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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 28, 2020 14:20:26 GMT -6
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME By Richard Ciciarelli Detective Anne Sharma stood looking at a mess of wooden stems, black and shriveled leaves and dead blossoms, surrounded by vibrant green, yellow and orange marigolds.
“Did the chief really assign me to a case involving dead flowers?” she wondered.
“You see?” Sharma’s thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Mabel Griffith. “My prize roses. Ruined by some vandal. And I would have won the city’s gardening contest for the third consecutive year.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sharma said. “Do you have any idea when this could have happened?”
“I began noticing my roses were looking sickly a few days ago. And things got progressively worse. That’s about how long it takes for weed killer to take effect, so I’m guessing someone sprayed my flowers on Monday or Tuesday.”
“Good. We have a possible starting point. Who came to your house on those days?”
“No one,” Griffith said. “And if I did have any visitors, they wouldn’t have come back here. I don’t allow anyone in my garden.”
“Then the vandal must have come at night,” Sharma said. “I noticed your fence gate is well oiled and makes no noise when opened. That allowed someone to sneak in. Now, who would want to damage your roses?”
“I can give you three names,” Griffith said, counting on her fingers. “Karen Burgess, Jane Willis and Lorraine Paxton. All ladies I’ve beaten in past garden shows and all who entered again this year.”
“And you think one of them did this to prevent you winning for a third time?”
Griffith nodded.
An hour later Anne Sharma stood at the door of Karen Burgess.
“Mabel thinks I killed her roses?” Burgess said. “Why? Mine are ten times better than hers. Mine are a rare cross breed. I’m sure to win this year’s competition.”
“Ms Griffith doesn’t think so,” Sharma said. “She claims you have the kind of weed killer used to destroy her roses.”
“Just about every gardener in the city does,” Burgess said. “It’s how we keep unwanted growth out of our plant beds. If you ask me, Mabel knew she was going to lose and sprayed her own flowers as an excuse to avoid being embarrassed by the judges.”
Next Sharma visited Jane Willis.
“Mabel said that?” Willis said when Sharma explained the situation. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. She always did live in her own little world.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she thinks she’s the world’s greatest horticulturalist and everyone else is jealous of her. So we all have the same kind of weed killer. So what? That doesn’t mean we’d use it on someone else’s plants.
“And I’ll tell you another thing: If I were to spray her garden, I wouldn’t stop at her roses. I’d spray everything, even the marigolds she uses to keep bugs away.”
Sharma’s last stop was at the home of Lorraine Paxton.
“She’s got a lot of nerve accusing me,” Paxton said. “Sure, I have weed killer here, but I’m not the only one.”
“No, but you did enter the garden competition in the rose category,” Sharma said.
“So did a lot of others,” Paxton said. “If you ask me, Mabel should never have won the last two competitions. Her roses were nowhere near as good as mine. I think she paid off the judges. That would be something she’d do.”
Detective Sharma returned to police headquarters and plopped into her chair.
“Tough case?” Sergeant Jerry Hobbs asked.
“Ridiculous case is more like it,” Sharma said. “I wasted a whole day on a bunch of roses that were sprayed with weed killer.”
Sharma’s eyes widened.
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Post by lostineternity99 on Mar 29, 2020 6:29:08 GMT -6
Mabel uses marigolds to keep insect pests away so she did not spray her own roses ... my guess is Karen Burgess.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 29, 2020 11:13:05 GMT -6
The Answer:
Mabel Griffith said that no one was allowed in her back yard, but Jane Willis knew, that in addition to her roses, Mabel had marigolds in her garden.
