-encompassing, thousand watt smile. “What was the question?”
Malcolm got a pillow from the linen closet and tossed it on the sofa bed. “Say goodnight Suzy Rebounder.”
“Goodnight Suzy Rebounder.”
Chapter Two
Or the family meeting to end all family meetings
“I did not hear the frog last night,” said Jorja’s Mom, as she plunked some red grapes on Jorja’s plate.
“The frog was not activated, because I did not come home last night. Mom, who do you think would be the wingman if Elvis and Sean Connery went to a bar?”
“Well, I really would have to do years of research on this, with each subject, however, since my time machine is on the fritz; I would say that as long as Elvis didn’t smile and Sean didn’t speak; they would probably both qualify as wingmen.”
Jorja’s Mom, Jenny, took some honeydew melon from Jorja’s plate.
“Was there someone sick at the Glenrosa Nursing Home last night?” she asked.
Jorja picked up the parsley from her omelette. “Mother, a tree, why would I want a tree on my food?” She flicked it off the table. “People are always sick at the Nursing home. Also, I stayed overnight at Malcolm’s.”
“Jorja! Really?”
Jorja picked up the parsley from the floor. “There we go, little tree is safely back on the table. So, back to Sean, I really think he could never be just a wingman; he’s far too …too...”
“Jorja Mae Louise Clark! You slept with Malcolm?”
Jorja stared off into the distance. “Sexy” she said definitively. “He’s just too tweedy and sexy. Nobody would walk by him in a bar!”
Jenny smoothed both eyebrows and calmly laid her hand on her daughter’s hand. “Jorja,” she said quietly, “What did you do last night?”
“Oh I stayed up all night with Malcolm! He’s working night shift at the hospital tonight; so we chatted all night, had a few adventures and well, he crashed earlier than me. In fact, he was still sleeping this morning; so I made up the couch and here I am!”
“Couch? Ah, a lovely piece of furniture. Have I ever told you how much I love couches?”
“Mom, I’ve just replayed your shock and have noted all four of my names were mentioned. I stayed over at Malcolm’s; I helped a friend out. No big deal.”
“Oh Jorja, as cliché as this sounds, what would the neighbours think?”
Jorja put her hands on her hips. “Good gravy Mother.” She called over the waitress by waving her parsley. “Excuse me, Ma’am but how many grown women do you see sitting at this table? Two? Good, that was my count as well.”
Jenny plucked the parsley out of Jorja’s hand and said, “Excuse me, Ma’am, but what would you think if a woman stayed overnight at a friend’s place? Would you think they are just friends?”
The waitress grabbed the parsley and tucked it behind her ear. She smiled a huge toothy grin and said “I think that the woman in question, and probably her Mother, will be leaving a big tip for their waitress, as they were both immensely happy she kept her nose out of their business.”
Later the waitress gave them each a piece of fudge as they paid their bill. She also winked at Jorja and whispered “Elvis would be the wingman, hands down.”
Jenny tried again to reason with her daughter as they strolled along the street. “I’m just saying that people jump to the wrong conclusions. What if a prospective employer sees you, and doesn’t hire you because of, erm, moral turpitude?”
Jorja shifted her backpack and admired a chalk artist writing on a sandwich board. “Mother, you’re going to get 50 points for vocabulary but you have been disqualified for argumentation. You’ve incorrectly referenced a faulty opinion that Jorja should get a real job.”
“Honey, you know I’m just trying to help. You’ve been doing this cartoon thing for a couple of years now and I just think you’d be happier doing something more fulfilling.”
“What could be more fulfilling, Mom? I meet all sorts of interesting people and usually have a lovely conversation with them while I’m drawing their portrait; and then they give me money! That’s pretty fulfilling Mom.” Jorja gave a little shrug. “The only thing missing in my life is a more serious relationship with Malcolm. But I think we’re going to get there,” she said hopefully.
“People admire a strong independent woman; you’ve got to work on that Jorja.”
“Mother, is this about tax receipts? Like, again with the tax receipts? My business year end was June; this is only August. The shoebox is being filled, okay? Gosh, imagine Sean saying that as 007…the shoebox is being filled.”
Jenny turned to face Jorja. “This is what I mean, dear. Sometimes everything is a big joke to you. You’ve got to be the first one to crack a joke and slide by any real conversation. Yeah, okay, let’s talk tax receipts. Quite frankly, the whole purpose of saving tax receipts is to offset income. How can I deduct your expenses when you don’t have any income?”
They had arrived at their home. Jorja waved her foot in front of a large ceramic frog and it dutifully croaked.
“Mom, my art show at the Rotary Center was a huge success! I had to replace the guest book twice!”
“Yes Jorja,” Jenny said, as she placed her sun hat on the hook in the foyer, “You do indeed have some awesome comments and wonderful memories and photos. But you also have twenty-four paintings that didn’t sell.”
“Um, probably twenty; I gave away at least four.”
“And there’s my point in a nutshell. You donate this or give that away or plain don’t charge! Think of all those portraits you’ve done in the Nursing Home! For free!”
“I just loved doing those Mom. And the families were over the moon with happiness. One of those portraits was even framed and displayed at a funeral service. Remember Mrs. Singh? Her grandchildren hugged me for what seemed like hours.”
Jenny placed her fingertips on the side of Jorja’s temples. “Jorja, listen! Ever since you’ve left banking, you have not been financially viable! If it weren’t for your Dad and I giving you free rent on your apartment upstairs; and the allowance from Grandma Connelly’s estate, you couldn’t even afford brushes!”
Jorja froze on the way to the kitchen. “What?” she yelled. “Are y
ou serious?”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders and nodded.
“My flabber is gasted”, Jorja said as she sat down suddenly. “I’m not financially viable? For reals, Mom?”
“For reals, Babe.”
“So me, the former loans officer, has completely overlooked her financial picture? Me, the girl who interviewed mortgage applicants and got them approved, to say nothing of gazillion credit card approvals, is, like, broke? I can’t handle this. I’m flabbergasted. I’m gobsmacked. Why haven’t you told me this?”
“Jorja, you didn’t want to know. Every time I tried to broach the subject, you side-stepped the conversation. Even when you signed your previous tax returns, you didn’t review them, despite my encouragement to.”
Jorja twisted up her mouth to one side and said “Mother, I’m disgustipated. You’ve left a participle dangling, right here in the kitchen! What will the neighbours think?”
Jenny sighed deeply.
Jorja looked down at the family cat that was making figure eights around her ankles. “You probably already know this,” she said, “But I’m not financially viable!” Jorja looked back at her Mom. “What else don’t I know about myself? Hmmm? Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me I can’t sing! WELL, I know I can sing!” With that Jorja threw back her head and started singing “They try to make me do my taxes; I said no! No! No!”
Suddenly, a clattering on the stairs announced the presence of Jorja’s Dad, Crawford.
“Is everything okay?” he gasped, “I heard some caterwauling and rushed down to help!” He looked from Mother to Daughter and back again. “Well, what’s wrong?” he prompted.
“There is a distinct possibility that I may be tone deaf,” Jorja said sadly.
“Well, let me just pitch out this thought,” said Crawford, “Not all people are as sensitive to music as some others.”
Jorja rolled her eyes and smirked.
“Dad, that’s a groaner. But, is it really true? Am I really a poor singer? People always have looked my way quickly when I sing. You know, in an appreciative audience kind of way.”
“Jorja,” her Dad continued, “Do you remember the name of the group we formed with your Auntie Cydney when you were about eight?”
Jorja & Malcolm (Toffee Kisses Book 1) Page 2
