Night Creatures

The story you are about to hear is true. The city is St. Charles, Missouri. “I live here and these are the facts, just the facts, ma’am.”

I was working the day watch when I found the culprits. They had a busy night. The nights are always busy in this county. Nothing good happens after midnight.

My name is Jimmy and it’s a Friday.

It starts in the sewers, raccoon highways, but it ends in the suburbs with destruction. Don’t be fooled by their cute and cuddly appearance. They’re cunning and destructive. Growing up in the streets is hard and the lessons learned are seared in their brain. Rocky and his crew run with a crowd of bandits. They always wear a mask, but not because of Covid. 

I knew we’d catch them someday, but they’re smart so it wasn’t easy. They let their guard down and that was their mistake. Tripped up by marshmallows and strawberry daiquiri. Sure they lived the high life but it lead them to their end.

We took them off the streets today, but there’s always more. Stay strong and be aware, the bandits work at night.

My name is Jimmy and those are the facts.

Things I’ve learned the hard way

People learn in different ways, some ways are easier than others, but as long as you learn you’re good to go. Although, you’ll have less trouble if you watch and learn versus making mistakes to learn. I’m like most people in that I’ve learned lessons both ways. But as I’ve aged I’m starting to understand it’s less troublesome for me to learn by observing, rather than diving into troubled waters.

     Emotions are tricky and we all have an emotion that is troublesome. Anger and impatience are two that come to mind. Impatience is one emotion that drives anger but there are many triggers for anger. Many people blame others saying, “They made me angry, I can’t help it.” It’s not easy but we always have a choice, so it helps if you reject anger. Yes, it’s possible but difficult. Your anger may be spring loaded to go off, so take baby steps to fix it or any emotion that bothers you. 

     Worry is the emotion that bothers me. I worry about people and events that are usually out of my control. I know worry doesn’t solve the problem, but it still persist even though I push it away. It takes work to fix your emotions but it’s worth the time.

     Choices define your actions and reactions to every situation give you the opportunity to make a new a better choice. Use these opportunities to make a better life for yourself. “Just Saying . . .”

The Devious Tricks of a Kitchen Appliances

Appliances are a time saver, but they seem to have an evil side. Well, evil is a strong term, but definitely a devilish side. Two in particular come to mind.

Let’s start with the toaster. I’m calling it the leader of the devil

appliances. Our toaster has nine settings to achieve the desired color. That alone is troubling because it implies that our society is so particular about toast color that nine choices are needed. For me six is too dark and five is too light, but five and a half is just right. Hmm! That seems familiar. Well, anyway I’ll move on. 

The reality is my toaster knows what I like but frequently screws with

me to show who’s the boss. I say this sincerely because I’ve set the toaster at five and a half, my preferred setting but some days it comes our too dark and at other times too light. I make a mental note and recalculate my setting on my next piece, but when I hear the toaster pop on the second piece, no toast appears. What the hell? Somehow the toast has magically escaped and is lodged half way beyond the tongs. I used the necessary kitchen tools to extract my precious toast and find it’s the perfect color, but in the process of removal, it is in seventeen pieces. So, I’ve made croutons, but they’re hard to butter. Maybe I need to read the operation manual. 

Then I decide to run a toast test. I’ll toast at three settings one, four and a

half, then nine. At setting number one it merely makes the bread stale. The setting four and a half was too light in color. Toasting the bread at nine makes very dark toast but not black. So why is it that I sometimes I get blackened toast at setting five. It must one of life’s mysteries. Despite the issues with the devil influenced toaster, it’s still better than reaching into the oven to pull out a piece of toast. Singeing my arm hairs leaves a nasty aroma in the kitchen and it gives me an uneven tan.

The ice maker is another appliance we frequently use. Remember the ice

trays. Some had levers you could pull up to loosen the ice, others were plastic that could be twisted to release the ice. But the worse were the metal ones that sometimes required you to run hot water on the backside to get the ice out, which seemed counter productive. 

Now we have ice available to us on demand. No more pulling out an ice

tray only to find someone got there before you and left you with an empty tray. Bastard! The automatic ice dispenser is a godsend until it fails and it will eventually fail. We get ice cubes when we want crushed ice and vice versus, sometimes it pukes out ice like a waterfall and other times nothing. These are trivial problems in a world like ours, but everyday problems nevertheless. 

