Showing posts with label tarantula. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tarantula. Show all posts

Sunday, January 29, 2017

The Case of the Bogus Detective 44


Ping & Affie & Martha & Miz Zoe & I set off through the warm San Francisco night towards the Lick House Hotel. 

As we walked, I looked at Ping & Affie. ‘How did the two of you find out so much about those Confidence Tricksters?’

Affie gave me a genuine smile. ‘Teamwork! Ping and I did some research and found damning evidence against them. It is not hard when you have access to a hundred newspapers, magazines and telegrams.’

‘Where do you have access to a hundred newspapers, magazines and telegrams?’ I asked him as we crossed Montgomery Street.

‘Right here!’ he said pointing to the gas-lit entryway of The Lick House Hotel. ‘All the best hotels have reading rooms with books, magazines and newspapers. This one even has a desk where you can send and receive telegrams. That’s where Ping found the article about two Confidence Tricksters named Chauncy Pridhaume and Jonas Hurricane.’ 

‘Jonas Hurricane?’ I said. ‘Not Blezzard?’ 

‘Probably another pseudonym,’ said Affie, and added, ‘A storm by any other name…’ He looked at me. ‘Would you like to see the Reading Room here?’ 

‘I would rather see the notice about tomorrow’s wedding ball,’ I said. ‘I want to know who that Black Widow has caught in her net.’ 

‘Then I’ll take you to our suite. It’s only one floor up.’ 

As Affie led the way through a lobby even more high-tone than the lobby of the Occidental Hotel, Ping fell into step beside me. 

I glanced over at him. ‘I am sorry I pulled the wool over your eyes for so long,’ I said. ‘It is just that I hate dressing like a girly-girl. And I did not rightly know how to tell you.’

Ping did not look at me. He said, ‘I am not very good detective if I cannot tell difference between girl and boy.’

‘You are a good detective,’ I said. ‘Also a danged good bookkeeper. And a good pard,’ I added. 

He grunted. But I saw his eyes flick towards me and then quickly away

Upstairs, Affie used a key to open a door & we all followed him in to a room softly lit by gaslight.

‘I’ll be right back,’ said Affie, and disappeared through another door. 

Ping & Zoe & Martha & I looked around the room while we waited for him. It had Turkey carpets and wooden bookcases and a four poster bed just for Affie. There were books and specimen cases on just about every surface. 

On one of the tables was a tray with a small gauze pyramid stretched over bent strips of cane. I had once seen someone put a similar net dome over a platter of food at a church picnic in Virginia City. It was for keeping the bugs off. But this one held bugs in. It contained my butterfly branch!

‘Look!’ I said. ‘My butterfly branch.’

‘Affie brought it,’ said Ping. ‘We took turns holding it on the stagecoach.’

‘Look!’ said Martha. ‘One of them has hatched. It is all crumply.’

I looked closer. ‘It is drying its wings,’ I said. ‘I cannot tell what species it is yet.’

Then I spotted something else in a glass case on a polished mahogany table. 

‘Mouse!’ I cried. I stepped forward & sure enough, there was my pet tarantula in his little glass case. No: two tarantulas. Looking closer I saw that one tarantula was the husk of the new one! 

‘Clever Mouse,’ I said. ‘You cast off your old skin.’ 

Ping scowled down at my tarantula and its husk. ‘Both look the same,’ he observed. ‘What good is shed your husk if you are the same inside?’ 

‘Eureka!’ cried Affie, coming back in with a piece of cream cardboard in his hand. ‘Here is the notice. Mrs. V.F. von Vingschplint is marrying Jonas Blezzard!’

‘Jonas Blezzard,’ said Ping. ‘AKA Ray G. Tempest.’

‘Of course!’ I cried. ‘The man who killed my bogus pa is the one in cahoots with her. But how did he get here so fast? He was travelling in an ox-cart.’

‘Maybe he got a faster carriage,’ suggested Affie. 

‘Maybe he is not yet here, but sends telegram,’ offered Ping. 

‘When did you hear about the wedding?’ I asked Martha. 

‘Late yesterday afternoon,’ she said. 

‘Do you know what this means?’ cried Zoe.

I nodded. ‘That it all makes sense.’ 

‘Also,’ said Zoe. ‘It means Jace did not betray you.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘He betrayed me all right. He just ain’t the one marrying her.’ 

‘We have to tell the police about Violetta and Blezzard!’ cried Affie. To me he said, ‘You have got to testify against them in a court of law.’

‘I cannot testify against nobody,’ I said. ‘I am a half Indian and WANTED by the Law. No jury will listen to me nor will any judge accept my testimony.’

‘But that ain’t fair!’ said Martha. She was standing by the single crumpled butterfly in its gauze prison. It was night & it was sleeping. But in the morning when light streamed through the east-facing window all his fellows would emerge & dry their wings & the net would soon be full of trapped creatures. 

