Chapter Ten: The Case of the Foggiest Notion

by Jim Prime and Ben Robicheau

    Jim Grime entered the fish shack/detective agency with a flourish. He removed his oil-stained John Deere cap and threw it nonchalantly toward an ancient hat rack in the corner. It missed and landed on the wharf cat which promptly shat in it.

    “Well, I’m back, Gurrey, back from Seattle, Washington. What are you up to?”

     His partner was emerging from the small toilet that hung precarious out over the beach at the back of the shack, supported only by two rotting stilts. “Just finished up some paperwork,” he said. “Jobs not done until you finish the paperwork, you know.”   Grime sighed. “Well, it’s back to reality I guess,” he said.

    “How was your trip Grimesey?” said Gurrey, hoisting himself onto a hogshead and warming his hands by the pot-bellied stove.

    “I arrived on a Friday and it was raining. It rained Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and then the weather took a turn for the worse. I’ll tell you it was just like home.”
    “And how’s your little grandson, Grimsey?” asked Gurrey.
    “Little Sam’s just like me,” said Grime proudly.
    “Incontinent is he?” asked Gurrey.
    “NO!” said Grime angrily. “No!...I mean, yes...of course he’s incontinent, he’s a baby for Pete’s sake! I meant he’s a good-looking kid, just like me.’
    ‘Dear God in heaven,’ thought Gurrey, but said out loud. “Oh that’s great old friend. I confess that I missed you. It isn’t the same trying to solve mysteries all by yourself.”
    “Right you are, old pal,” said Grime. “Sherlock had his Watson, Batman had his Robin, Superman had his Jimmy Olsen, the Lone Ranger had his Tonto, and…”
    Not wanting to be left out, Gurrey interjected “And Charlie Mccarthy had Mortimer Snerd.”
    “Yes…er, yes, that’s right,” replied Grime somewhat taken aback. “Tell me what’s been going on. Any crime on the go?”
    Gurrey lit his corn cob pipe and took two deep draws to get it going. “To tell you the truth Grimey, someone could have stole the whole village and I’d never have seen it. It’s been solid fog for two weeks. Can’t see across the Passage, or even across the street.”
    “Same out there today,” said Grime. “A real pea-souper. This is the kind of weather that criminals love. We’d better be on high alert.”
    Gurrey yawned and expelled a luxurious forty-six second fart.
    “Right you are Grimey,” he said contentedly.
    Suddenly the shop door flew open with a bang, admitting several cold, grasping fingers of fog clinging to the warm, stylish form of Dot Baker, who shook the heavy droplets from her clothes, looked around the detective office/fishgutting parlour, wrinkled her cute little button nose and commented, “I hope I’m not being rude, but this place really smells bad. You must have some rotting fish in here somewhere; maybe it’s time for a good cleaning.”
    With an uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed look, Gurrey replied, “Thanks for that house-keeping tip Dot, we’ll get right to it; in the meantime, what can we do for you?”
    “Well, as you know, I recently opened a donut shop over in Freeport...”
    “Dot’s Donuttery, we know it well”, interrupted Grime, “Your dulse donuts are one of my all-time favourites. You know, I’ve never been able to get them anywhere else, and I’ve tried, all the way from here to Seattle; I just get an odd look when I try to order them, I don’t know why other people don’t carry them, they’re delicious.”
    “Why, thank you Grime. I’m pretty sure you’re my biggest customer for that particular item. As a matter of fact, the bakery is the reason I’m here; we’ve been having some thefts recently. Every time the fog comes in - which is nearly all the time - someone goes around the neighbourhood stealing things. We’ve tried to catch him ourselves, but all we’ve been able to do is snatch a brief glimpse of a vague form disappearing in the mist.
    Everyone in the area has been hit to some extent by this fellow who we call The Crocker’s Hill Creeper, but I’ve been the worst affected because...” Here Dot paused and then continued, “What I’m about to tell you is a trade secret, I’m assuming there is some code of client-dick confidentiality that prevents you from revealing this to anyone else?”
    The two dicks nodded their heads - their couple of dick heads as it were - in confirmation.
    “My secret of success is that I cool my products in the fog, it makes everything nice and moist and imparts a slight flavour of the sea to all my baking. Because I have to put it all outside, I’m an easy target for The Creeper; he’s stealing almost everything I make.”
    “Not the dulse donuts!” Grime was leaning forward with a look of alarm.
