The Book of Extraordinary Amateur Sleuth and Private Eye Stories

by Maxim Jakubowski

  I worked crossword puzzles until Jimmy Lee got back two hours later—with lava cake. My enthusiasm was for the cake, not him, no matter how he took it.

  We talked about who’d joined Allie and me for lunch. One friend, Beth, just happened to drop by three times as we discussed the stalker. When Allie went to the restroom, Beth mentioned that Allie had gotten a scholarship to Mizzou and then didn’t even use it all. “Other people” needed it just as much and would have appreciated it more. It sounded bitchy at the time. Now it was bitchy and suspicious.

  “How’s Mikey strike you as a primo suspect?” I wiped caramel from my lips. Well, licked it off. “He’s just always there.”

  “It’s hard to pin down. He has three part-time jobs. He would have been available when all the ruckus took place. Y’all better watch yourselves.”

  “I can take care of myself. I took self-defense classes.” I leaned over to toss the cake container in the trash. As I sat up, an arm snaked around my neck and started to squeeze. I gasped for air and clawed, trying to get loose. My knee banged into the desk. The rollers on the chair kept me from getting my feet under me, but I was able to do considerable damage with an elbow to his stomach. Once he bent over, I managed to flip him, not gracefully, but still put him on the floor in a heap.

  “Damn you, Jimmy Lee! What the hell? Don’t you ever do something like that again, you hear me?” My voice was raspy. I still wasn’t getting enough air.

  “Taking a class and being able to use what you learned when somebody comes at you unexpected-like, that’s two different things, sugar.” He wheezed a bit as he tried to stand. “Whoever this is, they’re getting serious. Dead serious. You okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay. I just had a crazy man try to choke me after he brought me cake. I’m going, I don’t know, I’m going somewhere you aren’t. Find somebody else to work with. I’m done.” I backed to the door as I spoke, timing my exit for maximum effect. I pushed it open, rushed out and crashed right into the mail carrier.

  The door bounced back on me, hard. I knocked letters and ads out of his hand and almost tipped him over. “Sorry, I didn’t see the door opening,” he said. He picked up the spilled mail. “Are you hurt?”

  “My fault. I was having a hissy fit and not watching where I was going.” I touched my cheek where it had met the door. “Is there a fine for accosting a federal employee? Through rain, sleet, snow, and angry women, the mail must go through?”

  He laughed. “No, but it sounds like a good idea. How about I buy you a sweet tea? It’s about a hunnert degrees out here and time for my union break. The diner’s my next stop.”

  Tea calmed me down. Velma did a double-take when she saw my cheek. I guess it was turning colors. She didn’t mention it. When Paul, the mail guy, asked what my hissy fit was about, I blamed the crossword puzzle. If he didn’t believe me, he didn’t press the issue. I blotted my lipstick like I’d seen Allie do, to keep the imprint off the glass. She’s right, Sultry Sunset isn’t appetizing.

  “You’re staying with Allie, right?” Surprised me that he knew. “Small town. I thought, you know, if you’re staying, maybe you need to fill out a change of address form.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind.” Time to change the subject. “So what’s with those little bobbing-bird machines I keep seeing all over the place?”

  “Those are oil wells.” He laughed. “Everybody leases their land to the oil companies and they get paid for every barrel that’s pumped. Easier than cattle. No muss, no fuss, just a check in the mail. That’s all going to change, though.”

  “If people are making money, why mess with it?” I’ll never figure Texans out. First Cokes that aren’t real Cokes, then limes in my chili, bobbing-bird sculptures sucking oil from the ground, and no basements.

  “Fracking. Forcing the oil out of the ground with water, instead of drilling. Some folks are for it, some against.” He stood. “Time to get back to my appointed rounds, even though there’s just the damn heat to deal with, not rain, sleet, or snow. I’ll see you around, Sharon Leigh. Let me know if you change your mind about that change of address form.”

