(It has been quite a span since my last post. All is well. I have not been writing as much in the last month or so, and not really for the blog; not yet, anyway. I hope that everyone out there is doing well in these challenging times. I will leave the passengers and crew of the Trailblazer for now. I have to rethink some of it before I post more.
Rather than let the blog go stale (more stale?) I am posting the first part of this story about a pair of small town, private investigators. It’s not finished and I’m not entirely sure where it is going. Normally, I would not post something this undeveloped; however, I am not too concerned about it. For now, consider it a work in progress. Better stuff is coming.
This story is a mystery, detective adventure. There are no plans to add any geeky elements, such as ghosts, vampires, ninjas, aliens, etc. That may change, but I doubt it. I hope you enjoy. Stay healthy.)
The Gillbury Swamp Gold
“What the hell?” Leo exclaimed. Charles tumbled into their office, arms overstuffed with rolled maps, charts and the like. He practically fell through the door, dumping everything on his desk. When he managed to get everything settled, he smiled.
“I figured it out, Leo,” Charles said, excitedly rubbing his hands together. “This is the big one. It’s all going to pay off. Mark my words.”
Leo shook his head and sighed, a poster child for exasperation. It took him a few moments of watching his brother organise the recent haul to gather his thoughts.
“You will have to excuse my lack of enthusiasm,” Leo grumbled, trying not to lose patience. “You see, I am doing this thing called ‘working for money,’ which you may have heard of. It’s an ancient custom.”
“Still working the Wiltman case?” Charles responded, half-distracted. “What’s to work on? We both know the old lady is messing around. Does he need a feature length video? I thought you had that nailed down, already.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Leo chided. “What matters is that we are getting paid to provide the proof. You do remember that part of the business, don’t you? The getting paid part, I mean.”
“Oh, we’re feisty tonight!” Charles said, sounding more amused than bothered. “We generally get paid when the cases are resolved, at the end. This is no different. Besides, unlike you with the Wiltman case, I have made a massive breakthrough. Beat that, Sherlock.”
“I don’t have the energy to fight about this,” Leo said, dismissively. “I will mention our credit line is brutally close to being exhausted and will need to be drawn from, again, to make rent. All that is assuming the Wiltman case is wrapped up and we get paid in full. Our credit limit will not bail us out next month. Will your treasure hunt be paying off in the next month or two?”
“I’m so glad you brought that up,” Charles began, as if it were a cheery conversation. “I am on the verge. It’s just a matter of narrowing the location and we are laughing!”
Leo had a hard time focusing on his brother’s responses. He had spent the last week chasing the lovely and adulterous Mrs. Wiltman across town in a desperate effort to get conclusive evidence of her infidelity. She was careful, bordering on paranoid, about her goings on while Mr. Wiltman was away on business. Pictures or video were tough to get with any quality. The proof was there, but Mr. Wiltman wanted conclusive evidence. The desperate push over the last week had meant sixteen hour days, irregular meals and infrequent clothing changes. Leo was overtired and irritable; his brother was just icing.
“Have you followed up on either of our prospective new clients?” Leo asked, looking away from his own report and rubbing his eyes. “O’Connell and Laird were the names, if I recall.”
“Oh, that,” Charles said, after a delay focussed on organising his mound of papers. “They were not interested. I called, I really did.”
“I can’t remember which one, right now,” Leo said, “but they were practically in the bag. Open and shut harassment case. What happened?”
“I don’t read minds, Leo,” Charles muttered, looking carefully at a large map he unrolled. “They just said no. I tried to get them on board, just for you, but they weren’t biting. If I were a better salesman, I would sell cars or something.”
“When dad left us the business,” Leo explained, “the idea was to work together, both of us. You know, earn money. These goose chases don’t pay.”
“Bringing dad into this will not help,” Charles said, scribbling something on another paper. “If we really wanted to make serious money, we’d have moved to the city. We didn’t, so we get to scratch by on bits and pieces in a smaller town. Excuse my reaching for more.”
“Screw the big city,” Leo snarled. “Higher overhead and tons of competition is all that would get us. We are the only private investigators in this town. Dad made this work for most of his life, by himself. Why can’t two of us?”
It was Charles’ turn to sigh. He looked up from his bird nest of papers and properly addressed Leo for the first time since he had come in. “All right, all right,” he said, holding up a passive hand. “I concede I’ve put too much time into this venture of mine; point taken. I get how it looks. The business could use some TLC from my side. No disagreement. That said, I can’t walk away after this latest break. It’s too big. If it’s too much for you, I can walk away from the business; sign it over for a dollar. I can finish it working this from my car if I have to.”
“What is the rush with it, anyway?” Leo asked. “If this mother load has been there all this time, where is it going? What’s the rush?”
“I’m concerned my activities have stirred up interest,” Charles explained. “I know most people who are even vaguely aware of what I’m doing think I’m certified, fair enough, but there are some who do not. Besides, up to today, your point would be rock solid. I have made a monster breakthrough, however.”
“What does that mean? What kind of breakthrough?” Leo questioned. His brother was a good investigator, when he applied himself. This always made it difficult when challenging his hairier ideas.
“I finally found where the older archives went,” Charles said with a pleased smile. “That stupid, archive bitch had me believing it was all destroyed in the 1939 library flood. The town should fire her for being so useless. Anyway, some tireless investigation turned up most of what I needed in Grahamton.”
“Grahamton? Really?” Leo asked, finding himself oddly interested.
“Pretty much everything I needed was only an hour away, brother,” Charles said, almost dramatically. “Turns out, our 1939 library flood did wreck a bunch of stuff. A lot of what they salvaged was shipped out of town, to Grahamton, for temporary safe keeping. God only knows why, maybe the war, but temporary turned into forever. In 1971, Grahamton moved most of that stuff to a third party site for storage because of renovations or something. Here’s where the planets align: the storage arrangement was a handshake deal that went sour. Gordon Brown had stored the crap at his estate, after which the library people quibbled about cost. Gordo gets pissed and refuses to give the archive stuff back. The Grahamton library covers up their end by denying the story and the deal, all the easier because it isn’t really their material, anyway. Gordo holds onto it for spite and dies. Et voila, the Brown estate has an attic full of gold waiting for yours truly.”
“And that’s what all this crap is, then?” Leo asked, trying not to get caught up his brother’s scheme.
“Some of it,” Charles said. “I told Gordo’s family I was doing work for the university and needed the stuff, some of which is useless. I took it all to avoid suspicion. I don’t think they knew much about Grandpa Gordo’s quarrel with the Grahamton Library.”
“By ‘take,’ you mean purchased,” Leo commented.
“A couple hundred dollars for the cause,” Charles said, sounding proud despite an obvious sense of his brother’s disapproval. “We’ve paid more for information before.”
“Very rarely,” Leo said.
“No matter,” Charles went on. “If this ‘goose chase’ doesn’t pan out, I swear I will step up for the business. Things will get better, either way.”