I didn’t include the coffee maker in this post because that would feel like

I was throwing a friend under the bus.

We have a button dependency, expecting everything we desire to appear

at the touch of a finger. So in a sense the malfunction of our appliances is like getting the middle finger from them. “Just Saying . . . .”

 

What the World Needs Now

There could be many answers to this question, but I think it all comes down to taking personal responsibility for your choices. We live in a country with many advantages. I’m sure there will be people who disagree, but if you compare the US with other countries, you have to agree that we are privileged.

     Despite the advantages we have, our country has many problems, some very bad. Many of the problems stem from our privileged lifestyle. Some of us feel entitled and expect to be treated differently than others. We don’t take responsibility for our mistakes but justify them by claiming it’s a personal choice and our right. No one should tell me what to do.

     Guess what, you and only you are responsible for your choices/actions. You risk going to jail if you are caught breaking the law in a foreign country. It’s your fault and your responsibility to know the rules. Don’t expect special treatment because you are a celebrity. You’re just a foreigner who broke the law in another country. Bad things can happen for no reason. Don’t be the reason that bad things happen.

     What would this country look like if more people took personal responsibility for their life? Less crime in every area. Not crime-free, but better.

     “My Body, My Choice” “Me Too” “Black Lives Matter”. All good slogans, but they have one thing in common. They’re all about me, myself and I, not my neighbor, not a friend or co-worker. Until we start thinking about others, we are lost. 

     The most recent mantra is “My Body, My Choice” but what’s not said is the many choices made by the couple before the final one. Personal responsibility, “Just Saying . . .”

Recent news shows the sports celebrity admitted her guilt and took responsibility for her actions. She did the right thing by showing others the way. Hopefully, this will help in negotiating her release.

Living Angry

It seems many people are angry. It’s apparent when you’re in a car and see aggressive driver. They are driving angry so they’re likely living angry. The nightly news is filled with angry people creating havoc in the world. I realize that’s what we all expect to see on the news channels, but it’s disturbing. 

     Anger is like a cancer that will seep into every part of your life until you are living angry without realizing it. It will take happiness and turn it into pain for you and others. Anger is an emotion we all have and emotions are necessary, but we need to keep them in control. Children are taught lessons about how and why to tame emotions, but we still have bullying in the schools. It’s the parents job to teach their kids to control their emotions. Don’t expect teachers to do all the heavy lifting. Their ability to discipline students has been handcuffed.

     Emotions reside on the surface easily triggered to explode. Anger is the one most noticeable. It’s easy to spot, just look at the way people treat each other. As adults we have no one monitoring our actions. Well, no one we trust. Our children learn by watching our actions. Angry parents will produce an angry child. 

     We can control and direct our emotions, so what’s causing people to choose anger? Look around, there’s a lot of disturbing stuff going on in the world, so that could effect your emotions, But you are responsible for your behavior, despite outside influencers. I believe there are more pleasant people than angry people, but they don’t get the headlines. It’s up to you, but choosing anger will not make your life better. Some people will say it’s not their fault because someone else made them angry. All that’s really saying is others control your emotions. Don’t give that power to someone else. Choosing anger is rarely the right choice. “Just Saying . . .”

    

Signing Bonus

 Conversation between two young people about getting a job.

“Did you get a job?”

“No, I haven’t found anything that suits me yet.”

“Me either. I’m definitely not taking something without a signing bonus.”

“I agree and I don’t want to be locked down to specific hours.”

“No kidding, I don’t need that kind of stress. And I won’t accept any restrictions with my lifestyle choices.”

“Exactly! What I wear and how I style my hair is my choice.”

“And my tattoos are an extension of my personality. I’m not covering them up.”

“Totally! It’s not easy, but we deserve better. The older generation doesn’t get it.”

“Trudat! Sorry, I gotta go. Dinner plans with the parents.”

“Bummer.”

“It’s fine. They look forward to it and it’s a short walk home.”

“Nice, where’s your place.”

“In their basement.”

Feathers Fly, People Lie (Part 2)

I told Sven to wrap the dead parrot up and store it in the freezer until we solved

this crime. There could be evidence we overlooked on the bird. I went back to the dining car to mull over the facts. In all my forty years of investigating crimes, this is the first case where the victim was a parrot. 

As I sat debating what to do, Charlie walked in, so we continued our interview.

