The Homemade Stuffing Caper Page 8

  I walked over and shook Eugene’s hand. “You won’t be sorry,” I said.

  “I know that,” he said. “Here’s the deal—this is your case. You call the shots. I won’t step on your toes. But I want you to keep me in the loop. If you get in over your head, don’t feel like you’re on your own. Come and talk to me. That’s what associates do. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I said. “So when can I get started?”

  “It’s your case,” he said. “It’s your agenda.”

  I glanced in Scarlett’s direction. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Eugene turned to Scarlett. “Do you mind waiting downstairs in your grandpa’s shop? I’d like to talk to Charlie for a couple of minutes.”

  “Sure,” she said. She walked to the door and stopped. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Patterson. Grandpa is going to be so happy.”

  I made a beeline to the door and held it open for her.

  “Glad to be of assistance,” Eugene said.

  “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” I told Scarlett.

  She smiled and waved.

  I watched her glide down the hallway. I closed the door and leaned against it. This was gonna be great. Eugene waved me over. I pulled up a chair opposite him.

  “I couldn’t help but sense a little chemistry in here a moment ago,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the way you looked at her.”

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “This isn’t just any girl, is it?” Eugene said. “This is the girl. Am I right?”

  Had I been that obvious? I was a little embarrassed. For an old-timer, Eugene was pretty sharp. He had seen right through me.

  “Well …” I couldn’t quite get the words out.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But sometimes it can get in the way—in our business especially. Remember the first commandment that every private investigator needs to obey: Don’t ever allow yourself to get personally involved with a client. It can be dangerous.”

  I knew he was right. Countless times Sam Solomon had made the same mistake. He had gotten too close to a client. And each time he vowed never to let it happen again. But Eugene had nothing to worry about. I was confident I wouldn’t allow myself to fall into that trap.

  Eugene leaned forward. “You always have to think with your head, and not your heart. If you forget that rule, you could lose that head of yours. Heck, you could lose your life.”

  “I won’t forget,” I said.

  Eugene smiled. “Okay, you have a client waiting. Get out of here.”

  As I ran downstairs to meet up with Scarlett, I thought about what Eugene had said. Lose your head? Lose your life? What was he talking about? Just how dangerous could a case like this be anyway? Missing birds? C’mon. Sam Solomon would barely have worked up a sweat with a case like this. In fact, in Episode #10—The Never on a Sundae Caper—Sam analyzed evidence and managed to crack a smuggling case while sitting in an ice cream parlor devouring a hot fudge sundae. A good private detective can think on his feet. If I wasn’t able to wrap up this thing in a day or two, then I was losing my touch. I could handle this case in no time, and I had no intentions of allowing my personal feelings to cloud my judgment. I’d earn my stripes in record time, and be ready to tackle even more challenging capers. Eugene would see. At least, I hoped so.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Chic Sheik Caper

  Minutes later, I entered the barber shop through the back door. Conor Dolan, the owner, who was trimming a customer’s beard at the time, stopped and scowled at me. “Hey, you can’t come in through there.”

  “Grandpa,” Scarlett said, “this is Charlie Collier. He works with Mr. Patterson. He’s here to help us.”

  “Oh, sorry, son. Well, in that case, you’re more than welcome. So, old Eugene’s taking on a partner, huh?”

  “Associate,” I said.

  “Oh, an associate. I see,” Mr. Dolan said with a smirk.

  I turned to Scarlett. “Is there anywhere we can talk … privately?”

  “You kids can use the back room,” Mr. Dolan said.

  I followed Scarlett past a second barber chair and a rack of magazines, and into a small, dimly lit room. She motioned for me to take a seat. Instead of chairs, there were a couple of stools.

  “Thanks for taking on this case,” she said. “To tell you the truth, when you opened that door, I was surprised to see you.”

  “Actually, today’s my first day on the job.”

  “Well, I’m glad you were there.” She smiled.

  Me too. “So, tell me about the missing bird,” I said, getting back to business.

  “There’s not much more to tell. A few days ago when Grandpa opened the shop, he noticed that the cage was empty. Socrates was gone. He looked everywhere. He called my mom to tell her. And then after school that day, she drove me over here. I helped look for him. One thing’s for sure, Socrates isn’t here. If he was, he’d tell us.” She smiled. “He’s a pretty good talker. He can even say my name.”

  “What kind of a parrot is he?” I said. “What does he look like?”

  “Don’t go anywhere,” she said. Scarlett hopped off the stool and walked into the main barber shop area. A moment later she returned holding a photograph. She began to peel tape off the back of it. “Grandpa had this hanging on his big mirror out there.” She handed it to me.

  I examined the photograph. It was a picture of a green bird sitting on her grandpa’s shoulder.

  “He’s an African yellow-faced parrot. He’s mostly green, as you can see, but like the name says, his face and head are yellow. He’s just beautiful.”

  I set the photo down on a small table. “Has he ever gotten out of his cage before?” I asked.

  “He’s tried. He’s pretty smart. But Grandpa keeps the cage door wired shut so Socrates can’t get it open.”

