Art and the philosophy of life

Mona and Carla watched the cops walk around, taking notes, talking to each other and generally doing their job, from the open back door.  A cop broke away from the others and walked toward them.  He climbed the four stairs to the tiny back porch and stared at them.

“Hi, Dickie,” said Mona, opening the door.

“That’s officer Martin, to you.  I’m on duty.  It doesn’t matter that we’ve known each other forever, show some respect.”

“You want me to call you Officer Martin?”

He nodded.

“Not in a million years,” she said. “So what did you find out?”

“Probably a robbery.  His wallet’s gone and so is his watch.  There’s a tan line on his wrist.”

“Those things aren’t missing,” said Mona.  “Carla took them for safe keeping, so anyone who found the body wouldn’t be able to steal them.”

Carla placed the items in Dickie’s open hand.

“I should arrest you,” he said, glaring at her.

“Why?  For doing something nice?” said Carla, folding her arms across her chest.

“For contaminating evidence.”

“I was being helpful.”

“You were stealing.”

“Excuse me,” said Mona, “but how was he killed?”

“That’s police business.”

“I’ll tell my mother to never make brownies for you again.”

“I should have moved out of this neighborhood,” he sighed.  “Moved to a place where no one knew me and I wouldn’t have to put up with this garbage all the time.”

“So?” said Mona. “Until you find the place where no one knows you, tell me what’s going on.”

“He was stabbed to death.”

“Maybe a wizard did it,” said Carla.  “There’s a wizard listed in the Chicago phone book, you know.”

“Why do you still hang around with her?” asked Dickie, staring at Mona  “What’s wrong with you?”

“I just asked myself that very question about twenty minutes ago,” said Mona.

“Well, now we have EVIDENCE to show that it probably wasn’t robbery,” he said.  “At least not a robbery by someone we DON’T know,” he growled.  “Carla.  Sit down, I need a statement from you.”

“I’ll go see if the customers need anything,” said Mona, walking away.

“So?  Tell me exactly what happened, from the beginning,” said Dickie, tapping his notebook with his pen.

“Okay, sure,” she said.  “I woke up about seven and got up…”

Dickie stopped tapping and held up his hand.  “Not that beginning, the beginning from when you first saw the body.”

“Oh. That beginning. Well, I was going to come in the back way, so I could wash my hands and get my apron and I saw what looked like someone’s laundry, laying on the grass by the big Oak tree.  I though, who would throw laundry on the ground like that.  Anyway, I went over there and saw that it was a dead guy.  I secured the scene for you guys, taking his watch and wallet, as I said, then I went in and told Mona.  She called you right after that.”

“You didn’t see anyone?  Hear anything?  Notice anything that was different?”

Carla closed her eyes and pursed her lips.  “Mrs. Jordan was outside next door, working in her garden.  I could hear her, but she couldn’t have seen anything because the fence is way to high.”

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Ummmm,” she said, eyes still closed.  “No.  I couldn’t see her either.  I just heard someone and thought it was her, but it could have been anyone.”

Dickie nodded.  “What else?”

“Ooooh oooh, I smelled something like perfume, or aftershave, but that smell is gone now.”

“Did you secure the scene by taking anything else?”

“No.”

“You messed up the footprints.”

“It hasn’t rained in ages and there were no footprints.”

“Not for you to say.”

“Who can say it, then?”

“Carla.  Is there anything else you can remember?”

“You might be right about it not being Mrs. Jordan in the yard.  I’m only saying that because if she hears anyone, she always shouts HELLO.  And she didn’t.”

Dickie continued to take notes.  “Did you wipe off the watch and wallet?”

“Just the face of the watch and I might have touched his Driver’s License and credit cards and the picture of the two men and the dark haired woman.  Other than that, no.  I don’t see what you’re so worried about.  The person who killed the guy never touched those things, that person just wanted him dead.  You should get a police dog down here.  One who talks.”

“Okay, we’re done for now,” he said, standing up.

“Will you keep us informed?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s police business, not yours.”

“I know where he lives and I’m going there after work.  Do you want to come with?”

“Do you want to sit in a jail cell until this case is closed?”

“No.  Your food is terrible and your blankets are not at all soft enough.”

“I swear, Carla.  If you go there I will arrest you.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him and patting his arm.  “Gimme a kiss,” she laughed, standing on tip toes.

Dickey turned and started to walk away when he heard her say, “Your loss. You’d really like kissing me.”

 

 

 

 

Comments on: "A Little Mystery Usually hurts Someone…Chapter TWO" (8)

  1. What a hoot! This story would make a great movie.

  2. Loving this. I agree with Liz, this could be the basis of a Coen movie!

  3. Do be too sure. 😂

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