    “No, that’s about the only thing he hasn’t taken so far.”
    With a sigh of relief, Grime settled back in his chair.
    “Anyway, since we didn’t have any luck trying to catch him ourselves, I decided it was time to bring in some able, competent professionals. Unfortunately, none of them were available, so here I am at your door. Do you think you can help me?”
    “Hmmm,” said Gurrey. “This reminds me of another case I read about – I can’t remember where. It involved a guy named Simple Simon.”
    “That’s a fairy tale character,” snapped Grime.
    “I don’t care about his sexual orientation,” replied Gurrey earnestly. “If he’s a crook, he’s a crook.”
    Grime ignored his partner and turned to question Ms. Baker in greater depth. “Pardon me for saying so Dot, but you are much better known for your egg tarts than for your donuts. Whenever they see you walk by, everyone’s first reaction is ‘Tart!’”
    Realizing that his comment could conceivably be interpreted negatively, he added “Not me of course. I prefer your buns.” Confident that he had cleverly covered up any imagined slight, Grime silently thanked his grade 11 teacher, Mrs. Hooper, for his diplomatic way with words. Little wonder that he was known as the Henry Kissinger of the tri-islands area.
    He continued with the questioning as Gurrey took notes. “This person you saw sneak away into the fog…was he tall, short – was there anything about him that was odd?”
    “Now you come to mention it,” began Dot, “he was carrying two huge bags slung low over his shoulders. They were stuffed with something very heavy because he could barely walk. Probably pies.”
    “Anything else?” prompted Grime. “Well, it was pretty foggy but I thought at first that he had two accomplices, one on either side, helping him along.” She paused. “One other thing. It may not be important but I could have sworn I heard him laughing. It was a very strange sound, like a seagull giving birth.”
    “I see,” said Grime. “Well thank you very much Dot. You’ve given us a lot to go on. We’ll be in touch when we have a result.”
    With a doubtful look, Dot left the building and the two dicks went back over the evidence carefully. “Read me your notes Gurrey,” said Grime.
    Gurrey flicked open his notepad and began to read. “Always start by putting an ‘X’ or ‘O’ in the center square. Don’t let Grime make the first…” He stopped abruptly. “Sorry, those are my strategy notes on tic-tack-toe. I swear I’ll master that game yet Grimesey.”
    Grime gave him a withering look as Gurrey found the right page in his notebook.
He read his notes:
    “Stole donuts/possibly three suspects/ carries heavy bags/heard laughter.” He stopped reading and looked at Grime.
    “That’s it?!” said Grime. “Those are the only notes you made in a 20-minute interview?!”
    “I have a mind like a steel trap,” replied his partner. “The rest is all up here!” He pointed toward his balding head, inadvertently poking himself in the eye with his Bic pen.
    Throwing down the pen, Gurrey rose from his chair and said,” Enough paperwork, it’s time for some action! Let’s roll!” He was halfway out the door before realizing his partner was not behind him. Turning back, he saw Grime writhing about on the floor.
    “What are you doing?”
    “You said to roll, so I’m rolling.”
    “I didn’t mean that literally, it’s a figure of speech; what I meant was, ‘Let’s get in the car and drive off.’”
    “Oh”, said Grime, getting up off the floor, “Well, try to make your meaning a little clearer from now on. Now I’ve got fish guts all over my suit.”
    A short while later the partners were sitting in the Dickmobile across from the Donuttery watching customers come and go. Gurrey was getting eye-strain trying to notice anything suspicious through the dense fog, while Grime was preoccupied with flicking rancid fish entrails off his sleeve and sulkily muttering to himself, “Nearly ruined my best suit...paid a lot of money for this suit...now I’ll have to get it dry-cleaned...probably cost a lot to clean a nice suit like this.”
    “Look”, said an exasperated Gurrey, “That’s a 1970’s disco suit that you got out of the bargain bin at Frenchy’s for $1.25. If it’s really ruined, buy another one, I’ll gladly give you the $1.25, just stop pouting about it!”
    After an uncomfortable hour spent sitting in strained silence, Gurrey finally said, “Well, Dot was right about the fog; when it’s this thick you can’t see anything, now it’s getting dark too. This is a waste of time; we might as well go back to the office and work on coming up with a plan.”
    “You go,” said Grime, getting out of the car, “I’m going to take a closer look at the scene of the crime, I’ll see you later.”