He was funny and entertaining but not all that helpful. It was clear he was more annoyed with Sarah Mae than the parrot. He thought Sarah was a hack writer who earned more than she deserved. His jealousy of her was obvious. As we were finishing the interview, Sven came rushing to our table.

“There’s been another development.”

“What?”

“A robbery.”

“I’ve got my hands full with the bird case. Remember, I’m on vacation.” Resting

my hands on the table, I looked up at the conductor. “Who was robbed?”

“The armored car. We were carrying some high value property, but it might also

be connected to your parrot predicament.” 

“What? Why do you say that?”

“Well we found Billy Bob tethered to a suitcase in the armored car. He was

screeching like a banshee.”

“Holy Hell! This case is one for the books.”

“Richard, can you come with me.” Sven rested his hand on my chair. “We’ll work

with you on compensation.”

I stood up to leave, then turned to Charlie. “Can you order me a sandwich? And get

one for yourself. Sven’s buying.”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Meat . . . A meat sandwich.”

“I think most sandwiches have meat. Do you have a meat preference?”

“Fresh . . . Freshly dead meat.”

“I like your style.” Charlie let out a belly laugh.

When I walked into the armored car, Billy Bob screeched and squawked. The

conductor steered me past him to show me the empty crates where the paintings were stored. Paintings worth a fortune would be much easier to hide than an angry parrot.

Sven emphasized the importance of finding them before the next stop. “Once 

passengers start exiting the train, the stolen paintings will be gone forever.”

“How long before our next stop?”

“Not long.” Sven looked at his watch. “A little over a day.”

“We need to work fast.” I lifted my foot onto a pallet. “Is there anyone who saw

anything at all that might give us a leg up on the robbery?”

“No, no one that I know of, but we do have . . . .” The conductor pointed

at the parrot.

Just then Billy Bob screeched. “What the fluck?”

“What did he say?”

“He’s cussing, but his words are jumbled.”

“Someone taught him to cuss?”

I shook my head. “Probably not. He likely just picked it up from conversation.

Parrots are smart.” 

Billy Bob squawked. “Sheet! Holy sheet!”

“He’s not making any sense.” The conductor turned to me. “He’s our only

witness.”

“Yes, that’s a problem. We need the vet. He might be traumatized from the

kidnapping.”

Sven nodded, “I’ll go get Tracey.”

“So the number one witness is a mouthy parrot with a sailor’s vocabulary, who

may have PTSD. This just keeps getting better.” 

Within a few minutes Tracey showed up to examine the parrot. It didn’t take long

for her to conclude that Billy Bob was traumatized. Hearing him mispronounce and slur his words was all the information she needed. 

“African Grey’s are highly intelligent and require mental stimulation. When this

is disrupted with a traumatic event, their brain waves become confused. Speech is the first thing affected.”

“He’s seen things that could be helpful in our investigation. Will he recover?”

Tracey frowned. “It depends on how badly he’s been traumatized. Only time will

tell.”

“Time is not on our side, so an accurate statement from the parrot’s will be

important.”

It had become obvious to me that the kidnapping of Billy Bob was only a

distraction. The robbery was the main event. This was a well-planned theft and we were all taken in by the rouse. This is really just one crime. If we can find out who kidnapped Billy Bob, we’ll have a strong lead on who stole the painting. 

An announcement came over the intercom. “Tonight, for one night only Sarah

Mae Thomas, a published author, will be reading a passage from her new book, Death on the Rails. The book is scheduled for publication in December, so anyone attending will be getting an advance peek into her intriguing new mystery. The show starts at 7:00 p.m. in the lounge car. Please arrive early to secure your seat as we expect there to be a large turnout. The comedy act of Jeffery and Billy Bob will be rescheduled to a later date.”

“Well that didn’t take long,” I mumbled.

Interesting, what a lucky coincidence that Sarah Mae is on the train and willing

to do a reading on such short notice. . . or is it?

Jeff was brought into the armored car to get his parrot. He would need to take

Billy Bob back to his cabin and work with him to see if the bird could recover his speech.

He stuck his arm out and called Billy Bob over. “BB, come I have a treat for

you.”

The parrot flew to the opposite corner and squawked, “Buzz off, dipsheet.”

Tracey called for the parrot, holding up a treat just as Jeff had done. Maybe it was

her calm soothing voice, but Billy Bob flew to her and landed on her shoulder. 

