It was Christmas Eve at the Digby Neck and Islands Detective Agency and Fishgutting Service and not even a mouse was stirring. However, Atticus, the wharf rat that lived in the attic of the DN&IDA&FS was very active indeed. The large rodent had become a kind of mascot for Gurrey and Grime, the two peerless dicks who were the founders and brains behind the highly successful crime prevention and fish cleaning operation.
Atticus lived on scraps of food left behind by the two dicks and as a result his cholesterol level and blood pressure were alarmingly high. In fact a diet of potato chips, Cheesies, Beef Jerky sticks, bologna, and stale beer had rendered him all but immobile. It was hard to say who was more lethargic – Atticus, or the other rodent-like creature who hung out at the office on stilts, their dick-in-training, Owen Otley.
In the absence of a police dog to assist them in their quest for justice, Gurrey and Grime had trained Atticus to assist them on cases where man’s best friend would usually be brought in. Atticus could follow a trail as well as any canine and had brought many a criminal to bay.
This Christmas Eve, Atticus was eating the last of the Cheese Whiz that Gurrey had given him as a holiday snack. The two dicks sat at the desk/gutting table and snoozed, having consumed two small turkeys and a large ham. Suddenly the phone jangled. It was RE Robicheau’s store. “Sorry to bother you on a Christmas Eve fellas, but I don’t know who else to call,” explained Wally “The Wall Man” Robichini, the grocery magnate and sometime smuggler. “We have a new kitten and it’s gone missing and…well, it’s snowing out there and…well….can you help?’ The Wallman was a softie at heart and his story touched the two dicks. “We’ll get right on it,” barked Gurrey. “We’ll bring our tracking rat. Atticus will find that Pussycat.”
The two detectives bundled up and went forth into the storm, their faithful wharf rat Atticus at their heels. When they reached the store Wally was waiting. “Do you have a piece of clothing or some article that the kitty was wearing?” said Gurrey. Grime gave him the kind of look that suggested his partner needed help. “What he means,” said Grime, “is, do you know what he ate last? Atticus can follow smells really well. We just have to put him on the trail.”
“Why yes,” said Wally. “He had some ground up mackerel. The little guy loved it.” Wally momentarily broke down in tears before recovering. “Here’s his dish."
“Perfect,” said Gurrey. He took Atticus to the dish and had him smell the mackerel. Then he took him out in the snow and turned him loose. “Go get him boy! Go get that kitty!”
Atticus scurried off into the softly-falling snow with the two dicks scurrying along behind him. Within minutes he was scratching at the front door of a nearby house. The owner was surprised to find an obese rat and two half-frozen dicks standing on his doorstep, but since it was Christmas Eve, he invited them in. Atticus appeared to be hot on the trail of the wayward kitten, but after thoroughly scouring the house, turned up nothing. Gurrey and Grime were just starting to thaw out when they found themselves back out in the cold, following their intrepid rodent to the next house. Again, despite seeming to have his scent, Atticus could not find the kitten.
The scene was repeated over and over throughout the night at house after house, all to no avail. Finally, as the sky began to lighten on a clear, cold Christmas morning, Grime turned to Gurrey and through chattering teeth, confessed his doubts about the skills of their tracking rat with a vehemence that made Atticus flinch, “I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to lose faith in Atticus’s skills, in fact, I’m on the verge of saying ‘boo, ratley’, you’ve failed in your mission, we’ve scouted every house on the Island but still are no closer to finding that kitten, this whole thing has been a useless trial. I’m about to give up and go home.”
“Not so fast, oh ye of little faith”, responded Gurrey, “As usual, you’ve overlooked some obvious clues. First of all, we haven’t been to every house on the Island. All the houses Atticus has taken us to have something in common, do you know what it is?”
Grime untied the strings to his earflaps and removed the insulated deerstalker that he had taken to wearing after seeing an episode of ‘Sherlock Holmes’ on BBC Canada. Giving his head a scratch as the snow settled on it like flakes on a crystal globe, a light finally began to dawn behind his watery, near-sighted eyes. “Well, now that you mention it, every one of those houses had a cat, and I did think it rather odd that under each tree there was a fresh mackerel, I just assumed it was some strange Brier Island tradition that I didn’t know about. Do you think those might be clues?”
Before Gurrey could enlighten his befuddled partner, there was a loud jingling sound and a brilliant red streak shot through the air and landed at the low water mark on the beach near the store. The two detectives jumped into the Dickmobile and with its bald tires spinning, the dynamic duo slid and slued through the slushy, pre-dawn streets of the now-deserted Westport commercial district. Just as they skidded their way up to the beach area they heard the jingling again and caught another glimpse of the streak, this time receding away from the beach.
“What was that!” gasped Grime, “The last time I saw something move that fast it was going around Suicide on two wheels heading to the bootleggers in Tiverton.”
“I don’t want to say what I think it was just yet!” said Gurrey, “But I do think we better check out the area where it landed. Careful there Grimey, you don’t want to break another hip.”
Tentatively making their way over the slippery, snow-covered rocks, the two dicks reached the part of the beach where the clam beds were exposed by the low tide. There, perched on a mound of sand, sat the missing kitten.
A woefully weary Wally, worn and wan from weeping and worrying all night, was ecstatic to see his kitten again. “Where was he? What was he doing all night?”
“Well”, replied Gurrey, “we’re not exactly sure, but it appears that your little kitten spent the night travelling from house to house making sure that every cat on the Island was left a Christmas present under the tree.”
“But that doesn’t make sense, he’s just a little cat, how could he do that by himself?” replied Wally.
“Let's just say it was a night of Christmas mackerels.” said Grime with a reverential note of awe in his voice.
“And we believe that he was not alone”, added Gurrey, “if you take a close look at his feet, you’ll see there is some evidence of sandy claws.” As the two tired dicks made their way back to their office/fishgutting shack with their faithful rat following behind, Gurrey turned to Grime and said, “Well, buddy, I’m not quite sure what happened here tonight, but I think we can safely say we’ve closed another case.”
MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR
from
GRIME and GURREY
No comments:
Post a Comment