  I slid off the stool and poked my head into the shop. I just wanted to see the cage that Scarlett was referring to.

  “That’s it, huh?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “And your grandpa’s sure that the wire was on the cage door the night before Socrates went missing?”

  “We talked about it,” she said. “He’s positive.”

  I glanced at the cage one more time, and thought to myself for a minute.

  “I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” I said. “But if everything you’ve told me is true, we’ve got ourselves a kidnapping … or rather, a birdnapping.”

  Scarlett seemed slightly uncomfortable. “But who … who would do something like that? And why?”

  “That’s what you’re paying me to find out.”

  “Oh, what will all of this cost? I assume it’s more than what you usually charge.”

  I hadn’t even thought about it. I had no idea what Eugene charged his clients … or if he ever cut a deal for a friend.

  “Let’s not worry about that right now. I’ll talk to Eugene. I’m sure he’ll come up with a reasonable fee, considering it’s for your grandpa and all.”

  Scarlett smiled. “Thanks.”

  I felt myself starting to run out of questions. I wanted to keep this conversation going on as long as possible. How many more times would I have an opportunity like this? To be alone with Scarlett with no competition around. But I also knew that it was about time to get down to business—to do some real detective work.

  “One more thing,” I said. “Did you check for any signs of forced entry?”

  “Well, I do remember Grandpa saying that when he came in that morning, he found both the front and back doors locked.”

  I slid off the stool. “Do you mind if I take a look for myself?”

  Scarlett led me through the shop to the front entrance. I examined the door inside and out. It was clean. No scratches. The wood frame around the door showed no signs of tampering. If we were indeed looking for an intruder, he was cert
ainly a pro. That was for sure.

  “Let’s look at the back door,” I said.

  We made our way back through the shop, and as we passed by the barber chair, Mr. Dolan leaned over. “You sure you’re up to the challenge, son? Socrates was my best friend. I just gotta get him back.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Mr. Dolan patted me on the back. Scarlett and I entered the storage room and stopped when we reached the back door. I dropped to my knees for a thorough inspection of both the doorknob and lock.

  “He’s good. Really good,” I said.

  “Who?” Scarlett asked.

  “Our birdnapper,” I said.

  “Well, if somebody did take him,” Scarlett said, “he was in for the fight of his life.”

  I stood up and brushed off my knees. “What do you mean?”

  “Socrates doesn’t like strangers. If someone had come into Grandpa’s shop and tried to take him from his cage, he would have scratched and clawed and pecked them. Old Socrates was a fighter.” Scarlett caught herself momentarily. “Did you hear what I just said?! I said he was a fighter. You’ve got me thinking I’ll never see him again.” She dropped her head.

  Scarlett was beginning to lose hope. I needed her to remain optimistic and to focus on helping me track down the alleged bird snatcher.

  “Did I hear you say you put up flyers in the neighborhood?” I asked.

  “Yep, all over. But I don’t see what good they’ll do. There’s dozens of them all over the area for other birds who’ve disappeared.”

  “I know. I saw a bunch of them coming over here. There’s gotta be dozens of missing birds,” I said. This case was becoming more and more interesting. It wasn’t shaping up as a typical lost-pet dilemma. There seemed to be much more to it. And the fact that the story had made the news lately made me think that this case was getting bigger by the minute. “Do you know if any of these birds have been found?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of. That’s why I’m afraid we may never see Socrates again.”

  “Well, let’s start to put some of the facts together,” I said. I pulled a notepad from my back pocket. I tried to recall as many details as I could remember from the flyers. I told Scarlett that I had seen flyers for all different kinds of birds—parrots, cockatoos, cockatiels, macaws, conures, and more exotic varieties like eclectus and pionus parrots—not to mention the missing falcon and hawk that Mrs. Jansen had told us about. I explained to her that a few of the owners had indicated that some of their pet birds were wearing identification tags. And that part puzzled me. If these birds had simply gotten loose, wouldn’t someone have noticed at least one of them and reported it? You don’t often see exotic birds flying around loose in the Midwest. But according to Scarlett, none of the birds had been recovered.

  Since the birds appeared to be all shapes and sizes and colors, it didn’t take long to determine that there was no pattern here. Interestingly enough, most had disappeared from stores or shops, but a few had come people’s homes. And in each case, according to the flyers, the birds had disappeared when no one was at home, or when the shops were closed. Apparently our thief had no intention of confronting an angry pet owner.

  “Do you mind if I look around the back of the shop?” I said.

  Scarlett led me through the back door and into the alley. I decided to perform a thorough examination of the grounds. I dropped to all fours for a better look. I crawled around for a few minutes. I must have looked pretty silly. I assumed that the thief had to have entered from the back since the front of the shop was on a busy street.

  I searched until my knees ached. Then I noticed a crumpled piece of paper under a row of bushes. I grabbed it, opened it, and showed it to Scarlett. There were a bunch of letters and numbers written on it in random order, but they made no sense. The writing appeared to be red crayon.

  “What’d you find?” Scarlett asked.

  “I’m not quite sure.” I handed the paper to her.

