Chapter 1- Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Wendy
Sometimes the most profound events in our lives, the ones that determine our very futures, originate from the smallest, most trivial of matters.
What happened to me wasn't catastrophic, but the cause of it all was so absurd, so ridiculous, that it's almost too amazing to believe that because of it my life has changed.
It all started with the Buddha.
No, really, that's what got me involved. A four-inch bronze rendition of Siddhartha Gautama that had gone missing from my Aunt Wendy's house.
But let me start at the beginning.
Aunt Wendy, my mother's sister, is, to put it lightly, an eccentric connoisseur. She can usually be found traveling the country in search of flea markets and roadside stands so she can add to her assortment of souvenir bells, pre-1950's shot glasses, and those real stuffed animals with the scary glass eyes.
At this time of year though, she stays at home, just on the other side of the city, organizing her collection, occasionally popping in to give me one of her artifacts. For example, just last week she had come, driving her beat up old Geo, to show me the city newspaper, which had featured one of her collections. A photo had been taken of her in front of her bookcase, all 491 ceramic miniature cats surrounding her. She had been so happy, she had given one of the cats to me, along with sugar cookies and a mess of other things I hadn't bothered glancing at as I stuffed them under my bed.
So it was that at about five in the morning on a cold, cloudy October day, exactly five days after the pencil mishap, when I was snuggled nice and warm under my covers, that I received a call from her. Her frantic voice jolted me awake and I took off, (well, not really, since it was rush hour), in my car and arrived in thirty minutes.
There were a couple of police cars and an unmarked one outside her house, and a couple of officers were standing on the porch. Inside, it looked like a tornado had ripped through her living room. Chairs were knocked over, books were strewn everywhere, and some of her delicate collectibles had been smashed.
I stepped carefully over the debris and found her alone at the kitchen table, one of those old bridge tables from the sixties. She was hunched over, eyes runny, white and brown hair limp around her face. Tears were falling over her sallow cheeks and her hands trembled as she clutched the doily that had once been under the Buddha.
There is something strangely disconcerting about watching a forty-something divorcee cry over a crocheted piece of cloth.
"Oh, Aunt Wendy," I said softly. She turned, fixed me with a faraway gaze, and promptly burst into loud sobs. I sat down and tried to comfort her, but to no avail.
"Do they have any idea who did it?" I tried asking, but she wouldn't respond. After a while, she was able to speak. "Oh, Myra-"
"Mitra."
"-You're the only one who really cares about your dear old aunt."
"That's not true. What about mom?"
"Your mother hardly calls. I haven't seen the family in over a year." She let out a shaky breath. "I know they all think I'm wasting my share of the inheritance on what some would call 'useless' things. But this is all I have." She leaned forward, hunching over again. "They'll abandon the case after a week and where will that leave me?" She waved a limp hand around the kitchen. "An empty house with only some dead animals for company."
"I'm sure they'll do the best they can." Even as I spoke I realized she was right. They might even abandon the case in a couple of days, without bothering to hold out for an entire week.
Tears were rapidly running down her cheeks again. "Lord knows I never asked for much." She was sobbing uncontrollably, but kept speaking. "Mary-"
"Mitra."
"-If you love me, you'll do all you can to find out who did this."
"Um, Aunt Wendy, I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."
She leveled her eyes at me.
I bit my lip. What she had said was true. Even I never visited as often as I should. Most of my family lived up north and regarded her as peculiar, if not something worse. And then a horrible thought occurred to me. What if this sort of thing were to happen to me when I reached her age? I could see myself in forty years with lackluster hair, sitting in a rocking chair by the fire, stroking one of my many cats, pulling a smelly shawl around myself, and muttering about MTV.
"Ok, Aunt Wendy." I patted her hand and spoke in a reassuringly confident manner. "I'll do the very best I can."
I mean, honestly, how hard could it be? If CSI was any indicator, the culprit would be the one person you'd never suspect. Now I just had to find that person and voila! One solved case, and right before dinner.