Tracey turned to Jeff. “I’d be happy to go with you and help.”

“Thank you. I could use your help.”

They walked out as Billy Bob screeched.”Fluckin Hell.”

* * * 

Penny returned from her trek through the cars with some interesting

information. She heard a lot of theories about the dead parrot, but pure speculation. One piece of information Penny found out about Sarah's book was that it contained a bird character. Coincidence? Unlikely. Did she have something to do with the birdnapping? I wouldn't put it past her as a way to promote her book, but the robbery of the paintings? No, I didn't see her doing that. It was beyond her capability. It had to be someone with a more desperate background, willing to risk it all. Sarah had too much to lose. She was doing quite well with her moderately popular novels, so it didn't make sense that she'd be involved. Nevertheless, I had to keep her on the list of suspects.

While interviewing Chelsea, I learned she was a socialite from New Orleans

running in the same circles as Sarah Mae. Her husband was an investment banker with a seven-figure income. Still, Chelsea seemed to spend it as fast as it came in and had never turned down an invitation for a shopping spree to Rodeo drive. Would she risk her lavish lifestyle? Robbery could be for more than money; sometimes the thrill was as enticing. With all her travels, the rumor mill exposed many stories about her affairs. Her name would also remain on the list as well.

Tracey walked over to the table just as Chelsea’s interview ended. “Billy Bob

is squawking about his kidnapping, but I can't make sense of it." She pulled my arm. "You might want to come listen to what he's saying." She then motioned for him to join her.

“Well, this will be a first.” I followed Tracey to Jeff’s cabin.

We heard Billy Bob squawking before we opened the door. As a seasoned

detective, I conducted many interviews, but none with a bird. The only logical way to proceed was as I did with any other case.

Looking directly at Billy Bob, I asked, “Can you tell me what happened the night

you were taken?”

Billy Bob ruffled his feathers, spread his wings, then took flight, crashing into the

window. “Fluck Picasso.”

I rubbed my chin. “Well! I don’t understand his paintings either, but I wouldn’t

use those words.” 

“See, nothing Billy Bob says makes any sense.” Jeff scratched the back of his

head.

"Well, he's a parrot, a smart parrot, but he has his limitations. Wait!" I held my

finger up in the air. “I have an idea. . . We’ll do a lineup.”

Tracey whipped her head around. “You mean a lineup of all the suspects?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m not sure if it will work, but it might reveal something

valuable.”

Jeff stood with his hands on his hips. “Where would we conduct the lineup?”

“I believe the armored car. It’s where the theft took place. The location could

trigger a memory for Billy Bob.”

"Memory recall can be retrieved through association,” Tracey responded. "I think

this could work."

“I still need to talk with Sarah Mae and Sven, but we need to get this

process started.”

My interviews with Valerie, Charlie and Chelsea hadn’t led to any conclusions.

But they all had something in their backgrounds that left me suspicious. After my interviews were complete, the picture might become clear. Right now, I knew Valerie needed money, Charlie was jealous of Sarah Mae’s money and Chelsea couldn’t get enough money. Not surprising that it all could be about money.

“Who will be in the lineup?” Jeff asked. 

I pulled out my notebook. “Sarah Mae, Sven, Chelsea, Charlie, and Valerie.

Maybe one more person, a plant, someone we’re confident is innocent to verify our findings.”

Tracey snapped her fingers. “Hey! How about your granddaughter, Penny?”

“That’s a good idea. She’ll be perfect. I’ll ask her.”

As expected, Penny was happy to help. More than that, she was thrilled. For her

it would be an exciting adventure, a rare opportunity that likely would never happen again. I wanted additional background on Sarah Mae and Sven, so I interviewed both before the lineup.

I discovered through my interview with Sarah Mae that she had been divorced

from her husband, Ben, for seven years. He worked as a carpenter for the Humane Society. Clarice, their only child, attended school in France, but spent summers with her Dad. Sarah's career kept her busy and didn't give her much time for her daughter. She hadn’t seen her in four years.

Sven was single and very much a player when it came to the ladies. He moved to

the US about five years ago from Austria. He was a ski instructor in the winter and a butcher in the off-season. 

* * * 

Jeff and Tracey coordinated the lineup. I couldn’t have Sven involved since he

was one of the suspects. 

Tracey brought the parrot into the armored car. She had a calming effect on him.