  I sat a while, thought hard and drew circles with the condensation from my tea glass. Velma brought a refill and an extra glass of ice. “You seeing Paul?” She didn’t make eye contact.

  “Huh? No, I stomped out of the office and about ran him over. Mad at Jimmy Lee, the bastard. Why?”

  “Just wondered. I’ve never known him to date, is all. Here’s more napkins, that glass is all sweaty. Use the extra ice on your cheek. You want pie?”

  I didn’t even think of pie until she mentioned it. Cherry sounded good. It’s a fruit and that’s healthy. I’m doubly healthy at the moment.

  ***

  “Does anybody have a key to your house and the alarm code? You don’t hide one under a rock or inside a fake dog poop, do you?”

  “Fake dog poop? You call me weird?” It was good to see Allie laugh. “Fran, across the street, she does.”

  “How old is Fran? She ever use the key?”

  “She’s gotta be eighty or more. She takes in packages for me and brings them over. Momma gave her a key and the code years ago. I let her keep it in case there was an emergency so somebody could get in and rescue Jorge.” Allie turned the blender on high to mix a pitcher of margaritas, putting limes on their God-given mission in life.

  Something was nibbling at the edge of my mind, but I only got crumbs of an idea. In the meantime, I was the designated cook, so I dumped salsa from a jar into a bowl and opened the bag of tortilla chips. No use dirtying a second bowl. My part of dinner was done.

  ***

  The next morning there was a big heart carved into the electric blue hood of the Mustang. Damn, that was original paint. We called it in, got the same patrolman, the same tech, and the same chauvinistic detective as before. “You got yourself a secret admirer.” Detective Martin took off his hat and scratched his head. “’Course, didn’t do the car any favors, you know?” Sometimes it’s a privilege to watch the police in action. This wasn’t one of those times.

  Allie went on to work. Across the street, a curtain twitched. I waved, real friendly-like, and walked over. Fran’s curiosity overcame any hesitation about letting a stranger in. After all, I was staying with Allie.

  “It was just a scratch on my car. Must have happened during the night. Did you hear anything?” I bit into a sugar cookie. I would have said no, but they were fresh out of the oven. Can’t be rude where homemade is concerned.

  “I sleep sound after I take my pill at nine o’clock.” Fran was a tiny woman, kind of tilted forward and slow to move because of an arthritic knee, but good for her age, which she said was eighty-seven. “You know Allie from school? She shouldn’t have come home to take care of her momma, that nasty old bitch. I thought she faked being sick, but then she keeled over dead.”

  Cookie crumbs landed on my t-shirt as my mouth fell open mid-bite.

  “Old ladies shouldn’t curse? Sometimes you gotta use the right words, proper or not.” She pushed the cookie plate toward me.

  “Allie said you had a key to her house. If I lock myself out, can I borrow yours?” I took one more cookie, just to be polite.

  “Sure, honey, that’d be all right. See those glass paperweights? Lift up that pear-shaped one. There’s her key. You get it any time you need it. My spare key is under the third flowerpot. Everybody knows, in case I fall.”

  “I’d better go,” I said. “Don’t want to be late. Thanks for the snack, I haven’t had anything so good in a long time.” I conveniently forgot about the cherry pie and lava cake. I left with a paper bag full of cookies, thanks to Fran.

  I stood by my car and looked at the key Allie had given me. It didn’t look anything like the key Fran had.

  ***

  At the office, Jimmy Lee was telling some bimbo how to answer the phone. �
��Just say the slogan like I wrote it down.” He pretended not to see me.

  I walked over, grabbed the paper, tore it up, and said, “Get the hell out of my chair.” She looked at Jimmy Lee. “Don’t look at him. I told you, get out. And stay out.”

  She grabbed her purse. “She’s way meaner than you said.” I took what some might interpret as a threatening step toward her. She scuttled for the door and didn’t look back.

  “I thought you quit.” He started with some self-serving apology, but I cut him off.

  “I know who’s been stalking Allie.” I laid it all out for him.