‘Eureka!’ I cried. ‘I have just had an idea of how to trap Mr. Jonas Blezzard like a butterfly in a net.’ I looked around at them all and said. ‘Will you help me implement a bold and dangerous plan? It involves us putting on a music hall type show.’ 

‘You bet!’ cried Martha. ‘Especially if it means I get to disguise myself or dance a jig.’

‘Yes,’ said Zoe. ‘Especially if you need costumes.’

‘Yes,’ said Ping. ‘I have been practicing magic tricks.’

I looked at Affie. ‘You would have the biggest part to play,’ I said. 

He grinned & saluted & I reckoned my plan might just work, for by chance he quoted the same verse I had heard in church earlier that morning, viz: ‘We are your troops and we will be willing on the day of your battle.’ 

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Friday, March 25, 2016

The Case of the Bogus Detective 3


‘Nobody move!’ cried Mark Twain. ‘I will smish the varmint!’ He grabbed an iron plate from the stove. Immediately he dropped it. It struck the plank floor with a resounding clang. ‘Dam!’ he cried. ‘That’s hot!’

Then he saw the expression on Bee’s face & said, ‘I mean a mill dam, of course.’


I said, ‘Do not smish him. Mouse is my pet.’


I let my tarantula crawl onto my hand. His little claws felt like tickly pinpricks.


‘You dunderhead!’ cried Mark Twain. ‘That ain’t no mouse. That is a tarantula. I encountered a passel of them in Carson City a year or so back.’


‘Mr. Twain is correct,’ said Affable. ‘That is an arachnid of the Theraphosidae Family.’

‘I didn’t say he was a mouse, I said his name was Mouse. It is his nom de plume,’ I added. ‘If you can call yourself “Mark Twain” then I can call my tarantula “Mouse”.’

Mark Twain scowled and blew on his burned fingers. ‘It is no laughing matter! Those critters are poisonous. Why, an old Paiute chief died of a tarantula bite not three years back.’


I said, ‘Winnemucca was old and infirm. If you treat tarantula spiders right, they will not hurt you.’


‘Also,’ Affie Fitzsimmons pointed out, ‘they are venomous. Not poisonous.’


Ping spoke up. ‘I tell P.K. he should keep it at boarding house.’


I said, ‘Mrs. Matterhorn despises spiders of any description.’


‘I hate spiders, too,’ said Bee, who was hiding behind Affie. ‘They give me the fantods. Especially that one. Why, he is as big as a saucer!’


Mark Twain picked his pipe off the floor. ‘Come on, Affie! Let us hunt down your pa so I can collect my hot toddy. I need fortification badly. As soon as the roads are clear I have to flee the territory.’


‘Why?’ I asked him.


He puffed his pipe. ‘On account of something I wrote.’


Bee said, ‘Are you in “hot water” again, on account of the scurrilous & slanderous articles you often print?’


‘It was neither scurrilous nor slanderous,’ drawled Mr. Mark Twain. ‘It was a delicate, a very delicate satire. Coming, Affie?’


‘I will be there directly,’ said Affie. He was watching Mouse crawling on my arm.


Bee said, ‘Where do you live, Affie?’


Without taking his eyes from Mouse Affie said, ‘My father and I are staying at the International Hotel.’


Bee flapped her hand at Mark Twain. ‘You run along, Mr. Twain,’ she said. ‘I can show Affie the way.’


Mark Twain tipped his hat and exited the premises.


Bee hooked her arm in Affie’s. ‘Come along, then. It is almost eleven.’


Affie looked at Mouse. Then he looked at me. ‘May I come by later and examine your specimens?’ he asked me.


‘Sure,’ I said with a shrug.


Bee tugged Affie’s arm and together they exited the premises.


Ping stood up. ‘I cannot believe you do not wash in four month,’ he said. ‘Come! I take you to my uncle’s bath house.’


I tipped my chair back and put my feet on my desk. ‘It is a free territory,’ I said. ‘I reckon I will decide when and where to bathe.’


Ping narrowed his eyes at me. Then he exited the premises, banging the door as he left.


I raised my left arm & twisted my head so I could sniff my armpit. Yup. I smelled pretty ripe. But it was not as bad as a skunk.


And at least nobody would take me for a gal.


At that moment, the door of my office opened and two strangers in hats and long coats stomped in. Their boots left muddy footprints.


Through the open door I saw their horses tied to one of the posts that held up the awning of the boardwalk.


‘May I help you gentlemen?’ I took my feet off the desk and sat up straight.


‘You bet you can help us,’ said the taller of the two men. He had a flat-topped gray hat on his head and a bushy black mustache on his face and a Colt’s Army Revolver in his hand.


He aimed his big six-shooter at my chest.


‘Hands up!’ he commanded. ‘You are under arrest.’

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The Case of the Bogus Detective by Caroline Lawrence is the fourth P.K. Pinkerton Mystery. You can buy the first 3 real cheap HERE. And you can read the rest of this one HERE. Or just check into this blog, where I will be posting chapters weekly!