It’s mid-summer more or less. Half the year is behind us, the other half ahead of us. July is usually a time of warmer or hotter temperatures depending on where you live, a time to enjoy being outdoors. However you spend it, we hope you enjoy a great July.
You will want to read the conclusion of Jack’s story, The Case Of The Cement Socks.
Last month we left Paul Savage pondering the problem in the case for Fannie Farkle, but he wasn’t ready for a strange phone call. He had just blown out the candle in his office when the jangling phone startled him….
“Office is closed. What do you want?” he asked.
“Hello, Mr. Savage. I have something important to tell you about the Farkle case. Meet me at pier 36 at midnight,” the poorly disguised woman’s voice whispered.
Just like the movies. The midnight trip to the docks trap.
“And this is not a trap.” The phone went dead.
Good. Ain’t a trap. May lose a few winks but this may be the break I need so I’ll hit the docks at midnight.
All was quiet on the docks, except for the faint bell of a buoy in the bay. The air smelled like a mix of regurgitated garbage and seawater. He parked his Chevy and got out, taking a deep breath while strolling slowly toward the building on Pier 36. Seconds later a black Mercedes screeched to a halt beside him. The passenger side darkened window lowered.
“Quick, get in,” the woman motioned.
It’s the fickle Fannie Farkle. He opened the door and jumped into the luxurious black leather bucket seat.
“I think I might have been followed.” Fannie adjusted the rearview mirror.
Paul looked around to see two headlights closing in on them. “I would suggest you see how fast this buggy can go.” Paul tightened his seat belt.
She mashed the gas pedal to the floor slamming Paul back in the seat. He looked back to see the headlights of the car following them grow smaller.
“Turn right here,” he commanded and Fannie quickly swerved to the right down the dark roadway between the dock buildings.
“I hope you know where we are going.” Fannie turned on the bright lights.
“I know this place like the back of my thumb. Who’s chasing us?” Paul strained to see where this road went.
“I think it’s Clive. I couldn’t say anything in your office but I believe he is the murderer. I think he is somehow involved in my husband’s gambling adventures.” Fannie gestured with her right hand.
“You didn’t say anything about gambling before, and keep both hands on the steering wheel, please.” Paul looked at Fannie. Why had she forgotten something so important?
“I thought I mentioned that. Maybe you just didn’t hear me.”
Maybe this was something I didn’t hear. “Anyways, sounds like the classic case of the butler did it—Lesson 4.” Paul’s thoughts flashed back to the study of Lesson 4 of his detective course.
“Less than four?”
“Never mind. Just thinking out loud.”
Paul saw the end of the road approaching fast. Fannie slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt on the dead-end street. Two headlights stopped behind them. Paul heard a familiar sound. “It’s okay. Just an ice cream truck playing its jolly tune,” Paul opened the door. “I could use an ice cream sandwich.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” a husky voice demanded from beside the truck.
“Hey, does that mean you don’t have any ice cream sandwiches?” Paul yelled.
“You really do have a nose for clues,” the man in the dark shadows laughed.
“Reginald, is that you?” Fannie got out of the car.
“Another good guess.” Reginald stepped out into the truck lights.
“I thought you were dead.” Fannie started to walk toward Reginald.
“Well, thanks to you I’m not.” Reginald raised his hand to keep her from coming closer.
Paul scratched his head. “Come again. I think I’m missing something.”
“I need to be dead, at least some people need to think that, and now you have fouled up my foolproof plan,” Reginald said.
“Sounds like your Reginald slipped out of his cement socks. Anyway, fair Fannie Farkle, sounds like this case is solved.” Paul walked around the rear of the car and bent down to tie a rebellious shoelace.
Another pair of headlights pulled up. A dark figure stepped out brandishing a weapon. “Thanks for leading me to the dead Reginald,” Clive laughed.
Paul slipped into the shadows. He reached into his coat and grabbed his 9mm…banana? Rats. I wondered what happened to that banana.
Clive aimed his gun at Reginald who made a headlong dive for the truck. Two shots rang out echoing in the canyon of buildings. Both bullets missed their target. Paul jumped on Clive from the side knocking his gun to the ground. Paul quickly retrieved it.
Pointing the gun at Clive, Paul summarized, “Now fine Fannie Farkle, your case is finally finished.”