[MalReynolds]

Pip sat down with Mr. Druthers and Mr. McClaren. She put her teacup down on a small plate designed for small items such as tea cups, and returned to the kitchen to grab a spoon. She rifled through the fridge, and found no cold cream, no milk – not a single trace of delicious tea additive, except a lemon that had, at one point, been yellow. It was now the kind of brownish color that you find inside the lungs of a man who has smoked several rocket-sized cigars a day for a decade.

Her exploits no longer warranting a spoon, she returned to the sitting room. Mr. Druthers, at the present, had his head in his hands, and Mr. McClaren was flipping through a news periodical. When he reached the end, finally, he stared at Pip, who was already looking in his direction at the room. The room was as decorated as a salty war veteran with diplomas and certificates, but the wall paper was peeling, as if the war veteran smoked a high volume of rocket-sized cigars.

“So, why do you travel with him?”

Pip took a sip of tea, and looked at McClaren. “Why do you think you’re privy to information like that?”

“It’s just odd,” he said, putting his feet on the table – a nasty habit, if there was one – “to find such a small girl traveling with a grown man.”

Pip sighed and put the cup down. “I was kidnapped. Sid found me.”

“So why do you go with him?”

“My parents paid the bleedin’ nitwits to kidnap me. Sid promised them that he’d take better care of me than they ever could.”

McClaren blinked twice, before removing his feet from the table. “Are you serious? I can’t tell.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m his daughter. Surprises me that didn’t cross your mind, bright fella’ like you.”

-

Sid wandered into the town square, amidst the crowd who had gathered around the organ grinder. Sid cut a swath through the throng, and stood, watching in amusement as a tiny spider monkey tossed a ball back and forth. It was wearing a darling red vest stolen straight from the Beatles and a tiny baseball cap. The organ grinder’s accordion seemed almost organic, as if growing out of his body. He effortlessly played a tune, and the monkey changed rhythm before tossing the ball to a small child into the crowd.

When the child caught the ball, the crowd erupted into applause. The organ grinder took a bow, giving a theatrical twirling of his moustache, and the monkey scaled the mountain of a man and took perch on his shoulder.

Most of the people, in turn, dropped money in the accordion case for the grinder.

“That Mario sure is something, isn’t he?” a passing whisper said, dropping a few small bills.

Sid took note of the name – stereotypical Italian – and stepped back. There was a solitary woman at the rear of the pack, who Sid had noted to have been there for the entire performance, from when he first spied Mario through the alley to that very moment, but she did not reach into her purse, and she did not approach the man.

Sid turned to Mario. “Fantastic show, I must admit, very fantastic. I’ve never hated accordion music less than when you play it. I would drop money, but I’m not going to, as it’s very windy and the wind is liable to take the money and run off with it. And you know the wind. Chronic boozer. Wouldn’t want to feed a bad habit.”

Mario smiled congenially.

“But perhaps you could give me some of your money, as I have a quick wit and,” Sid motioned to the tree line, “And I could really use a few.”

Mario smiled congenially.

Sid turned to the woman, who was strikingly beautiful, even half the square away. He walked away from the grinder, to the non-functioning fountain, and took a seat. After a few seconds of staring longingly at her, she approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I don’t know your name. The only way to get you over here is if you thought I needed something, or if I was something you wanted. In either case, what’s your name?”

“Raleigh,” she said. Her face was round, but not moon-like. Her eyes were small, inset in her head like two firm gems in a statue. She had worry lines across her brown, parallel like a road with many lanes, all of which had been traversed with fire trucks full to the brim with tobacco and unfriendly thoughts. She wore a bandana which pulled her hair close to her scalp and made her look vaguely Russian, except for her tan skin.

“Raleigh, Mario doesn’t speak English.”

“At least not well. He knows a few phrases he picked up here.”

“Raleigh, why didn’t you leave him money? He’s an impressive man. You’ve been watching the entire show.”

“I would. I love the old man to death, but I don’t have any money.”

Sid watched as Mario pocketed the money, save for one bill, which he gave to the monkey, who ran off. He packed the accordion away, and moved into one of the alleys, disappearing.

“Does he play out here often?”

Raleigh nodded. “Every four hours or so. Excellent show, too. That monkey is just cuddly. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Sidney Linner, but people call me Sidney Linner. So, Raleigh, why don’t you have any money? To live in idyllic town like Butterville, I would think you would have to make a pretty penny.”

“I was the sole maid for the apartment complex. You know, the one that burned to the ground.”

“That’s very sad. So you know the whole ordeal behind Rawles and Druthers?”

She nodded. “I had just cleaned the place hours before the building went up in smoke. Horrible mess. Absolutely dreadful.”

She reached into her hand bag and removed a cigarette, lighting up, and turning to Sid. “Care for one?”

He shook his head. “Nasty habit. Starts fires, didn’t you hear?”

She shrugged. “I feel for Druthers. Kind old man. Loves that bird of his to death. He made quite a few enemies, you know.”

“I didn’t. Please, continue.”