  “There’s no proof.” Jimmy Lee paced. “I can hide in the house after you and Allie leave.”

  “The plan is for you to be the distraction so I can sneak back in.” I could tell he didn’t like that. Tough. “My case, remember? Besides, you owe me. You just had some…person making butt prints on my chair. Here’s what we’ll do.”

  ***

  The next day, Allie went to work. I stopped by the diner for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day. After, I went into the office by the front door and left out the back. It only took a few minutes to work my way behind the buildings and come out at Allie’s back gate.

  I figured I had until mid-morning before anything would happen. About eleven o’clock, I heard the key in the front door. There was our culprit, right on time.

  “Hello, Paul. Going to leave another surprise for Allie or me?” I leaned against the doorway, holding Fran’s glass pear in my hand. “You stole the key from Fran, didn’t you?”

  He looked around. “Anybody here with you?” I shook my head. “That’s either brave or stupid, don’t you think? How’d you figure it was me?”

  “When we had tea at the diner, I blotted my lipstick on a napkin. After you left, the napkin was missing. I’d bet you have a whole collection with Allie’s lipstick on them.”

  “Allie left those kissy lip prints as a message to me. It was easy to pass the table and pick one up. Nobody notices the mailman. I’m, like, invisible. I gave Allie’s packages to Fran and she brought them over,” he said. He looked pleased with himself. “One day her arthritis was acting up, so I told her I’d set Allie’s package inside the door. I switched my old garage key for Allie’s house key. Fran never noticed.”

  “But why start spying on her? Threatening her?”

  “If she takes that transfer, everything I’ve done will be wasted. She has to see that I can take care of her, protect her.”

  “You opened her mail?” I stood a little straighter. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

  “It’s easy if you know how. I missed her so much when she went to college. I gave her momma pills to make her sick, so Allie’d come home. And it worked. She came back to me.” He pulled a knife from his mail bag and just stood there, turning it from side to side, watching light reflect off the blade. “I can’t let her leave again.”

  “Her mother died, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Only because the stupid cow made fun of me. I wrote a poem, but before I could give it to Allie, her momma took it and she laughed at it. I got even with her though. I made her some tea and put extra pills in it. She didn’t laugh then. Then you showed up, telling lies. You’re ruining everything, just like her momma.”

  He’d moved closer as he talked. I didn’t worry until he smiled. It’s a sight I never want to see again. “Did you get all that, Detective Martin? Cell phone, Paul. He can hear everything. Put the knife down.”

  Paul screamed and lunged, knife pointed at my chest. I brought my right arm up, took aim, and hit him right between the eyes. He went down like his bones had melted in the Texas heat.

  Jimmy Lee burst in the back door, followed by Detective Martin and the patrolman. I never did get his name. Jimmy ran to me as the cops called for an ambulance. “What did you do to him?”

  “Beaned him with a glass paperweight. It’s pear-shaped.” I think the adrenaline wore off about then. “I hope it didn’t break. It’s Fran’s. I didn’t tell her I borrowed it.”

  Detective Martin looked up. “Missy, this here’s Texas. You shoulda just shot him.”

  As I walked to the front door, I stepped on Paul’s outstretched hand with a satisfying crunch. Gawd, I love me some cowboy boots.

  ***

  Turns out there were dozens of lip-printed napkins in Paul’s apartment, all dated and sealed in plastic. I didn’t want to think about what he might have done with them. The napkin with my Sultry Sunset lip prints on it was pinned to the oak table with a steak knife.

  So here I am, still in Texas. I’ve got new friends, a taste for tequila and tamales, and no reason to head north. I can do PI work from most anywhere. I’m still working on that list of 101 ways to make tacos.

  It looks like I’ll need that change of address form after all.

  Resolution

  Keith Brooke

  Danny Reeves didn’t even notice the dead girl until years later, and after that it all became a bit of a blur.

  How had he not seen her until now? He couldn’t believe it, but now that he had…

  He remembered bursting out of the flat, the door banging. Not knowing if he’d locked up and not caring. Running through town like a madman.