Billy Bob’s cage was draped with a cloth, which would be removed once all the suspects entered the room.

Each suspect was given a numbered card to hold. I’m not sure why we needed to

do that, after all the bird couldn’t read, but it was procedure. We left the cover on

BB’s cage for the first round. It was important to see how the parrot reacted when he heard a familiar voice. 

The suspects were be asked to step forward and say their name, then the following

phrase. “Get that bird!”

I expected to see some reaction from Billy Bob, indicating distress, but he only

squawked about the heat. ”Holy sheet, it’s fluckin hot.”

There was nothing to conclude from this test, other than it was hot, but we all

knew that.

For the final lineup Tracey removed the cover, then opened the door and Billy Bob

jumped to her shoulder. He perched there untethered, craning his neck to look at all the people in the room. We instructed the suspects to yell the phrase we gave them.

Starting with Charlie each suspect stepped forward, gave their name then yelled

loudly. “Get that bird!”

Billy Bob squawked but showed no signs of distress hearing or seeing any of the

suspects.

Jeff threw up his hands, “This is stupid. This whole thing is a big waste of time.”

Turning toward Tracey, he reached for Billy Bob. “Give me the damn parrot!”

With that, BB spread his wings and drove his talons into the back of his 

outstretched hand.

Jeff screamed and grabbed his hand. Theew was a deep gash, so I picked up the

Cloth used to cover the cage and gave it to him. Then the door slammed. Did someone leave or enter? I looked around to see who might be missing.

Sven and Penny had left the armored car, but why? He could have left to

get a medical kit. We’ll have to wait to see if he returns promptly. But, why did Penny leave? She’s my granddaughter, but even she would need a good explanation for her actions. I needed to review the facts of this case and try to narrow down the suspects. 

Sarah’s ex worked at the Humane Society, and the note left in Billy Bob’s cage

was sensitive toward animal mistreatment. Could I have been wrong about Ben and Sarah Mae? Are they partners in this crime?

Sven was the first to return to the car and was holding an oversized first-aid kit.

He handed it to Tracey. She opened it, and pulled out some gauze bandages. 

The door opened again. Penny returned followed by a man carrying a black

leather bag. As it turned out, the other day when I sent her on the trek through the train to find out what the passengers were saying about the parrot mystery, she met a doctor. He was happy to help and took over from Tracey to clean and dress the wound.

The lineup was over with less than positive results. I needed to review the video

of the suspects that was taken. It was important to see the expressions on their faces during the lineup. Facial expressions sometimes tell a whole different story than spoken words.  

I told them all to return to their cabins until I called them back to the lounge. My

time in the cabin was spent reviewing the video and the facts gathered about the suspects. In addition to the video, I had received an email requested from an outside source on each of the suspects. Within the hour, I devised a plan to unearth the crook, but needed to get the suspects together one last time. Per my instructions Sven to gathered everyone in the lounge car after dinner so that I could lay out my theory about the crime. My confidence was high that I knew the culprit, but there would be one final test to validate my theory at the evening meeting.

Penny and I were the last to arrive. I had invited not only the five suspects,

but everyone involved, including Billy Bob. I would address each with the facts, but no accusations initially. Then, I’d sum up my investigation by eliminating the suspects one at a time until the criminal revealed himself or herself.

Valerie was easy to eliminate. Her pay was low, but she was honest and made

extra money selling baked goods at local markets. She was growing her business.

Charlie lived well, spent his money freely, but he was a great salesman and

made high commissions.  Making money was easy for him.

Chelsea also lived the high life, and her husband ignored her indiscretions, so

there was no reason to jeopardize the good life she had. 

Sarah Mae had a big ego and felt her value as an author was unmatched. She lived

 a life she designed for herself while Ben raised their daughter. The note left in BB’s cage tried to point the blame at Ben, an animal activist, but it was a weak attempt. Ben was an upstanding guy.

Sven wasn’t motivated by hard work. He was a pleasure seeker always looking 

for the easy way. The elaborate plan to steal priceless paintings took a devious and determined mind. It’s hard work to be a successful criminal. Sven was a follower not a leader.

Penny wasn’t a suspect in the lineup. Everyone but Billy Bob knew that.

