Mrs. Drew

Part 4: Detective Stories

A ratty boy's outfit borrowed from the theatre department and Bess' artistic dusting of some pencil shavings later, even Mr. Fayne mistook his daughter for a street urchin when he came to fetch the cousins from school on his way home from work.

"My little Oliver Twist," he ruffled her hair fondly when he realized his error.

Nancy was waiting at the payphone across the street from Johnson's. After the cousins had called, she went in armed with the information George had learned posing as a boy looking for errand work at Eddie's.

"Afternoon! A man named Harry Fletcher ever come through here? Got graying brown hair, five-ten, drives a black Cadillac."

"What business would a man who drives a Caddy haveta do 'round here?" the stout man behind the counter puffed on his pipe in an exceedingly bored manner.

"How 'bout a kid named Billy Polick?"

"Don't know anyone by that name."

"Perhaps he used a different one then. He's scrawny, about five-seven with a cleft chin and dark hair."

"Oh, yeah, Gunther. He's a regular. Buys knick knacks at garage sales and tries to upsell 'em."

"Mr. Johnson, I'm afraid he's just been arrested for petty thievery. I suspect much if not all that he's sold you wasn't his own."

"What?" he choked mid-puff, "Say, how's a little girl like you know these things anyway?"

"My father's Carson Drew, county attorney. Listen, your boy, Gunther -"

"He doesn't work for me. He sells me things, I buy them, I'm a victim here too!"

"You're going to have to prove you employed due diligence in verifying his legitimacy. How's your record keeping?"

"Look, missy, if that big-shot New York lawyer were really on the case, he'd be here asking questions - not you. Besides, you look nothing like him!"

"Did Gunther ever deliver a message through you?"

"Do I look like a post office? If you're not selling or buying, kid, you gotta leave!"

"Alright, I'll have a look around."

"Well, hurry up, we close soon," he repositioned himself more comfortably on his stool and continued puffing.

Fletcher met with Rothill at Eddie's the night before he'd robbed the Drews'. They'd met several other nights before then, but Nancy couldn't connect those meetings to anything - yet.

She reexamined the list of items other households were still advertising for return, no questions asked. In the musty showroom she found a bronze statue of archangel Gabriel, a mantle clock depicting the Palace of Versailles in France, and a painted porcelain vase. The girl ran her fingers over the heavy statue from top to bottom, and did the same with the clock and the vase.

"I'll give you fifteen for these," she told Mr. Johnson.

"You can read the tags, can't you?"

"The statue is rusty, the clock doesn't tick, and the vase is chipped. I'll give you fifteen."

"If you don't want 'em, don't buy 'em."

"I can read the tags and you've already marked them down three times. No one's buying them but me. I'll give you fifteen."

"... Fine," he took her money and gave her a flimsy cardboard box to carry the items.

Bonus Scene:

Nancy walked to the bus stop on tenth and waited. When a half hour passed and no bus came, she started walking again.

"Hiya Nance," a boy rolled out of the alley behind the River Heights Daily on his bicycle laden with newspapers, "Need a ride?"

"Golly, Ned, you have the best timing, thank you," she strapped the box on the back and stood on the extensions on either side of his hind wheel.

"Whatcha got back there anyway?"

"I found some of the stolen goods from Rothill's other robberies. They're not in the greatest condition, but someone oughta see if anyone wants them back."

"That's... that's really good of you, Nancy."

"Oh, don't say that, please. I'm just... following a... a 'hunch'. Being helpful is just a coincidence."

"There's no such thing as coincidences," he proclaimed, "You're not the only one who reads detective stories."

"Good to know," Nancy smiled.