  He remembered almost falling face first on the steps up to the police station’s entrance. The stares. All the faces in the waiting room turning toward him. He’d been shouting, he realized. That was why they were staring. They must think he was mad.

  “Detective Inspector Carver. I need to see Donald Carver. It’s important.”

  The copper behind the plexiglass screen paused long enough for his gaze to wander very pointedly over Danny’s features. They all thought he was mad, and now this officer was working out how to handle the situation.

  Danny forced himself to take a deep breath, calming himself at least a little.

  “It really is important,” he said, keeping his voice lower, steadier. “It’s the girl. I’ve found her. The dead girl.”

  ***

  The interview room was about as anonymous as it was possible for a room to be. Gray walls, minimal plastic and metal furniture, a clock on the wall. The table was secured to the floor, between Danny and the officer who’d introduced herself as Detective Sergeant Annie Malik. She was short and broad-shouldered and she was just as suspicious of him as the desk officer had been.

  “A dead girl, you say?”

  Danny nodded. He reached for the shoulder bag he’d dropped beside his chair, and the officer visibly flinched even though the bag had already been searched.

  He opened a manila folder and pulled out a twelve by eight color print. A beach scene, viewed from a vantage point high on the promenade. A summer day, people in swimsuits on the beach, children paddling and playing with inflatables in the waves. Near the camera, a young couple, the guy in jeans and shirtless, the girl tucked into the fold of his arm. The lines of their bodies led the eye artfully into the broader scene, clearly a careful composition.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “A photograph.” He didn’t mean to sound facetious, it just came out that way. Malik was not impressed.

  “I can see that. Why are you showing it to me?”

  “She’s there. In the picture. I didn’t see her at first, but she is.”

  “Who? I still don’t understand what you’re trying to show me.” She pointed at the girl nestled under the boyfriend’s arms. “Her? Is that who you mean? She doesn’t look too distressed. Or someone else? I can see families, kids playing. People strolling. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “It’s not always what’s in the picture. It’s what’s missing.”

  “If I wanted an art lecture, I’d sign up for the Open University. So tell me, what has my untrained eye missed?”

  Danny pointed. A child. A blonde girl in a spotted dres
s, about four or five years old. “That child. Like I say: it’s what’s not there. No parents. Nobody with her. A child so young, all alone… I’m sure it’s her. Katie Sellers. The missing girl. DI Carver knows all about it. Why isn’t he here?”

  “DI Carver retired seven years ago. He lives in Tenerife now.”

  Malik paused then, clearly making connections. She looked again at the photograph, and Danny could see she was taking in the clothes, the hairstyles, the cars just visible in the distance on the left.

  “It’s an old picture,” she said slowly. “Katie Sellers. That was, what, fifteen years ago?”

  Danny nodded. “Didn’t I say? I’m sure I said. I took this picture. It’s been haunting me for years. I’ve done some work on it. I’ve only just seen it, though.”

  “Seen what?”

  “Her. Katie.”

  Malik glanced down at the picture again. “It’s just a blurry photo. Yes, there’s a child, but it’s hard to really see anything. It’s hardly the basis for an ID.”

  “But it’s so much clearer than it used to be. I’m sure it’s her.”

  “Clearer? What do you mean?”

  “I’m a photographer,” Danny explained. “Back then I was a student, out taking pictures for a college project. The quintessential English seaside and all that. You’re right. It’s not a great photo. Blurry—my shutter speed was too slow. But it’s much clearer than it was. Back then DI Carver had copies of my pictures, but they weren’t any use.”

  “So why’s it any different now?”

  “There are things you can do now that weren’t possible back then. Once I’d scanned the old Kodachrome slide again this week, I ran it through some image-processing software. The program uses AI algorithms that learn from millions of comparable photographs so that it can interpolate the missing pixels where the original was blurry, restoring details that weren’t originally captured. Intelligently sharpening and restoring beyond anything that was possible even a couple of years ago.”