The only way she could have known that is if she saw them when she was spraying weed killer on Mabel’s roses.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 29, 2020 11:24:26 GMT -6
BREAK-IN AT THE MUSEUM By Richard Ciciarelli My partner Larry and I had been assigned the night shift that week. We checked in at midnight on Friday and less than a half hour later the phone rang. “This is Jack Bennett,” the caller said. “I’m the curator of the city museum.” “What can I do for you, Mr. Bennett?” I asked. “I was on my way home from a party and I swung by the museum. I noticed the delivery door at the rear of the building was ajar and the wires of our alarm had been cut. Someone may be inside.” “We’ll be right there.” I hung up and told Larry the situation. “Museum?” He asked. “Strange place for a break-in. I don’t even think I’ve ever been there. Why would anyone want to break in?” “We’re about to find out.” At twelve-forty we pulled into a lot behind the museum. Jack Bennett’s silver sedan was there. He climbed out as we approached. “I didn’t dare go in,” he said. “That was smart. Follow us. Stay behind and make as little noise as possible.” The three of us slipped through the open back door, Larry and I waving our flashlights back and forth in the pitch-dark building. The whole place was as quiet as a tomb, our muffled footsteps echoing in the darkness. As I flashed the beam from my light to the left, Bennett tapped me on the shoulder. “There,” he whispered. “That door to the antiquities room. It should be closed.” My flashlight revealed an open large double door. “I don’t hear anyone,” I said. “I think we’re safe talking out loud.” We made our way across the floor and through the double doors. I flashed my light around while Larry pulled aside a wall tapestry to our left and flipped the light switch. It took a few seconds for our eyes to become accustomed to the brightness, and once they were, we saw the damage. Several glass cases in the middle of the room were smashed. Whatever had been in those cases was now missing. Only purple velvet with some irregular indentations remained. “The Egyptian artifacts!” Bennett exclaimed. “They’re gone.” “What kind of artifacts?” I asked. “Solid gold rings and amulets,” Bennett answered. “Scarabs and miniature tablets inscribed with hieroglyphics.” “Who would steal that stuff?” Larry asked. “You’d be surprised,” Bennett said. “There are private collectors out there who would pay a fortune for things like these. And they wouldn’t ask any questions about how the seller got them.” “But surely they couldn’t put ads in the newspaper or on an internet auction site,” I said. “No, but there are places on the dark web where buyers and sellers can go to make illegal transactions.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I’ll call the station and report this. The entire museum will have to be closed tomorrow while our forensics people dust for fingerprints and go through their entire regimen of tasks. I don’t hold much hope, though. I’m betting our thief wore gloves.” Saturday morning found me at the station early, looking through our files on all the people in our city who had been previously arrested for burglary. “Any luck?” our captain asked. “I have a couple of names I’d like to check,” I said, “but none of these guys ever dealt in Egyptian antiquities.” “There’s a first time for everything,” the captain said. “You never know what someone will do for money.” I don’t know why, but that remark sparked an idea. “Captain, I’d like you to call a judge to get a search warrant. I think I know where we can find those stolen artifacts.” ❓
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Who dunnit? Do you know?? |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Mar 30, 2020 5:53:02 GMT -6
Jack Bennett is the only one mentioned and knows about selling stolen antiquities on the dark web so he is my guess.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 30, 2020 10:47:20 GMT -6
Good detective work, Sir Rick.
The answer:
It had occurred to me that when we started this case, Larry said he had never been to the museum. Yet he knew the light switch to the Egyptian antiquities room was behind a wall tapestry.
That’s because he had found it earlier Friday night when he broke in and robbed the museum.
Using the search warrant, we found the missing artifacts in Larry’s basement.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 30, 2020 10:51:45 GMT -6
FOURTH OF JULY MURDER By Richard Ciciarelli Police Detective Henry Dickens pointed to the body of a woman in a canvas folding chair atop a small hill. “Mayor Walker here,” he told detective Betty Ransom, “always gives a little speech before the fireworks display. This year, instead of the usual happy birthday to our country, she said that someone in her administration was embezzling money from the city and that tomorrow, after the holiday, she was going to reveal that person’s identity to us.” Ransom looked at the dead woman who sat slumped to one side, a large hunting knife protruding through the left side of the canvas chair and into her back. “Apparently that person wanted to keep Mayor Walker quiet,” she said. “And whoever it was knew that after the mayor’s speech every year, she came to the top of this hill to sit and watch the fireworks.” Dickens nodded in agreement. “And that person planned this in advance. People don’t walk around carrying hunting knives with them. Our killer knew Mayor Walker was on to him.” “Were any city employees here tonight?” Ransom asked. “Yes. We did a quick canvassing of the crowd after Mayor Walker’s body was found. Eloise Carter, the city clerk; Angus Jones, the highway superintendent; and Joan Beevil, the assistant mayor, were all here.” “It’s possible one of them waited until the fireworks show began, then snuck up here and stabbed the mayor. The noise of the fireworks would drown out any cries she would make.” “And everyone in the crowd would be too busy watching the pyrotechnics to notice anyone,” Dickens said. “We should interview those three first thing tomorrow.” The next morning Eloise Carter sat across a table from Detective Ransom in an interrogation room. “Yes, I was at the fireworks display,” she said in answer to Ransom’s question. “I go every year with my husband.” “Then you heard Mayor Walker’s speech?” Carter nodded. “And I was certainly surprised. I can’t imagine anyone in service to our city stealing like that.” “Did you stay with your husband the whole time?” “Yes.” Carter paused. “Except for the five minutes or so when I went to buy a soda.” “When was that?” “Just after the fireworks started. I figured there wouldn’t be too many people in line then so I wouldn’t have to wait.” The next person questioned was Angus Jones. “My wife and I were with our grandchildren,” he said. “We sat in our usual spot near the bandstand.” “What did you think of Mayor Walker’s speech?” Jones frowned. “That wasn’t the place for an announcement like that. It ruined the celebration for everyone.” “Did you ever leave your family?” “Once. About half way through the fireworks display I got hungry and went for a hot dog.” Joan Beevil was the last person questioned. She kept scratching her right arm, which was in a cast and a sling. “Yes,” she said, “I realize that I’ll be acting mayor now, so it will be up to me to find out who Jasmine said was embezzling.” “Were you alone at the celebration?” Ransom asked. “No. With this broken arm I need a little help. My husband, son and daughter-in-law were with me.” “All night?” “Yes. Except for when I went for an ice cream cone during the fireworks display.” When Ransom and Dickens were alone, they went over the suspects’ stories. “There’s only one of them who may have done this,” Ransom said. “Let’s get all their fingerprints to compare to the ones on the knife to be sure........................................................................................ WHO DOES DETECTIVE RANSOM SUSPECT? ❓ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Mar 31, 2020 7:27:26 GMT -6
The stab was on the left side of the back of her chair and Joan Beevil had a broken right arm in a cast and sling so is my guess for the murderer.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 31, 2020 11:25:09 GMT -6
Good Job, Sir Rick.