    Late the next morning, the Dickmobile was again in its usual spot across from the donut shop. Gurrey had been surprised when Grime arrived back at the office and announced that there was no need to bother with a plan; in the morning, he would be able to pick out the guilty party in front of the store next to Dot’s establishment. As they sat waiting, Gurrey noticed that there seemed to be a lot of activity this morning; people were streaming in from all directions and entering the only store in the village. Finally the front door opened and a pale, anxious-looking fellow came out carrying a large bundle under his arm.
    “That’s him!” cried Grime excitedly, “That’s our thief!”
    “Are you sure?” asked Gurrey incredulously, “But that’s Rev. McKinnon, why do you think he’s the thief?”
    “Yesterday while we were sitting here, I came up with a fool- proof plan to make The Creeper identify himself. I didn’t mention it to you at the time because I was still mad about the suit thing. After you left, I went in to talk to Dot, who was just about to put the chocolate icing on a batch of her irresistible breakfast donuts; everybody loves those, I figured if The Creeper is going to steal anything, he’ll steal those. When she turned her back for a moment, I dumped a package of ex-lax into the icing. It’s a perfect plan, he’ll steal the donuts, he’ll eat the donuts, the ex-lax will do its stuff; and according to my calculations, just about now is when he will be running out of toilet paper...and there he is.” Grime concluded by pointing at the hapless Rev. who was struggling valiantly with an extremely large package of toilet tissue.
    Gurrey was gob-smacked at this news, “Uh, Grimey, you do know that they don’t put icing on hot donuts don’t you? Those donuts were already cooled; they never went outside after they were iced, they probably went right into the display case.” With a rapidly increasing feeling of impending doom, Gurrey pointed out a fact that Grime already knew only too well, “Nearly everybody in town comes here first thing in the morning for a coffee and one of Dot’s delicious breakfast donuts.”
    “No, no” said Grime with a rising note of panic, “It’s a good plan! It’s a good plan! That’s our thief right there! I’m sure of it!”
    Just then the door opened again and another customer emerged carrying a package of toilet paper; he was quickly followed by another, then another, and another.
    “Oh, oh” said Grime.
    “Oh, oh is right” said Gurrey, “Congratulations Grimey old pal, you’ve succeeded in singlehandedly giving the entire village of Freeport a case of the runs.”
    “Oh, no” said Grime, sinking down in the car seat, “What do we do now?”
    “Well” replied Gurrey, “Under the circumstances, I think there is really only one option available to us.” With that, he started the engine and the two dicks surreptitiously slunk away into the mercifully enveloping fog.
    The next morning found Grime – in spite of the previous day’s events – in good spirits. Gurrey discovered him sitting at the splitting table/desk in front of a large sheet of paper covered in circles and arrows and dozens of cryptic notations.
    “I’ve been up all night working on a new plan,” he said.
    “I hope this one doesn’t involve a laxative,” Gurrey replied warily.
    “No,” replied Grime with a wink.” Although I’ve never seen the citizens of Freeport looking so regular. This time I think I may have an idea about who our donut thief is.”
    That evening, Gurrey and Grime were seated at the back of the room at the IOOF Hall, listening to the comic stylings of Bertram “Chuckles” Allbrite, the finest stand-up comic in the tri-islands area. The crowd was in hysterics and had been since the show began some two hours earlier. The knock-knock jokes had the patrons howling but the “that’s what she said” improvisational gambits had them gasping for air. To conclude his set, the morbidly obese comic had segued into a put-down argument with a tipsy member of the audience.
    “Hey, yer not funny,” slurred the clearly inebriated man in the second row.
    “Yeah, so’s your mother,” Chuckles had retorted and his witticism was rewarded with gales of guffaws.
    Encouraged by the response, Chuckles continued to attack his heckler. “You are short and ugly and I hope you die,” he said.
    The put-down was classic Allbrite material and people were literally rolling in the aisles. He ended with the same catch phrase with which he began and ended every show. “Getting’ any?”
    Several people had to be assisted in leaving the hall, they were laughing so hard.
    As Allbrite left the stage, Grime noticed that his buttocks were worthy of two separate postal codes.
    Outside in their dick-mobile, the two dicks discussed what they had seen and heard.
    “Notice anything about the way Chuckles tells jokes?” said Grime.
    “Only that he’s hi-larious,” responded Gurrey.
    “Yes, right,” said Grime, rolling his eyes. “Ever notice that he laughs at his own jokes?”