  “It’s just a bunch of scribbling,” she said. “It doesn’t make any sense. You might as well throw it away.”

  “Not so fast. A good P.I. considers every shred of evidence no matter how insignificant. Why, in Episode #6 of Sam Solomon’s The Chic Sheik Caper, a single blade of grass bent in the wrong direction was all Sam needed to solve an international mystery. When you’re dealing with the criminal element, you can’t overlook a thing. What if this piece of paper belonged to the birdnapper? It might just lead us to his whereabouts.”

  Scarlett shook her head. “Sounds like a stretch to me.”

  “You may be right. It could be meaningless, but at this point in the investigation, I’m dismissing nothing.”

  Scarlett took another look at the paper. “Let’s just say you’re right. Let’s say this does have something to do with the missing birds. Look at this note. It looks like it’s written in crayon. Do you think that kids might be behind this?”

  “It’s possible. Anything’s possible at this point.”

  “So, what do we do now?” she asked.

  I wasn’t really sure what to do next but I didn’t want to admit that. I wanted Scarlett to have faith in me. I wanted her to think that her money was being invested wisely. I thought about what I had learned in the last half hour. And then instead of blurting out the wrong thing just to say something, I decided to take a step backward. I thought it might be a good idea to share my findings with Eugene. Although he told me that this was my case, he did say that I could bounce things off him if I needed to. I just wanted to make sure I was on the right track. I was hoping this would be the first and last time I’d need to bother him.

  “I think we should go see Eugene—bring him up to speed on all of this. We can lay out our facts for him: Number one—the bird is missing and the cage door was locked when your grandfather found it; number two—there were no signs of forced entry at either the front or back doors; and number three—it’s consistent with a rash of missing birds in the area.”

  “I didn’t think Eugene handled lost pets,” Scarlett said.

  “But this isn’t merely a lost-bird case. It’s a bona fide kidnapping. And once he sees the evidence we’ve collected, he’ll be glad we consulted him.”

  Scarlett followed me back upstairs. Eugene was getting ready to close up shop for the day.

  “Back so soon?” Eugene said. “Don’t tell me you found Socrates already?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” I said. “I just wanted to share some of our findings with you … if you’ve got a minute.”

  “If you need to leave,” Scarlett said, “we can do this another time.”

  Eugene motioned for us to sit down on a couple of chairs opposite his desk. “So whatcha got?”

  “Eugene, this isn’t simply a lost-bird case. It’s a full-blown kidnapping.”

  “And what makes you think that?” he said.

  I explained the rationale—missing bird, closed cage door, and no signs of forced entry.

  “But you still have no evidence tying these clues to a kidnapper,” he said.

  I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket and handed it to him. “Look at this. It may have been written by the perp.”

  “The perp?” Eugene grinned.

  “The perpetrator,” I said.

  Eugene laughed. “I know what it stands for, Charlie. I just wondered how you made that assumption.”

  “Well, you see, we found that note a few yards away from where the bird was last seen. So it might have been written by the kidnapper.”

  He read the note. “And this is your proof? It’s jibberish. It doesn’t say anything.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Listen, kids, while you were gone, I called an old friend over at the police station. I asked him about this missing-birds business.”

  I always knew it paid to have contacts at the department. “So, what’d he say?” I asked.

  “Their theory is that either a bunch of teenagers are out there pulling pranks, or
some overzealous animal rights activist is trying to free all the caged-up critters. Take your pick. But my money’s on the kids. Either way, don’t expect much from the police—at least not right away. This whole thing is not what you’d call a high priority item for them.”

  “So why do you think it was teenagers, Eugene?” I asked. “Did he say there were any witnesses?”

  “One of the shopkeepers apparently saw a tall, hefty kid running from his property the other night. A few minutes later the owner noticed his cockatiel was missing.” Eugene raised his eyebrows. “Looks like kids to me.” Eugene took a second look at the note. “And if that isn’t good enough for you, look at the writing on this paper of yours. That’s crayon. Trust me, this is a just bunch of mischievous kids with nothing to do.”

  “So, what do you suggest we do?” I said.

  “You gotta keep digging. A good P.I. weighs all the facts. And it seems to me that there are plenty more out there.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. You’re part of this agency. We share with each other.” He winked. “Hey, you kids better get a move on. Your parents’ll be expecting you for dinner soon.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Patterson,” Scarlett said.

  “Good luck, you two,” Eugene said as we slipped out into the hallway.

  As we walked back to the barber shop, I knew that things rested solely on my shoulders. Eugene seemed to believe that this was just a prank. And he just might be right. I would need a whole lot more evidence to prove my point. And I wasn’t sure if I could handle this thing alone. What I needed right now was an assistant—in the worst way. I was enjoying the time with Scarlett but she was no shamus … and it wouldn’t be right asking the client to do legwork.

  I knew what I had to do. I had to convince Henry that this whole Eugene thing was legitimate. I’d offer to bring him to the office after hours if necessary. Henry didn’t have a mind like mine but he was logical. I had to bring him on board, bring him up to speed, and bring home a winner.

  CHAPTER 9