Shadow of a Snout, Reed Ferguson Private Investigator Mysteries: Book 22

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

“I never thought I’d need your private investigator skills, O Great Detective.”

This statement—and the moniker I didn’t deserve—came from my best friend, Cal Whitmore. He and I were sitting at Frank The Pizza King, a quaint little restaurant on Broadway. It was a little after six on a Wednesday evening in December, and the place was crowded, plenty of laughter and noise in the big room. Christmas lights hung around the room blinked cheerily. I stared at Cal, not believing he would need my help. He’s Einstein-smart, and it seems as if he knows everything about everything. For him to need my help … well … we’d see where this went.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Cal sipped some water and contemplated his glass. “I’ve told you about my Uncle Dwight.”

I nodded, then waited while a waitress came for our drink orders. I ordered my usual, a Fat Tire, and Cal got a Dos Equis. The waitress lingered and smiled at Cal, but he didn’t notice.

“You haven’t mentioned him in a long time,” I said as the waitress walked away. “He’s the black sheep of the family, always got himself into trouble. Isn’t he in prison for embezzlement?”

“He was,” Cal said in his nasally voice. “He got out about a year ago, and he’d been living with his sister, my Aunt Jane, in California. But about six months ago he moved here, and he’s set up an online business, selling vintage toys.”

“Vintage toys? That sounds interesting and above-board.”

Cal shrugged. “I never knew he had an interest in toys, but he does. He knows an awful lot about them, too, like a trivia machine.”

He paused as the waitress brought us our drinks. He squeezed lime into an iced mug, poured Dos Equis into it, then took a sip.

“That tastes good.”

I smiled. Cal used to be the recluse, ensconced in his home in the mountains west of Denver, rarely venturing out for anything. But he’d morphed into a butterfly when he’d started dating Holly Durocher, who we’d met when she hired me after her grandmother had been murdered. Holly owns Sunshine Cupcakes in Golden, a suburb nestled in the foothills west of downtown, and Cal frequently spends time with her there. She’d done wonders bringing him out of his shell—or cocoon. In years past, if I’d have gotten him to a restaurant, he would’ve been wearing jeans, a T-shirt—possibly ripped, surely wrinkled—his wavy hair all over the place. But now, he wore tan slacks and a pressed blue shirt, his hair neatly trimmed. He looked so good even our waitress had noticed, but he only had eyes for Holly. He’d said she was busy tonight and couldn’t join us for dinner, and now I knew why. He needed to talk to me about something.

“So Dwight’s trying to start afresh?” I asked.

He nodded. “He can’t do anything in the financial sector. You get busted embezzling people’s money, not investing like you should, and your licenses are taken away permanently.”

I sipped some beer. “Makes sense.”

“He has to do something to make money, and it’s hard when you’re a felon, so he started a business. But …”

“What?”

He grimaced. “He may be up to his old ways.” I waited. He fiddled with his beer mug and went on. “It’s the craziest thing. Aunt Jane is eight years older than Dwight, and she’s always loved her baby brother. Unfortunately, she never seems to think he’s capable of the types of things he’s done. Even when he got caught embezzling from people, she wasn’t sure she believed it. And Dwight’s smooth, the consummate salesman. Nice as can be. Anyway, he talked Jane into helping him start this business. She loaned him fifty thousand dollars so he could build an inventory and start buying and selling vintage toys.”

I was sure what was coming next. “And?”

Cal shifted in his seat. “Aunt Jane talked me into helping out as well. I registered his business, helped him set up an e-commerce website, and showed him how to list items, that kind of thing. It’s all online; he doesn’t have a physical store. And the only way I’d agree to help was if I could monitor his online activities. He was fine with that, although he recently changed his passwords.”

I gave him a sly grin. “That wouldn’t stop you.”

Cal consults with companies on viruses and virus protection, and he has all the skills of a very sophisticated hacker as well. Although he prefers the term “clandestine information specialist.” It was foolish for Dwight to attempt to circumvent his oversight.

He smiled. “I’ve been playing dumb, not letting him know I have access into his systems anyway. He’s buying and selling some toys, some worth quite a bit. He’s making a small profit.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Aunt Jane is worried he pilfered some of the money she lent him, that he’s using it somewhere else.” His mouth twisted up. “And I’m worried, too. I can’t find where all that money’s gone. Again, he has inventory, but not fifty thousand dollars’ worth.”

“Did Jane ask him what happened to the money?”