Nevertheless, it was important that I address the rumors circulating among the passengers. Opinions are cheap and people believed they could be a detective despite their abilities or expertise. I blamed it on the Internet and too many unsolved murder mysteries. Penny was a precocious thirteen-year-old, smart as a whip, but like many young people she believed she could change the world to make it a better place. I don’t know if that’s possible, but I wished her the best. The one thing I knew she had a strong belief in justice.

We arrived at the station, just as I finished. Two police officers walked in and

stood by the door.

Everyone in the lounge car had a puzzled look on their faces because I cleared the

final suspect without revealing who committed the crime. Then I turned to Jeff. “How’s the hand, buddy?”

Jeff raised his bandaged hand and said. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine.” He shook his

head. “What’s your point? Who stole the paintings?”

“You should have known I’d figure it out.” I ran my hand through my hair. “You

were the victim, not the suspect. A perfect scenario until BB pointed you out. You were the architect of the theft, but couldn’t do it alone, so you got help from someone who needed money, someone you could trust.”

“This is nonsense. You’ve made all this up.” 

“Is it?” I smiled. “Let me ask your partner . . . your lover.”

All eyes turned to Tracey. “No, no it’s not true.” Tracey was visibly shaken.

I scanned the room. “No, it’s not Tracey. She’s the wrong flavor.” Then I turned

toward Sven. “Do you have something to say?”

“No . . . no, I can explain.” Sven turned to walk away, but the officers blocked his

path.

Billy Bob squawked. “Guilty! Hang ‘em high.”

I signaled the officers. “Take them into custody.”

Feathers Fly, People Lie (Part 1)

This is mystery about a retired detective on a luxury train trip across the United States and the quirky crime on the train. There’s no lesson to be learned, it’s just a story to entertain the reader. It’s a long short story, 20 pages, 6400+ words, so I will only be posting this as part 1 and part 2. I plan to post both parts this week. Sometimes I like to read a story that takes my mind away from today’s problems, so if this story does that for you, I’ll consider it a success. Comments are welcome. 

* * *

If you want to get somewhere quickly, don’t take the train. Traveling on a train takes time, money, and conversation with strangers. If your trip is about the destination not the journey, take a plane.

Riding the rails will settle your life, open your mind and maybe recharge your

spirit. Well, that’s what I expected it to do for me. I’m Richard, a retired detective and this was my first cross-country train trip. This luxury-escorted tour was pricey, but I wanted it to be special.  It would be my one and only trip by rail, but let me explain. I was always fantasized about a cross-country tour on the rails. At age seventy-four, it was now or never. I wouldn’t be alone. My granddaughter Penny would travel with me. She was a precocious thirteen-year-old with a love of adventure. Her personality always exploded, leaving a trail of smiles along the way, and she has never met a stranger. We have that last part in common. 

The seventeen-day trip started in New York City and ended in San

Francisco, with many stops to take in the magnificent scenery and historical highlights. As amazing as that sounds, the most interesting and fascinating part of the trip took place on the train itself.

Penny and I were settled in our seats, anxious to get on our way when within

minutes of pulling out of the station, Sarah Mae came sashaying down the aisle. She looked over her shoulder at me and said, “I always “dress to the nines,” especially on the first day of the trip.” Sarah winked. “Do you like what you see?”

“You’re very put together,” I responded.

She gave me her hand. “I’m Sarah Mae. Have you read me?” 

It was an odd way of introducing herself, but I immediately knew  she was an

author and a bit quirky, but that goes with the territory. “No, but I’m always looking for a good book. Is yours any good?”

“Oh! Honey, you’ll love them.” Sarah Mae winked and said, “All my novels are

murder mysteries.”

I waved. “I’ll pick one up. Call me Rich. I’m a retired detective, so let me know if

you want a critique.”

Sarah tipped her glasses down. “Tata, sweetie.”

Penny was intrigued but confused because she had no idea what Sarah Mae

meant. She whispered. “Gramps, What is she talking about when she says ‘dressed to the nines”?

“It’s another way of saying she’s wearing fancy clothes,” I whispered back.

“Those are her words. She’s a writer, so words are important to her.”

The guy across the aisle chuckled, listening to our conversation and hearing Sarah

Mae boast about her book. Charlie was a jack-of-all-trades and a storyteller but without the eloquent words. His stories were funny and raw but entertaining.

This is what I liked about the train; everyone would become part of our lives for

seventeen days. We became a family that we’d never see again, so it was a safe zone with no secrets. It’s easy to be honest with a stranger.