The kitchen door opened then and in walked two plainclothes detectives. One was a sturdy middle-aged man who walked with a slight swagger. The other one was a skinny guy with wide eyes who looked like he was barely out of the Police Academy.
"And you are?" The older one barked.
"Mitra. Townsend. I'm her niece." I tried to smile amiably but he scowled it away.
"Captain Anderson. This is Lieutenant Stoker." I held out my hand but only the lieutenant shook it.
"Could you tell me what's going on? My aunt hasn't told me much."
The lieutenant hurriedly flipped open his notebook and was just about to read from it when the door opened again, revealing a tall, striking young man with disheveled brown hair and clear gray eyes.
"Hope I haven't missed much, Captain. I only just got your call."
"You're Will Hamilton right?" I said suddenly, barely recognizing him without the goggles and mask.
He turned and raised his eyebrows as he noticed me. "Hello again, Mitra. I see your nose is healing nicely. It's very good of you to come support your aunt."
I shrugged. "Well, I am the only family she's got." I paused, frowning. "But how did you know I'm her niece?"
He opened his mouth to answer when the captain abruptly cut him off.
"I am so glad that you've made yet another wonderful deduction," he said sarcastically. "Now I've got a homicide to get to in ten minutes. Lieutenant."
Stoker began firing off his notes in a most dutiful television-police-officer-like-manner.
"Ms. Whitner, aged forty," his eyes flicked over to her briefly, "heard noises at around three o'clock on the morning of-"
"All right lieutenant, I think we know about that."
"Um, right." He glanced at us and plunged in again. "Upon arriving in her living room she discovered the area in disarray. The following items were later discovered missing: a porcelain figurine, a bronze statue of the Buddha, and a pen."
"Simon Le Bon once used that pen," Aunt Wendy said in a dejected tone.
"From Duran Duran, really?" The lieutenant said, momentarily dropping his professional manner.
The captain cleared his throat impatiently.
"Right." He continued quickly. "The victim proceeded to the telephone and dialed 911. Do you need the transcript that followed sir?"
"No, lieutenant," Will cut in, rolling his eyes, oblivious to the glares the officers were sending him. He sat down next to my aunt and spoke gently. "Ms. Whitner. I need to know what specific noises you heard when you awoke."
Aunt Wendy gulped her tears and looked at him. He took out a mini-pack of tissues from his pocket and handed it to her. "Thank you," she said, blowing her nose rather loudly. "Well, I was startled awake at around three, by a noise that sounded like a CRASH!" She smacked the table for emphasis. "I thought it was just some thunder, so I went downstairs to check that the windows were all shut. Antiques rot with moisture, you know." Will nodded as though she were simply telling him about the finer points of badminton. "And when I got there, I saw someone, all dressed in black, by the bookshelf. Whoever it was ran off, just as I screamed, through the open kitchen door, which I know I had locked before going to bed."
He nodded thoughtfully and began tapping his foot on the linoleum. The captain and lieutenant leaned forward and looked at him anxiously. Finally he sighed and stood up.
"I'm sure the living room has no clear footprints now, what with the number of people who have walked around. But I'll go see it, along with the lawn." He walked out of the kitchen.
The captain straightened up. "Well, Ms. Whitner, I'm sure he- uh, we will find whoever did this. Now, if you'll excuse us-"
"Wait," I said, remembering my promise.
He glared at me but I resolved that I would not be deterred. "Do you have any suspects?"
"No, but when we do we'll give you a call."
"Oh, thank you."
He stared at me for a second and I realized he was only being sarcastic. He had turned away when I spoke up again. "Hang on, Captain." I followed him out of the kitchen and into the backyard. "Listen, I really am worried for my aunt and I'd just like to know what's going on with this case."
"Look Ms. Townsend, to be honest, this is probably the work of some antiques thief."
"Oh good, so you have a lead."