“Yes, and he said it’s invested in the business. But I’m not seeing that.” He took a sip of beer. “I don’t trust him, but I also don’t want him wary of me. At least not yet.”

“You want me to poke around, see what your uncle’s up to?”

He nodded. “If Jane’s suspicious, that’s saying something, because she thinks the world of Dwight. I don’t know if she’s needlessly worried, or if something’s really going on. Regardless, I need to get to the bottom of it. Jane and I would both be devastated if Dwight gets himself into trouble and goes to prison again. So far, he hasn’t, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“And our dinner now is so I can meet him, get a feel for him.”

“Yes.”

“How’d you arrange to meet without making him suspicious?”

“I told him you were interested in a Mickey Mouse cast-iron bank.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You couldn’t think of something else?”

He coughed. “Okay, that wasn’t the best thing, but I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“How about movie memorabilia? Remember all that stuff we found in that guy’s basement?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry about that.”

My second case, years ago, involved stolen movie memorabilia, which was right up my alley. More so than Disney memorabilia—no offense to Mickey Mouse.

“Don’t worry, I’ll play along,” I said.

My phone rang, and I glanced at the number. I looked at him.

“It’s Willie,” I said. “She must be home from her radiation treatment.”

He waved an understanding hand. “Take the call, of course.”

My wife, Willie—real name Wilhelmina—had been diagnosed with breast cancer almost four months ago. After a surgical consult, she’d had a lumpectomy, and thankfully the cancer had not spread. Then she had to endure radiation treatment, five days a week. So far, everything was going well, and she always called after treatment to let me know how it went. I tried to be as supportive as possible. I was proud of her positive attitude, and felt so fortunate the cancer hadn’t spread. As she neared the end of radiation treatment, she was more tired than usual, and it was hard to sit on the sidelines and not be able to help her in some way.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Cal, wanting to go where I could hear her better.

Cal nodded, and I left the restaurant. There was plenty of traffic on Broadway, so I walked around the side of the building where it was dark, quiet, and private.

“Hey, Babe, how’s it going?” I asked.

“Everything went okay, and I’m on my way home.”

“That’s good to hear. You feeling okay?”

“A little tired.”

Yep, I’d expected her to say that. “Do you want me to bring something home for you?” I’d told her earlier that afternoon about meeting Cal at the pizza place.

“Thanks, but I’m not that hungry. I’ll just fix a salad. How are Cal and Holly?” She asked.

“Holly didn’t come,” I said. “Believe it or not, it sounds like Cal needs my investigative skills.”

“Those are unusual words.”

I laughed. “I know. There’s a problem with his uncle. I’ll tell you more when I get home.”

“That’s fine. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

“I love you, too. See you soon.”

I ended the call and started toward the front of the building, but then I heard a voice around the corner that stopped me.

“… give me the money, or you’ll be sorry.”

The man’s voice was deep and a bit hoarse.

“You think I’m scared of you?” The second man’s voice was higher-pitched, but that didn’t mean it didn’t carry a threat.

“You should be,” the first man said. “I have connections, and I could take you out without another thought.”

The second man laughed. “Go ahead and try.”

I probably should’ve walked around the corner and interrupted this little conversation, but I was curious. I edged closer to the corner of the building. A nearby streetlight created a golden halo, and I saw two shadows splayed across the sidewalk. Both were elongated, yet I could tell that one figure was shorter and stocky, the other thin with what appeared in profile to be …was that his nose? It was huge, almost comical. I waited and strained to hear over the traffic noise.

“… selling it, but I got caught …” the first man was saying.

“Relax,” the second man replied. “We can work this out. I told you that I …”

Cars raced by on Broadway, drowning out the rest. I didn’t move, wondering what nefarious thing was going on. When it grew quiet, I didn’t hear either man. I waited for a second, then peeked around the corner.

An empty sidewalk.

What a weird conversation, I thought as I slipped around the corner to the restaurant entrance. And typical of me, try to turn nothing into something. It was probably just a couple of guys in some minor argument. I laughed at myself as I walked through the door and made my way toward the table, where a small, gray-haired man was now sitting across from Cal. The older man looked up as I approached.

“You must be Reed Ferguson,” he said, his deep voice a little hoarse. “I’m Cal’s Uncle Dwight.”

I shook his hand and sat down, and Cal cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Is everything okay? Willie’s all right?”

I nodded, still looking at Dwight. “Yes, Willie’s fine. I’ll see her when I get home.”

