Winning Story 2001

Kay's the name. Dr. Kay Finds'em. Journalist, zookeeper, detective extraordinaire. I lead a rough life, staying up 'till zero' o'clock in the morning, drinking Tasters Choice, trying to figure out who put the "bop" in the "bop‑shu‑bop." Life isn't as easy as a magnifying glass, especially for a woman by the name of Margaret Peacock. Poor woman, while vacuuming the floor, "tripped" over the vacuum cord and plunged down a flight of stairs to her death. Police report stated she didn't see the cord there, for it was an accident. I was a skeptic, however, from the moment I heard Peacock's body was found hidden under a Japanese futon eight feet away from the staircase. My keen sense of '(who done it" told me there was more to the story that someone wasn't telling. Something was fishy, and I knew I was the perfect candidate for the crime. I knew I had to ... INVESTIGATE

When I arrived at the victim's house there was a Honda Civic sitting in the driveway. I suspected foul play from the moment I laid my eyes on the place. It was a beige house with forest green trim. The one story framed house had double doors, and cedar trees lined up on both sides of a well‑manicured lawn. A light left on in the basement gave evidence to suggest that the house was not vacant. It was normal. Too normal.

When I rang the doorbell, a woman in a maid's outfit answered the door. A perky little miss she was, with her revealing black and white dress, her hair in a perfectly rolled bun that sat on the top of her head, as she stood in her 4 inch stiletto heels. Her perfume reeked of suspicion. I assumed it was Peacock's maid, Pinky. But even as pretty as she was, she didn't fool me.

"The name's Kay. Dr. Kay Finds'em. Detective extraordinaire," I said while firmly inviting myself in. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look around and ask you a few questions."

"No problem, Kay..."

"Please ... call me Dr. Finds'em. I insist."

"Would you like some Lemonade, Detective?"

"No!" I shouted. I trust no one, especially one like Pinky. She acted too comfortable so suit me, like the poor woman hadn't plunged down a flight of stairs. I'd bet anything that lemonade was laced! "Let's get down to business, shall we? Were you or were you not Mrs. Peacock's..."

"Down boy!" Pinky screeched. But it was too late. Before I knew it, I was being attacked by a foot tall Tibetan Terrier.

                         "Well, well. What have we here?" I bent down to examine the collar around the mutt's neck. It read:

Spot Peacock

607 Maple Ave.

Property of

Margaret Peacock

"He's being so jumpy. Lately, company has easily excited him. And, what with all the rain this week, he's the only one who seems to be getting mud all over the place," she explained nervously as she peeled the vigorously humping dog from my pant leg, and shooed him down a flight of stairs into what appeared to be the basement. There were no other stairs in sight. Those must be the stairs Peacock fell down!

"Lately. I see."

"Yes, well."

"As I was saying. Were you or were you not Mrs. Peacock's maid?

"For the last three and a half years, yes."

"So, as a maid, doesn't that job require you to do all of the vacuuming?" I was on to something.

"Well, yes, but..."

"Well then! Just what exactly was that poor old woman doing vacuuming her floor when that's your job? Isn't that what you get paid to do? Don't you find it a bit odd that the one time Mrs. Peacock does vacuum her floor, near a flight of stairs none the less, she ends up dead? Gone? Deceased?"

"Well, I ......

Well?!?! That's all you can say? Well?!?! Just how dumb do you think I am? Your afraid to talk, aren't you? You don't want to admit to killing her, do you? You know I'm too smart for you. You know I'll find evidence to you pushing the old lady to her death! YOU MAKE ME SICK!" Just as I began to turn to walk out the door, I noticed tiny slithers of what I was sure had to be the same mud stains Pinky said were made by the dog. They were scattered around on an Oriental rug that sat next to a tipped over flowerpot at the top of the basement staircase. AH HA, I thought.

The girl was clean, but I was disgusted! I knew there had to be more to this case. So 1, went through the list of suspects; there was the cook, the perfect person to poison Peacock, make her not see straight, perhaps while vacuuming; then we had the best friend, a personal tailor for Peacock, who may have made her clothes two sizes too big, which may have caused her to be tangled in her intentionally over sized clothing. No. Somehow, none of them fit the profile. Then, all of a sudden ... it came to me! The mailman!

"So, Rick did you say it was?"

"You betcha," he stated, pulling a NASCAR ball cap over his greasy mullet. I'd be sure to keep my hands off this one.

"Good. So, I assume you know the residence of this neighborhood quite

well then?"

"Oh, yea. We go way back."

"I see. And, do you recall anything strange or out of the 'norm' the day Peacock was killed, I mean, died?"

"Never have heard much of anything around here. It's always real quiet.  But, I do remember hearing a little bit of a ruckus coming from inside of the house. Maybe a glass being dropped, but nothing too startling. A few dog barks maybe. It was real rainy that day too. But, poor lady though. Always nice to everyone, she was."

"Is that so?" I raised my eyebrow.

"The whole family's good people. Take her sister in law for instance. Well, I better be on my way."

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