He scrunched up his bulldog face. "Look, missy, I've got better things to do than listen to your questions." His face cleared suddenly. "You want some information?" I nodded. "You know Hamilton. Go talk to him. I'm sure he'd let you in on his investigation." The lieutenant snorted. "And tell him if he doesn't cooperate, you're going to nag the captain, and the captain doesn't like getting nagged." With that rather unfriendly remark, he walked off to his car.
I went off in search of Will, finding him in the azalea bush by the side of the house. He was kneeling in the mud, back to me, staring intently at the ground.
Might as well break the ice if we were going to work together.
"Too bad the frost came in so early this year."
He jerked his head up and stood. "Erm, yes. Is there something you need?"
"Not really."
"Okay." He stood looking expectantly at me. "You're still here."
"Oh, don't let me disturb you," I said quickly. "In fact, just pretend I'm not even here."
"But you are here," he said slowly.
"Oh, sorry. Would you rather I moved over there a bit?"
He breathed deeply with impatience and said, "Mitra, what are you doing here?"
"Okay, look, I need some answers about all of this. I promised my aunt I'd help out anyway I could, but the captain won't speak to me and he referred me to you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Did he now?"
"Yes. But I swear I won't get in the way. So just, you know, go on and investigate." I gestured to the ground and smiled encouragingly.
He stared at me. "You're not serious."
"You can tell when I'm not. I can't lie effectively."
He let out a sharp burst of laughter. "This is incredible."
"I know. My brothers can lie really well; I have no idea why I can't."
A faint smile was forming on his lips. "So you're just going to hang around while I solve this case."
I shrugged. "I don't exactly have the expertise to unravel it by myself."
Apparently that sort of encouragement was what was needed, as he shook his head and spoke after a while. "Fine, I'll humor you. Just don't, erm, don't do anything. Let me handle this my way"
"No problem, partner," I said, smiling.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hang on, Mitra, let's get something straight right now. I'm sure you're very intelligent and all, but I don't work with partners."
"Associate then?"
"No, it still sounds permanent." Not one to mince words, our Will Hamilton. "How about…erm…temporary assistant?"
"Temporary colleague."
"Very well."
I held out my hand, but he turned around without noticing it and continued his search as though nothing had happened.
After he had done with the azaleas and gone to the kitchen door, I stepped up to the plants and looked closely at them. Nothing really out of the ordinary. There was mud on the ground, with a jumble of footprints all around. No telling where one ended and another began. I hurried as he entered the house again.
In the living room he carefully stepped over pieces of broken glass and ceramic, turning this way and that, all the while concentrating on the ground. Finally, he went over to the bookshelf and looked intently at the books strewn all around it. I walked cautiously over to him. Aunt Wendy had quite a collection of old, obscure books, most of them encyclopedia sets from the last fifty years. I bent down to pick one up when Will exclaimed, "Don't touch anything!"
I jumped up. "Sorry," I mumbled apologetically.
He looked at me in disbelief. "Unless you want to be convicted for this crime, keep your fingerprints to yourself."
I nodded. "Right, right. Sorry."
He muttered something under his breath. After a while he said "Hm," and made off for the kitchen.
"Ms. Whitner?" My aunt looked up from her doily. "I think I've made some progress. I only need to check out a few things. Would it be too much to ask for an inventory of your various collections? I'm sure Mitra can pick it up sometime."
She nodded wordlessly. I, for one, was bewildered. There were really no clues I could see. How he had arrived at any sort of conclusion I could not fathom.
We said goodbye to my aunt and walked in silence to our respective cars.
"Would you fancy some coffee?" Will asked, getting into his Jag. "Waking up so early in the morning doesn't agree with me."
I accepted his invitation, rather surprised at his suddenly friendly gesture, and followed him in my humble, but fuel efficient, Civic.
A big thanks to Haley Macrae, for giving me a first great review. I had a soccer ball hit me on the nose in high school too. It didn't bleed, but it hurt like hell. And thanks for wishing me luck on my exams. Also, thank you Pinkpanther, for that encouraging review. I'm glad you find this intriguing. Finally, thank you Ed-Wood. I'm glad to meet another Johnny Depp fan. I've based Will on him by the way.
R&R Please!!