    “Sure, that’s his trademark,” replied Gurrey. “So what?’
    “So, he has a very distinctive laugh,” said Grime. “I think what we need is a laugh line-up. Round up five Joes off the street and our friend Chuckles and we’ll see if Dot can identify who she heard laughing.”
    An hour later, Gurrey showed up at the bakery with five local loafers he had found loitering around the desolate streets of Freeport. “I couldn’t find five guys named Joe”, he informed Grime, “But I did get one Joe, a Jack, two Johns and a Jimmy.”
    “I guess that’ll have to do,” replied Grime, “Put them in the back room with our suspect while I set up the interrogation equipment.” While Gurrey hustled the line-up participants into the storage room, Grime carefully unpacked his most prized possessions; his official Hey, Hey, We’re The Monkees portable record player and his stack of classic comedy albums: Richard Pryor Live on the Sunset Strip, Standup Comic with Woody Allen, The Button Down Mind of Bob Newhart, Comedian with Eddie Murphy, Class Clown with George Carlin, and A Wild and Crazy Guy with Steve Martin.
    “If these don’t make ‘em laugh, nothing will” thought Grime. “OK Gurrey, bring them in one at a time.”
    Grime was merciless in his interrogation, blasting each suspect with the time-tested comedic stylings of some of the greatest humorists known to mankind. One by one they succumbed under the relentless barrage of jokes, gags, comic impersonations, and humorous stories; eventually finding themselves reduced to a state of helpless laughing, chuckling and guffawing.
    When it was all over, Grime turned to Dot and said, “I regret that you had to witness such a spectacle, but it was unfortunately necessary. Which laugh do you recognize?”
    “I’m sorry” replied Dot, “A couple sounded close, but none of them sounded exactly the same as the laugh of The Crocker’s Hill Creeper.”
    Devastated, Grime half-collapsed on a near-by donut rack; squashing several of Dot’s freshly-glazed clam crunchies. “How could I be wrong again, Gurrey? I was so sure I had it figured out this time. Maybe what everyone says is true, that I’m too old, too senile, too stupid, too homely, too flatulent, too bald, too halitosis-ridden, too badly dressed for this job.”
    “Don’t listen to that kind of talk Grimey; they’re mostly wrong about almost half of those things. Run that line-up through one more time; I’ve got a hunch you might be right about this after all.”
    This time, just as each candidate opened his mouth to laugh, Gurrey shoved a donut in it. As soon as “Chuckles” Allbrite emitted his first crumb-spewing belly-laugh, Dot yelled out, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s the weird laugh I heard that night!”
      Confronted with the testimony of an irrefutable ear-witness, Allbrite quickly folded – at least as far as a man of his size and shape was able to fold – and confessed to being The Creeper. “Believe it or not, being a comic at the Freeport IOOF Hall doesn’t pay that well, and it takes a lot of energy to get up on a stage and perform, I was burning too many calories and started wasting away. When I dropped below 120 pounds, I got desperate, I know an artist is supposed to suffer for his art, but I was about to die for mine. I knew that Dot put her baking outside, so I started sneaking the odd jellyfish donut, or maybe a mussel muffin or lobster-bait brownie, just enough to give me the energy to get through another set. As you can see, it worked; in fact it worked too well; her treats are so delectable that I couldn’t restrain myself, I got addicted to the sugar-rush, had to eat more and more and finally became the morbidly obese man you see before you.”
    By this time, Gurrey, Grime and Dot were on the verge of tears at Chuckles’ sad story.
    “Isn’t there anything we can do?” asked Dot with a sniffle and a dainty little snort, “Does he have to go to jail?”
    “That’s up to you” responded Gurrey, “You were the main victim of his crimes; do you want to press charges?”
    A short while later, Gurrey and Grime were on their way to the ferry. Grime carefully selected another dulse donut from the box that Dot had given him in appreciation for solving the mystery of The Crocker’s Hill Creeper, and said, “Well, that turned out all right. Everyone seemed happy enough with the way things were resolved.”
    After it was decided that there would be no charges, an appreciative and repentant Chuckles promised to do some benefit shows at the Donuttery to make up for what he had stolen; and Dot, being a long-time supporter of the arts, agreed to become Chuckles’ corporate sponsor, manager and weight-loss coach.
    “Yep” said Gurrey, “A good day for all involved and another case closed for Gurrey and Grime.”
     “Getting any?” added Grime, and the two collapsed in laughter.