The Bedroom Detective (Book 1 of 5), Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Harry walked towards his apartment, taking in the scenery around him as he strolled. The couple across the street was arguing, the woman trying to walk away and the man pulling at her arm. He was about to cross the street to intervene when the woman fell into the man’s arms, kissing him with passion that Harry had only written about.

  He was grateful they had made up just in time. If he had to go over there, he was certain he would have gotten knocked out by the large man. But, Harry had become the neighborhood sleuth ever since leaving his job.

  The busy-body neighbor below him constantly brought him cases to work on, somehow mistaking a mystery writer for a detective. He didn’t mind much though; he kind of enjoyed the notoriety that he was bestowed by his neighbors, and it gave him some ideas for his book, and possible future books.

  “Hey Harry, Jimmy is looking for you,” Fred yelled from his downstairs apartment window.

  “Let him know I’m home, will ya?” Harry said, pulling his keys from the black slacks he wore.

  His pride was beaming as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Jimmy was his neighbor - an older man who spent his days inside with his cats. He wasn’t a talker, not very social, and Harry knew if he was looking for him, he must have a case for him to work on.

  He placed the key into the lock and turned the door knob. As the door opened, he noticed something different…something odd about his once homey apartment. It was dark, more than half empty, and in somewhat of a disarray.

  Harry flipped on the light and looked around at the apartments contents. A lamp was sitting on the floor, the table it once adorned now missing, along with the other tables that were once in the room.

  The flowered chair that Claire insisted on bringing over when she moved in was gone, but the old torn leather couch Harry refused to get rid of still in place.

  The television was gone, except some cords on the floor next to the cable box, but his laptop was still on the kitchen table.

  “Were you robbed?” Jimmy sounded behind him.

  Harry ignored the man’s question and walked further into his apartment. A note sat on the kitchen counter.

  Harry,

  I begged and pleaded for you to go back to work, but you insist on chasing this ridiculous dream. We can’t live on dreams, and I cannot live with a man with such silly notions about his misguided talents.

  Please figure out your life,

  Claire

  He held the note in his hand, reading it over and over.

  “Well, at least you weren’t robbed,” Jimmy said.

  Harry hadn’t noticed the old man standing behind him, and he had all but forgotten his presence all together.

  “Fred said you were looking for me,” Harry said.

  “Yes, but it may not be the best time for you. I can come back,” Jimmy said.

  “No, no…it’s fine, I could use the distraction,” Harry said.

  Jimmy went on to tell him about his missing cat. He had five cats in his pet-free apartment, and all of them he considered his children.

  The look of terror in his eyes created more urgency to the situation than Harry agreed with, but he did need the distraction.

  “When did you see him last?” Harry asked.

  “He had been meowing something awful at the window every night this week, so I thought there was something or someone out there disturbing him. So when he disappeared last night, I panicked, and was wondering what if something or someone got him?” he said with serious concern in his voice.

  “How did he get out?” Harry asked.

  Jimmy barely left the apartment himself, so he couldn’t imagine the cat escaping without help. It had to be an inside job.

  “My cleaning lady opened the window while she cleaned the bathroom. He must have left then,” he said.

  “Here’s a picture. Please find Tinkle,” he pleaded, pushing a picture of a fluffy white cat towards Harry.

  Harry took the picture, stared at the missing cat and wondered how well he was faring out in the real world with a name like Tinkle.

  “I’ll find him,” Harry promised.

  Harry printed off flyers of the missing cat and headed out of the apartment armed with his staple gun. It was the method he used to find Mrs. Little’s dog, so he was certain it would be just as effective for Tinkle.

  Six blocks in, he had plastered the neighborhood with the flyers and asked everyone he ran into about the cat’s whereabouts. He was growing bored of the case, and was allowing his thoughts to drift to Claire.

  He dialed her number, and after three rings it went to voicemail, letting Harry know she had ignored the call. His message was short and sweet. It was just ‘this is Harry, call me please. I love you.’

  Sam’s face appeared on his phone, the ringtone set to ‘Eye of the Tiger’ alerting Harry that his friend was calling. He clicked the talk button and was barely able to say hello before Sam began ranting about the five-mile ride he had just taken, and how his body stamina was increasing and building muscle at a faster rate than most professional athletes.

  Harry knew all of this was nonsense, but he did admire Sam for following his dream of becoming an Olympic cyclist, especially since his five-mile ride was most likely two, and mostly downhill.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asked.

  “I’m on a case,” Harry replied.

  “Wow, you really should be charging for your private dick services. What’s the case?” Same asked.

  “A missing cat,” Harry replied.

  His ego was bloated from Sam’s comment. He should be charging for these services, why not? A private dick, Harry, the private dick…his title continued to swarm around in his head.

  “I gotta go. I just broke the case,” Harry said in his best private-dick voice.

  He slid the phone into his pocket and walked slowly towards the downstairs apartment patio. The cat, Tinkle, was sitting on the concrete ledge, perched carefully in the remaining sunlight as it started to go down for the night.

  Harry reached down, gripped the cat and pulled him from the ledge. He hissed, scratched at his face and then jumped from his arms, only to perch himself back on the same ledge.

  The scratches on his cheek burnt, causing Harry to scream out as the claws pierced his skin. A woman emerged from the patio doors, a look of disgust all over her face.

  “Is this your cat?” she asked.

  “No, a neighbors. He’s been missing for a couple days,” Harry said.

  “This isn’t his first visit,” she declared with an angry tone.

  “I have eight kittens inside from the last time he came sniffing around,” she continued.

  Harry stared at the woman, an older lady with white hair. She wore a loose dress covered in flowers, a moomoo his mother used to call them. She was angry, demanding payment for the vet bills of her innocent cat fluffy. Harry gripped Tinkle, this time with his claws facing away from him and promised to relay the message as he scurried away.