“He’s constantly having to deny house expansions, business expansions. It’s a dreadful business, being the town planner. Everyone smiles to his face, but the things they say behind his back… It’s dreadful. It really is, how cruel everyone can be.”

“And what did they say about him, exactly?”

“Oh, what they would do if they had the gall.”

“Setting him up for murder wouldn’t be unlikely, would it?”

Raleigh looked at him. “So you think he’s innocent.”

“That’s what I’m here to prove. I’m a detective, Miss.”

She dropped the cigarette onto the ground. “I can never finish these. I keep trying to quit. I have to go. Excuse me.”

“What’s the rush, Miss?”

“I can’t stand detectives.”

“Why not? We’re slippery, cod like in our evasive maneuvers? We ask unsettling questions that rattle your brain? We often times carry guns – although I assure you, I don’t keep such beastly items? Could it be my red face, or the various nicks on my neck where I’ve cut myself shaving?”

“I was engaged to a detective. He left me.”

“I’m very sorry,” Sid said, rising.

“It’s not your fault. He was mauled by bears. A big group of angry bears.”

Sid stared at her forehead as if she was growing a tentacle. “That’s unfortunate.”

Raleigh nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “He had just recovered a cub from a poacher, and was returning it to the cave. Life is funny like that, you know? One day you’re having tea with the man you love, the next, you find he’s been mauled by a group of angry bears that don’t know the difference between taking and returning – they thought he was taking the cub, which doesn’t make since, because how can you take something again that’s been missing? But then again, they’re bears. They’re quite stupid.”

“And strong,” Sid offered. “I’ll let you go. Obviously it pains you to talk about this as much as it pains me to listen. You’ve been an invaluable help to me and my investigation. I assure you that in detective heaven, your fiancé is sleuthing to the best of his ability and will no doubt unravel some of time’s greatest ephemeral mysteries in the foggy great beyond.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“No. I’m an atheist.”

Before Raleigh could respond, Sid walked away.

-

Sid returned to the McClaren house and entered without knocking. Druthers hadn’t moved, his head still buried in his hands as if he was an old wrinkly ostrich. McClaren and Pip were staring at each other with an air of uneasiness settling over the room like a tarp that didn’t quite fit.

“Well,” Druthers said to his palms, “did you find anything out?”

“Only that you’re oblivious to the malice of man and that you had far more enemies than you thought.”

“What?” He pulled his head up.

“You’re agreeable, but you’re naïve. No one likes it when their housing plans get denies, and that was part of your job. You’re a very nice person from what I don’t care to note, but you’re extremely closed off from reality. It could have been anyone that tried to do you in. In fact, the only person with no motive would be your bird, which comes as a shock to me, as I was certain the bird did commit the murder.”

Druthers frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. Even Auger could have done it.”

“Nonsense. The apartment was locked – no… The door was unlocked, that’s right. And the window was open, which is odd, because I do take care to close and lock the window. A few years ago there was a string of break-ins and I knew my apartment was going to be next, so I invested in good locks. Always kept them shut.”

“It’s good that you’re telling me this now,” Sid said. “Otherwise, I might never figure out what’s going on. Anything else that very important that you neglected to mention that you’re remembering now?”

“Oh, come off it, Sid. You’re no closer to solving the case then you were ten minutes ago,” Pip said. “And this tea is awful. I’m sorry, Mr. McClaren, that your wife left you, but good lord, man.”

“How did you know that?” McClaren demanded.

“Inch thick dust on the shelves, poorly stocked fridge, half the room has new wall paper. My guess is you were taking too long getting the room back together, and it led to a fight, and she left. True?”

McClaren grunted. “Smart girl.”

“Clever girl,” she corrected. “I don’t do well in math and I don’t quote books. I figure things out. Clever, not smart.”

“Clever girl,” McClaren whispered. “Very astute,” he said to Sid.

“Don’t I know it? Why do you think I keep her around?”

“Because of the promise to my parents,” she said.

Sid turned, and walked into the kitchen. There were have cobbled shelves, and the window was cracked. He ran his finger towards the sink, which was absolutely caked in rust. He turned, and looked at the fridge. On top was a pristine, brand new hammer. Sid grabbed it and returned to the sitting room.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A hammer,” McClaren and Druthers said at the same time.

“Trick question. I know it’s a hammer. Why, if your house is in such disrepair, do you have a brand new hammer, when you clearly don’t plan on repairing the house anytime soon?”

McClaren shrugged. “My hammer went missing a few weeks ago. I didn’t think much of it and just bought a new one. I don’t like losing things.”

“Pip? What do you think?”

“McClaren, my money is on your hammer being a murder weapon. Your old hammer. This one hasn’t been used for hitting nails or skulls.”

McClaren stared, dumbfounded. “What?”

“It only makes sense. Where would your other hammer be?”

Pip walked over to Mr. Druthers, and tapped his shoulder. “Quick question, sir. What did Rawles do for a living?”

“Night time garbage man, why?”

“Thank you much,” she said, turning to Sid. They gave each other a full nod, as if coming to a mutual understanding that the cornucopia of clues made no sense – but the type of no sense that was almost ready to be put together into a delicious flan of revelation.