“You mean they outsourced their detectives?”
“Well, from my perspective we ‘in-sourced.’ ”
“No, I need someone who knows what they are doing, to... to... I don’t know... look for clues... interrogate witnesses... whatever private detectives do.”
“Miss Nancy, I assure you I know what I am doing. I have a certificate in Murder Investigation from the New Delhi School for Detective Studies. Perhaps you’ve heard of the school? It is the fourth-highest ranked detective school in all of New Delhi. Besides, hiring someone will cost you many thousands of dollars. And we are having a special this week which makes murder investigations very reasonable.”
“So, how does this work?”
“I will walk you through troubleshooting your husband’s death, then I will use my superior powers of deduction to solve the murder. And if I fail, your next murder investigation is free. Would you like to continue this investigation?”
“I guess it’s worth a shot.”
“Now, did your husband have access to dead bodies?”
“No, of course he didn’t.”
“Was there an autopsy? Did you identify the body yourself?”
“No, they weren’t able to recover him. My poor Marley is still out there. I just pray that someday we’ll be able to bury him next to his mother.”
“Not likely, madam. By now the wildlife has probably devoured his carcass. You’ll be lucky if they find even small bones, let alone enough to bury in your family plot.”
[sob]
“Oh no... I am very sorry, Miss Nancy. I am quite sure Mr. Drew was a great and generous man and will prosper in whatever afterlife you believe in.”
“So, the first question in a murder investigation is: Who stood to gain from Marlowe’s death? Did he have any enemies? Maybe a business partner?”
“No. He worked for himself, selling insurance.”
“What about his mistress? Could a secret lover have killed him?”
“Certainly not! Marley was a wonderful husband. He never so much as looked at another woman.”
“That you know of.”
“How dare you! You have no idea how much that man loved me.”
[slightly muffled:]
“No, I’m going to have to skip lunch today... I’ve got another clueless wife with a dead husband... It is unbelievable. Third one this week.”
“What?”
“Oh, uh, sorry. I was... just discussing your case with another detective. What were we talking about?”
“We were talking about how much my husband loved me!”
“Oh yes, I am sure you are a very nice person. What about your finances? Do you owe anyone money?”
“I don’t think so. Marley paid all of the bills. As far as I know, we were never late.”
“Do you know where he kept his financial records? I would like to verify that he was not hiding anything from you.”
“Let me check his desk. I’m going to put you on speaker. Hold on a sec.”
“Okay, I found our mortgage statements. Oh my gosh... we were three months late. This can’t be right.”
“What about your checking and credit-card accounts? Do you see them in his desk?”
“Um... yes, here they are. It says our checking is overdrawn... and these credit-card bills say we owe thirty-one thousand, four hundred fifteen dollars and ninety-two cents. This can’t be right.”
“So, your husband was a deadbeat.”
“He was no such thing.”
“Is it possible your husband owed money to the mob? Did you ever hear him talk about guys with names like ‘Fat Paulie,’ ‘Machine Gun Kelly,’ ‘Toucan Sam,’ or ‘Tony the Tiger’?”
“No, never.”
“What about street gangs? Is there a chance he was a pimp or a drug kingpin?”
“WHAT?!?”
“Never mind. Let’s move on. Keep looking through his desk. Is there anything else unusual?”
[long pause]
“I found an envelope full of receipts. Let’s see, flowers... motel rooms... jewelry? He never gave me these things... Oh my gosh!”
“What? What did you find?”
“I found a receipt for a watch. It had a custom engraving on it. It says: ‘For my dearest Aggie.’ Oh Marley, how could you do this to me?”
“I knew it! Three murdered husbands this week and every one was carrying on a torrid extramarital affair.”
[sob]
“Do you know who this Aggie is that your husband was having sex with?”
“She’s... she’s...”
[sob sob]
“She’s Agatha Hardy. Marley’s best friend is Joe and Agatha is his wife.”
“Is she the vengeful type? Would she kill Marlowe if she couldn’t have him to herself?”
“How should I know? Oh my gosh! I just realized something...”
“What? What is it?”
“Joe was Marley’s climbing parter! Maybe he found out about the affair and killed Marley.”
“Oh! Aaaahhh... aaaargh!”
[incoherent screams of pain]
[sound of phone crashing from desk]
“Hello? Hamish? Are you there?”
“I am here. Sorry about that. I spilled coffee on myself. Now... where were we?”
“Ah yes, you were telling me that Joe was climbing with Marlowe when he died. Using my superior powers of deduction, I deduce that Joe found out about the affair and, in a fit of rage, cut the rope while Marlowe dangled precariously from a cliff, sending him tumbling down the mountain, where he was probably consumed by crocodiles or whatever type of wildlife resides in your region of America.”
“Um... okay. I think you might be on to something.”
“Well, I think we can wrap up this case...”
[dog barking]
“Scooby, shut up. Hamish, can you hold on for a sec? Someone is coming up to my door.”
“Oh my gosh! I can’t tell who it is, but it looks like they’re trying to unlock the door... he’s... whoever it is, is coming into the house! I can hear him downstairs. He’s yelling, ‘I did it. I got away with it.’ It must be Joe. He killed my Marley and now he’s coming after me! What do I do? Help me, Hamish! What should I do?”
“Um... You know, madam, I mean Miss Nancy, I really am not sure. Let me put you on hold and get a senior detective.”
“No! Don’t...”
[hold music]
“Hey Joe, where you goin’ with that gun in your hand?”
“Hello, Miss Nancy? Thank you for holding. I have Missmarple on the line with us. He is one of our most experienced detectives.”
“Hello, madam. How are you?”
“I can hear Joe downstairs. He’s looking for me. He’s going to kill me.”
“Thank you, madam. There is no need to panic. Do you have a gun readily available?”
“No. We don’t have any guns.”
“Thank you, madam. What about a large stabbing instrument? Like a machete or an axe?”
“Not in my husband’s study. Oh my gosh! He’s calling my name. He is definitely looking for me.”
“Do you have a cricket wicket?”
“A what?”
“I think Missmarple means a baseball bat.”
“Oh yes, thank you, Hamish. I forgot we are talking to America. Do you have a baseball bat?”
“No. I don’t have anything like that... Oh my gosh! I think he’s coming up the stairs.”
“Look around the room. Is there a large blunt object you could strike him with?”
“Marley’s trophy. He won ‘Salesman of the Year’ last year.”
“Well, a trophy is not going to be much of a match if he has a gun, but I guess it will have to do. Stand behind the door. When he comes into the room, come out and hit him from behind. We’re on speakerphone so we’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“So, Hamish, have you had lunch yet?”
“No, I’ve been stuck on this call all afternoon. It’s been a crazy day.”