Detective of All Trades #1

It's Always the Little Things

About ⅙ of my more..... spookier cases have involved someone - whether they be a skeptic or a believer - who isn't overly spooked by the haunting of their home. They might be worried about what'll happen in the long run if it continues, but still not as spooked as others I've had. I find myself between astonished and impressed whenever I find myself getting a call from one of them, such as the case I just finished recently.

I was half way through watching Napoleon Dynamite when my phone started ringing to the tune of the X-Files theme song. The only person I used that for was Amery at the front desk. My guess was either that it was the delivery I was supposed to get yesterday or someone was asking for me after spotting my flyer for amateur detective/babysitting/pet sitting on the lobby corkboard.

"I'll take 'overdue package finally arrived' for $400 please, Amery," Amery and I are big fans of Jeopardy and heartbroken over the passing of Alex Trebek. I've been answering Jeopardy style since the two of us exchanged numbers.

"Unfortunately, that is the wrong answer. Try again," Amery chuckled.

"Alright, how about 'normal detective case' for $100?"

"Warmer, but still not the right answer."

"A 'paranormal case' for $1000?"

"And our lucky winner is Mrs. Acker from the fifth floor. She wants to speak with you face-to-face about the matter."

"Keep her in the lobby, could you? I'll be down in ten minutes," I hung up before Amery could answer. I knew they'd keep her there for me.

I've never met this Mrs. Acker before. Granted, the only neighbors I actually knew well enough to consider acquaintances were the occupants of the third floor, where I reside in apt. 312. There was Jerry and Toby of apt. 349 who occasionally ask me to pet sit their cats: Casper, Hickory, and Fozzie. Muriel and her dog Simon are retired military, both having served 6 tours overseas and now enjoying civilian life in apt. 325. Ellis in apt. 307 makes fantastic sugar cookies.

Just like I said I would, I arrived at the front desk in ten minutes. Pacing off to the side was whom I correctly presumed to be Mrs. Acker. I'd say she was in her mid-60's or so. Definitely a "worried about it" kind of client.

"Mrs. Acker?" I reached my hand out for a handshake.

"Ah, you must be Cordelia Tucker. Call me Mrs. A. I would like to discuss some unexplainable goings-on that are occurring in my apartment with you," Mrs. Acker started walking towards the elevator.

I pressed the fifth floor button for her when we got in, "Amery at the front desk told me you wanted to speak about that."

"I doubt it's a ghost, but you can never be too sure about anything these days," Mrs. A. opened up the door to her place, "what with all these realistic effects they put in movies now."

Inside was wonderfully furnished and her choice of pets was not something I expected a woman such as Mrs. A. to adore so much.