On the way to our first stop in Washington, D.C., we had lunch in the dining car

and shared a table with Jeffery, a professional gambler and entertainer. 

He pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled them like a Las Vegas dealer. “Watch

closely.” He fanned the cards and held them in front for Penny to choose. It was an advanced card trick, and it fascinated my granddaughter. He, of course, guessed the card and revealed it in a flashy way.

“That’s so good,” Penny replied. “Can you do another one?”

Jeff did a few more card tricks and showed her how to do a few basic ones.

She was hooked and couldn’t wait to see his act.

Jeffery explained he normally warmed up the crowd for the headliner, he was

gaining a following of his own but because of his updated act,. He freshened up the act by adding ventriloquism. A parrot would become part of his act. It turned out to be a huge success. It was so well received by the audience, that in some ways, the parrot Billy Bob stole the spotlight away from Jeff. Not quite what he intended, but still better than a career path as a second banana.

 

Curious, I asked, “Where did you get the parrot?”

 

“I bought Billy Bob from a guy just back from the Amazon.  He purchased the

bird on a whim, but the parrot was so annoying that he couldn’t deal with it.” He laughed. “I was able to buy him for a tenth of the cost and figured an annoying bird would be good comedy.”

Billy Bob was an African Grey about forty years old and knew many phrases, but

Jeff taught him to move his beak without speaking as part of the act.

I smiled. “It sounds like this could make you a headliner.”

“We’ll see.” He leaned back in his chair. “It has turned out to be a funny duo,

even funnier when Billy Bob throws out random comments that surprise me.” 

“That must mess with your timing.”

“It could, but I’ve learned a few things. You need to have a quick wit to do

sarcastic battle with a parrot. Sometimes the audience doesn’t know if it is Billy Bob talking or me throwing my voice, but they love it.” 

He and his parrot would be performing on the train during the leg between

Chicago and Grand Junction. Penny was anxious to see this unusual act. 

We spent a few days touring our nation’s capital with Charlie before we boarded

the California Zephyr for our trip west. Keeping us laughing the whole time we were with him, Charlie turned out to be great company. He was the kind of person who could fit into any conversation and end up leading it in any direction. An influencer before the word became popular.

Sarah Mae saw herself as an influencer, but she was just a tease. Flirting was her

marketing strategy. The more I watched her, the more obvious it became. As a flirt, she met a lot of people and learned a lot about them. But like information on the Internet, I’m not sure what to believe. Sarah writes murder mystery novels. Her main character is a woman with all the quirky traits of Sarah Mae. Surprise!!!

I picked up a copy of Sarah Mae’s latest book and read it in a couple of nights,

thanks to my insomnia. It reminded me of a few unsolved cases from my past. Was she using real cases as her prompts for her mystery novels? Maybe, but writers use lots of methods to get inspired. The novel was good for insomnia, but it wouldn’t keep you awake with intrigue.

One evening in the bar, I approached her. “Your novel, The Dance of

Death. Interesting twist at the end.” 

“Thanks, that’s my signature style.” She smiled. “If you liked that one, you’ll

absolutely love the one I’m working on now. It will be called Death on the Rails.”

“Intriguing!” I held my glass up. “When will it be available?”

“Before Christmas . . . If the publisher gets their act together.” 

“Do all your book titles have death in them?”

“It’s what my readers expect and want.” She flipped her hair. “I’m a slave to my

followers.”

“Are you going to the show tonight?” 

“I’m going to try, but I’m just so busy.”

“Penny is looking forward to seeing Jeffery’s act. So, maybe we’ll see you there.”

* * * 

Later that same day, Sven, the train conductor, came around to tell us the show

Was postponed.

“Postponed?” Penny disappointed. “Why? I was looking forward to seeing him

with his parrot.”

The conductor shook his head. “That’s the problem. Billy Bob has been stolen.

When Jeff went back to his cabin after lunch, the bird was gone. The thief took nothing else, only the parrot.”

Penny looked over at her grandpa. “You’re a detective. Can you help?”

“Sir, that’s why I came here first.” The conductor leaned over, bracing himself on

the seatback. “I was hoping you could lend your expertise to help us get to the bottom of this.”

“I’m happy to be of service, but I’ll need more information from Jeffery and

anyone else who had access to the parrot. Can you get me a list of names? I’ll chat with them in the dining car.”

