9:47. I hit the coffee shop at a run, trying to remember the salt-water taffy. The dame working the espresso machine warned me my mocha was hot, but I promptly spilled it on myself in my mad rush to get to the bridge by 10. I had overslept at my desk and was desperate to meet what was my only lead so far in this weird case.
I arrived at 10:02 and found the only working streetlight. Standing in the liquid pool of illumination underneath it was a short figure dressed in black. By ‘short’ I mean ‘shorter than the inseam on those trousers I’ve been meaning to take down to the cleaners.’ He/she/it wore a cloak that completely concealed his/her/its identity.
“I’ll take the taffy,” said T.K. in a raspy voice as I hunched over, gasping for breath. As a P.I. my normal exercise consists of 12-ounce curls and short sprints in attempts to evade my landlord. I made a valiant effort to straighten up and handed the figure the taffy and one of the mochas. A gloved hand reached from under the cloak and took the offered treats. I couldn’t help but notice that the glove was oddly swollen, as if the hand it contained was misshapen. Or not a hand at all.
“Why did you want to see me?” I asked when I had caught my breath. “Did you kill Dumpty?”
“Shut your mouth, flatfoot, and listen.” T.K. sounded like a frog with laryngitis. “Stay away from Alice. She’s mine.” Something glinted underneath the cloak.
“I thought she was Dumpty’s. That’s what she told me, anyway.” I was liking this less and less. Now I knew her name, but it was looking like a love triangle gone wrong. Or else this T.K. character was just scrambled.
“She’s mine,” the hooded figure repeated. “Did you bring a gun?”
“No. Your note said not to.”
“Good for you, flatfoot. You can follow directions. Now follow these. Stay away from Alice, and stay away from this case. Go drown in a bottle of whiskey or whatever it is you do, and forget you saw her. Or me.” With that, the hooded figure gave what sounded like a guy blowing his nose and disappeared into the night.
I was left staring at a few feathers floating away on the night breeze. And that’s when it clicked. Suddenly I had a hunch who had killed Dumpty, and why. And suddenly I had to do some digging, and find out everything I could about the lazy-eyed blonde that I couldn’t get out of my head.
To Be Continued…
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