2~

Barney Ackerman, owner of Ackerman's Appliances, and now a patient of Crystal Cove Hospital, tried to squirm himself into a more comfortable position while he hung helplessly in a harnessed framework that spanned over his hospital bed.

He was bone tired from a busy afternoon of trying to salvage his dignity while he was suspended and occasionally swayed, sore bottom-up, for every nurse, doctor and orderly to see. And now having to deal with the arrival of some geeky teenager walking into his room made him more than a little surly.

A feeling Marcie caught almost immediately upon asking questions to him about his attack.

"Sorry you can't lie down right now," she commiserated.

"Oh, no, missy," Ackerman growled. "I like being hung up like an engine gettin' worked on. I put up a fight. Don't think so? I'm businessman. I tried to protect my investments."

"And did so valiantly, Mr. Ackerman," she deadpanned. "As you probably know, sir, other appliance stores were also broken into recently."

Ackerman gave a heavy sigh. "What are you, the junior police? I already told them and that guy in the white suit what went down that night. Not that they believed me anymore than you probably will."

'Guy in the white suit?' Marcie thought, then focused on her interrogation once more. "The police said that you were attacked by robots."

"That's right," he huffed at her. "Flying robots. I still stand by that, missy."

"Do you see what they stole?"

The thought of how quick his defeat was brought about at the theives' metal hands still rubbed his pride raw. "Hummph! You mean while I was lying helpless? Yeah, I saw what they took. They ripped into my entire shipment of Cleanco washers. They were brand new, too."

The consumer in her replied, "Hmm, good brand."

The salesman in him answered, "You bet it was! I only get the best for my customers. Hey, you looking for a washing machine?"

"Actually, I am. I'm trying to solve this mystery so I can try to get a washing machine for home."

"Going the long way around for a washer, aren't ya? But, hey, at least, you understand! This crime affects everybody, especially everybody trying to make a buck!"

"It certainly affected your bottom line, Mr. Ackerman."

"Ugh. Forget the jokes, will ya? If you're serious about stopping this thing, make it snappy, huh. I don't want to come back to work and find out I don't have any inventory to move."

"Yes, sir."

Marcie took that as her cue to leave the man in peace. She thanked the store owner and left his hospital room.

As she walked down the corridor, Marcie ruminated on the info she had so far. She knew that she would have to question the other victimized store owners if she was to, at least, find some commonality to work on.

Who was doing this? Why was it being done? And the man in the white suit? That was worth considering.

Occam's Razor forced her to ponder that it could simply be thieves who want to sell the washers for quick cash. If that were so and they were local, it could make tracking them down a little easier.

Upon reaching the elevator, Marcie's thoughts were momentarily sidetracked by the sleazy call of Ackerman from his room.

"Hey, nurse. I'm ready for my tune-up! Beep-beep! Heh, heh!"

With a sigh of exasperation, Marcie entered the elevator car.

It didn't take long for something to come up. Marcie almost missed it while she was walking through the hospital parking lot, deep in thought.

Her white VW convertible sat where it was supposed to be, but Marcie noticed an ominous addition to the vehicle.

She went to the windshield and pulled out an envelope that was held down under one of the windshield wipers. Puzzled, she opened it.

'Miss Fleach,' it read. 'I know that you are seeking answers about the missing washing machines in town. For your own safety, I would suggest that you leave this particular mystery alone. You may not be so lucky this time. Thank you for reading.'

"Pretty polite for a threatening letter," Marcie muttered. "I wonder which of my enemies sent it." Then a thought struck through her like lightning.

"I have a list of enemies! Bitchin'!" she laughed, incredulously. Then she came back to Earth.

"Okay," she pondered to herself. "It's obvious that I'm getting close to something, here, and that somebody both knows me and is following me. I better tell the guys."

Soon after, she hopped into her car and pulled out of the crowded parking lot. Crowded enough to hide the emergence of a sky blue sedan that innocuously drove from the lot and followed her.

"I'm glad we can talk here, for a while, guys," Marcie said through the chatter of other patrons as she settled into her spot in the padded booth in Chen's Coffee Internet Café & Tea Shop, a establishment that sat at the very mouth of Crystal Cove's Chinatown.

"Well," Jason explained between slurps of soup. "I figured that we might as well come here, since I have a ton of coupons for this place and I don't want them to go to waste."

"Actually, I wanted to meet in a safe place so we could pow-wow, but I guess economy is important, too," Marcie replied with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

"What's going on?" asked Daisy, putting away her newspaper that she decided that she was only casually scanning, away.

Marcie produced the letter from earlier. "I found this on my car after I questioned the most recent victim of these washing machine thefts. I think it might have something to do with this mysterious 'man in the white suit' I heard him mention."

"Man in the white suit?" Red chuckled to himself. "Sounds like those guys who work in the funny farm."

"I doubt that, Red," Marcie said. "But I wish whoever wrote that note might feel the need to check himself into one. I don't know which of my enemies would want me to stop."

A thought struck Daisy. "Whoa, Marcie! Did you hear yourself? '…Which of my enemies?' You have a list of enemies!" she told her, excitedly. "That's so cool!"