Dwight smiled. “Cal told me about your wife. She sounds like a gem.”

“Yes, she is,” I said. “I’m lucky to be married to her.”

Dwight sat back in his chair, a wistful look on his face.

“Yeah, there’s something to be said about marriage. And divorce, too.”

Cal exchanged a look with me. “Dwight was in a difficult relationship.”

Dwight snickered. “That’s an understatement.”

“I see,” I murmured.

“I guess I should get something to drink,” Dwight said, “and then we’re going to eat?”

Cal nodded. Dwight signaled the waitress and ordered a gin and tonic, and we all perused the menus, but I was surreptitiously studying Dwight. He looked younger than his sixty-six years, was a little pudgy, but had an engaging smile and a twinkle in his dark eyes. But what got me was his voice, low and scratchy. The waitress came, and we ordered, and then Cal glanced at me again. He was sensing something.

“You boys come here often?” Dwight said.

Cal shook his head. “We usually hang out at a little bar called B 52s. You’d love it. It’s got a nostalgic vibe with airplane propellers and old advertisements hung on the walls. Pool tables, too. But this was closer to where you live.”

Dwight nodded. “I appreciate that.” He shrugged at me. “I don’t know if Cal told you, but I’m still trying to get back on my feet. I’ve got a car, but it’s in the shop, so I walked here.”

“I hear the food’s great,” I said.

Dwight nodded. “I’ll have to check out that bar. B 52s. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Reed’s a great pool player,” Cal said.

Dwight didn’t seem interested and changed the subject. “You’re a detective?”

“A private investigator,” I corrected, sounding like Magnum PI. He’d never wanted people to say he was a detective.

“How’d you fall into that line of work?” Dwight asked.

“It was something I always wanted to try, and I like it.”

“He’s good at it, too,” Cal said.

Dwight nodded thoughtfully. “It’s great when you can figure out what you want to do. After years of bouncing around, I finally found something I really like.”

“You’re selling vintage toys?” I asked.

“I am.” His face lit up. “I used to love collecting comics when I was a kid, and I bought all kinds of other things, too. When the other guys were into baseball cards, I was collecting toys.” He waited while the waitress brought his gin and tonic, and he sipped it, then went on. “My mom threw out everything Jane—that’s my sister—and I had, and I cringe thinking about it. I had some old G.I. Joe stuff that I’m sure would be worth a mint now.” He shrugged. “Buying and selling toys has brought back a lot of memories. And people pay a lot of money for things, too.”

“That’s true,” Cal said.

“And Cal said you’re interested in an old Mickey Mouse cast-iron bank, that you like Mickey memorabilia.”

I glanced at Cal, but he was careful not to make eye contact.

“That’s right,” I said to Dwight. “It’s something I’ve always wanted.” I worked to put enthusiasm in my voice.

“I’ll see if I can find one,” Dwight said.

“Thanks.” I studied him. “How do you find valuable toys?”

“Thrift stores, garage sales, and I look online. A lot of people get rid of stuff, not knowing what it’s worth. It’s time-consuming, but it keeps me out of trouble.”

We chatted more about toys and collecting, and then the waitress brought our meals. I had the homemade Italian sausage and green pepper sandwich, and it was quite good. As we ate, Dwight talked about vintage toys, and Cal and I got an education. Cal, never ceasing to amaze me, knew quite a bit about vintage toys himself, and they even got into a long conversation about some old Star Wars figures that had sold for tens of thousands of dollars. When we finished eating, Dwight glanced at his phone and suddenly seemed in a hurry to leave.

“I need to get going,” he said as he donned a heavy coat that he’d hung on the back of his chair. “I hope you understand.”

“No problem,” Cal said.

Dwight reached for his wallet, and Cal offered to pay. Dwight thanked him and slid out of the booth.

“I’ll call you later,” he said to Cal. I gave him my phone number, and he entered it into his phone, then politely nodded and left.

I watched as he made his way to the door and disappeared outside. I turned to Cal, and he was staring at me.

“What was that about?” he asked. “When you saw Dwight, you acted like you’d seen a ghost. And you were acting strange all through dinner.”

“You’re not going to believe this,” I said. “But I heard your uncle earlier, outside the restaurant. He was talking to another man about getting his money or the other guy would be sorry.”

 

The case itself is a great one, and Reed's detective work in tracking down the culprit is solid yet inspired. No spoiler alert, nothing should or can spoil the joy of any of Renée Pawlish's books. Just read them all. ~Reader review