A table was set up in the dining car, for me to do my interviews. Sven then

brought me a list of five names.

Jeffery was the first to be interviewed. “So, what did you see when you got back

to your cabin.”

“I was going to go over the act with Billy Bob before tonight’s show, but when I

pulled the cover off his cage. My parrot was gone.”

I jotted down a few notes, while I while watching his facial expressions. “Was

there anything else taken from your cabin?”

“No, nothing else was disturbed, but the cage door was open.”  Jeff rubbed his 

forehead. “It doesn’t make any sense. I always latch the door of his cage, but my mind was whirling with new ideas for the act, so might have I forgotten.”

“Could the bird have escaped with the cover still on?”

“He’s a smart bird so I thought that might be possible . . . “ He handed me a scrap

of paper. “Until I found this note.”

I tipped my glasses down and peered at the note. “A caged bird wants freedom.” I

scratched my nose. “Animal activist . . . Hmm! Seems too obvious.”

Jeff stood to leave then turned. “Oh! One more thing, that crazy-ass writer Sarah

Mae constantly complained that my parrot was too noisy. She has the cabin next to me and asked the conductor to have us moved to a different sleeper car.”

“Thanks, I hope to get this resolved within a day or two. I’ll keep you

informed.”

The cleaning lady, Valerie, did not have any useful information. She was nervous

about the interview. Some people got nervous whenever the police asked questions, but the fact that she had access to the cabins couldn’t be ignored. I learned she had three children and money was tight as her husband was laid off from his construction job. 

My third interview was with Charlie, but just as he walked up to the table the

Sven ran over to us. “There’s a problem. It’s in the lounge car. Please come with me.” I followed him as he tried to explain the situation. “The cook heard a scream coming from the lounge car, next to the kitchen. A woman found the parrot in a trash can, with a scissors protruding from his lifeless body.”  

“So, Billy Bob was found dead. The bird kidnapping is now a murder, of sorts.” I

ran my hand through my hair.

The conductor left to find Jeffery so he could identify the body, which seemed

like a waste of time. How many parrots were aboard the train? One and only one, I suspected. Sarah Mae was right. Parrots are noisy, so if there was a second onboard surely someone would have noticed. 

I sent Penny on an investigation to move around the train and keep her eyes and

ears open for any conversations regarding the bird’s demise. No one would pay much attention to a thirteen-year-old, so she could float through the train cars without being questioned. While she was gone, I sent a message out to a former colleague asking her to work up a background report on each of the suspects. She was happy to assist my investigation.

Jeff rushed to the lounge car. “What happened? Where’s my bird?”

“Sorry, I have some bad news.” I lifted the lid to the trash can.

His eyes narrowed, Jeff reached into pickup Billy Bob. “This is a really sick

joke.”

I scratched my head. “Joke? What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t Billy Bob. It’s an African Grey parrot, but my bird has a distinctive

red patch of breast feathers. This bird doesn’t have them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. We spent a lot of time together practicing our act.” He turned

 the bird over to show me then laid it back down. “Billy Bob has only been missing for three hours, and this bird feels cold.”

“That is peculiar.” I turned to Sven. “Is a veterinarian on the train?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll check the passenger log.” 

Now there would be another person to interview, Chelsea, the woman who found

the parrot. She could be the perpetrator returning to the crime scene. There was a lot to be considered, but the fact remained we had one dead parrot and one missing one. As I inspected the body, the conductor returned with Tracey, a veterinarian from the St. Louis Zoo.

“I’m happy to help. What do we have here?”

I pointed to the scissors. “Can you check the bird?”

Tracey reached into the trash can, picked up the bird, and examined it. “Well,

it’s dead.” 

“Really! Thanks Doc.” I shook my head. “Is that all ya got?”

She rotated the parrot and held up a magnifying glass to look at the feathers.

“This bird has been dead for weeks, and it’s been frozen. The feathers have freezer burn marks.” She held it up so I could take a look. 

Jeff turned to look at me. “So, this bird is a parrot popsicle. and my Billy Bob was

still missing. What are you going to do about this?”

This case didn’t make sense. Someone planned this. They brought a frozen parrot

on board so they could steal Billy Bob, then leave the dead parrot hoping to fool everyone. Jeffery’s act was promoted on the flyer, so all the passengers knew about the parrot, but why would anyone want to steal him? The bigger question was, where was Billy Bob now? I was stumped.