"I know, right?" Marcie said with a grin.

Deciding that it was time to bring the girls' heads out of these very strange clouds, Jason brought up a point.

"Uh, guys," he said to them. "Maybe it's the same one who gave you those letters when you saved those kidnapped kids."

Marcie thought on that, then said, "Nah. Those letters rhymed. This one didn't."

"Well," Jason reasoned, nervously finishing his soup. "Maybe he was feeling poetic when he did those. The point is that maybe you should listen to that letter and call it a day, Marcie."

"First," Marcie explained. "You can't 'listen' to a letter, you can only read one, and second, I told you that I have to solve this mystery and stop whoever this is from hitting any more stores so I can find a washer before my skinflint father makes my fine washables smell like bratwurst. I can't do that if I'm home watching TV."

"Then let's go see Bucky," Red suggested. "He should know something. He's a deputy cop, or something, right?"

"Hey, that's not a bad idea, Red," Daisy told him, giving him a proud squeeze on one of his large arms. "He would know more than we would about the case."

"Well," he flustered through a half-cocky smile. "Y'know..."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcie considered. Then she pondered for a moment, softly tapping a thin finger against her chin. "Man in the white suit. Why does that sound so familiar?"

A thought suddenly opened a door to her past and Marcie stiffened in its understanding. "I bet I know," she said to Daisy, reaching over the table for her friend's newspaper.

She opened it in the middle, read, then nodding with grim, silent satisfaction.

"What?" Daisy asked, but before she got an answer, she felt Red leave her side and jump out of the booth.

"Hey, where are you going?" asked Jason.

"To solve this mystery, Jellyfish," Red said cockily. "I just saw somebody wearing white across the street, and I bet it's whoever's been following Marcie and leaving that note on the Clue Cruiser to scare us off."

"Why does everybody call me that?" Jason sulked before he squeezed from the booth and followed the rest of the gang, who had followed Red out of the café.

Outside, they saw him strut across the street towards a nearby alley. He stopped and looked back to make sure his friends were watching. Satisfied that they were, he gave a determined look into the dark pathway, and then charged in with a yell.

The rest of the gang were about to dismiss the action as yet another example of Red's typical recklessness, until they heard the unmistakable sound of a fight and tensed up in dismay and concern.

"Red!" they cried in unison, running across the street.

Red's body was tossed out of the alleyway's maw, where he landed a few feet from its mouth, catching his breath.

"What happened?" asked Daisy, moving over to his prone form.

"Chan happened," Marcie said, simply.

Marcie held up the newspaper for the rest of her friends to see. Opened, it displayed, in its Entertainment section, the advertisement announcing that the musical group The Chan Clan was playing through Crystal Cove on its Number One Son Tour.

"Indeed, Miss Fleach," came the calmly modulated Asian voice, one that bespoke of years of deductive logic and wisdom. "It would appear that sometimes the young are as hard of hearing as the old."

Red, recovering from the tumble, turned around to look at the Chinese man in the crisp, white suit.

"Hey, how did you get the jump on me?" he asked groggily. "I had you dead to rights."

"Aikido, Mr. Herring," the man answered smoothly, as he left his hiding spot. "The best way to catch an elephant is to let him trip over his own feet."

"Hey, I've heard of you," Jason perked up. "You're that detective. Charlie Chan!"

"I am," the man said, giving a slight bow.

"Well, I don't need the martial arts lesson. I've heard your warning loud and clear, Mr. Chan," Marcie said, irritably. "'I may not be so lucky, this time?' If I hadn't been so lucky the last time, your kids wouldn't be rocking out on tour, would they?"

"That is true, however, they would not be pleased to see you in danger, Miss Fleach," countered Chan. "Nor would I."

Somehow, Marcie could see the calm earnestness of the man's words through her slighted feelings and sighed in mild capitulation. "Look, I know that you're looking out for me, since you're obviously here in town, but this is different than what happened in Macau."

"So you say, Miss Fleach, but my evidence say otherwise."

"And what does your evidence tell you?"

"Things that I cannot tell you," he said. "For your own safety."

"Well, we'll be getting some info from the police, in a while," Marcie countered back. "So if you don't want to help me, that's quite all right by me."

"Sometimes, Miss Fleach, hindering a friend is the best way to help." Chan said solemnly before he bowed again, tipping his white pork pie hat to her. "I must go. Please take what I have said to heart and do not pursue this matter any further." Then he departed.

As they quietly watched the man walk down the street, Marcie muttered, "He doesn't understand."

"Yeah, it's not like he had years of experience in this kind of thing and you haven't," Jason gibed as his way of dissuading her from her course of action. "You have to do this. For the sake of your clothes."

"Whatever," Marcie scoffed at his sarcastic warning. "I started this and I'm gonna see it through. At least I believe that I can do it."

"We do, too," Daisy said, giving Marcie a cheering hug. "But before we defend people's right to fresh laundry, and all of that, can we swing by my house for a sec? I've gotta show everybody something."

"Alright," Marcie sighed. "But let's make it quick, huh? Every moment I'm not on the case, is a moment that my wardrobe gets closer to having that new hot dog smell."