The answer:
As Detective Dickens said, “People don’t walk around carrying hunting knives.” The killer must have had it hidden somewhere.
Joan Beevil’s sling would be a perfect hiding place. Plus, the mayor was stabbed on her left side, and Beevil’s right arm was immobilized, leaving only her left arm to strike with.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 31, 2020 11:53:11 GMT -6
Logan’s Big MomentI’ve been in bed all morning. My nose is stuffed up and I’m sneezy and achy. But the worst thing is that it’s a Saturday and I can’t even take off a sick day from school.
Logan drops by my room to see how I’m doing. From the start, he’s being way too nice. “What do you want?” I ask. I can always tell when he wants something.
“You know Charlotte, right?” Charlotte Walker is the cutest, coolest girl in Logan’s class and he’s got a crush on her. “Well, she wants me to solve a mystery. I thought you could tag along, if you don’t have anything better to do.”
“Better to do?” I can barely breathe. “You just want to impress her.”
Logan doesn’t deny it. “Come on. I always want you to take the credit.” He breaks into a crooked smile. “Except maybe this time.”
I’m under orders to stay in bed. But we sneak out the back and make our way around the block to the Walkers’ house. Charlotte meets us at the door. “You brought your little brother?” she asks, making a face. I follow Charlotte and Logan upstairs, trying not to look deathly ill. There’s a sign on her door saying “No Boys Allowed”, but she lets us in anyway.
Charlotte closes her bedroom door and lowers her voice. “It’s my brothers.” She has three brothers. There’s Noah, who’s in high school. There’s Charlie, who is Charlotte’s twin. And then Sebastian, who is my age, two years younger than Charlotte and Charlie. “I always keep my door locked,” she says. “But one of them gets in anyway. It’s driving me crazy.”
“When was the last time?” asks Logan.
“This morning,” says Charlotte, “right before I called you.” She points to the mess of things on her dresser. “After breakfast, I came back and saw that my diary was in a different position and someone had spilled a bottle of my favorite body spray.”
Logan wrinkles his nose. “What do you want me to do?”
“My parents think I’m imagining it,” says Charlotte. “And my brothers just laugh. But everyone trusts you, Logan. I need you to find out who’s doing it.”
My brother is actually blushing. “Leave it to me,” he says. “Is Noah around?”
Charlotte points us to Noah’s room then goes downstairs while we start the investigation. Logan knocks. “What?” comes a sleepy voice that almost sounds like a grownup’s.
“Hi,” my brother shouts through the door. “It’s Logan, Charlotte’s friend. Can I come in?”
“No. Did Charlotte send you to grill me about her privacy?” Noah laughs. “The girl’s certifiable.”
It’s tough, questioning someone who won’t even come to the door, but Logan does his best. Noah claims that he’s been in his room all morning. “I had a late date last night,” he says, “and I’m sleeping in. Now go away.”
Logan doesn’t have any better luck with Charlotte’s twin. Charlie’s not in his room, and Logan calls him on his cell. The two of them are friends, so Logan can be a little sneakier. “Hey, Charlie?” Logan has his phone on speaker. “It’s Logan. What’s up? Wanna hang out?”
Even though they’re twins, Charlotte and Charlie are as different as day and night. “I’m at the library,” Charlie answers. He’s the studious one in the family.
“The library?” Logan is skeptical. “I didn’t think anyone used libraries anymore.”
“Well, my computer’s got a bug and I have to do research for a paper.” Charlie is half-whispering, which is believable, if he’s actually in a computer cubicle in the library. According to Charlie’s half-whisper, he was the first one up this morning and got to the library just when the doors opened at 8 a.m. Charlie is worried he’ll get yelled at by the librarian, so he cuts the call short.
There’s one last room at the end of the hallway. Sebastian, my classmate, is inside watching a video. “Hunter.” He turns it off, glad to see me. Logan and I sit on his bed. I let Logan do the talking, partly because he’s supposed to be the detective and partly because my head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. Sebastian is smart and he can guess why we’re here. “Charlotte is so paranoid,” he says. “Like any of us wants to play mind games like that. She’s just doing it for attention.” Then he winks at Logan. “She likes you, you know.”
Like Noah and Charlie, Sebastian has a flimsy alibi. “I was practicing the piano and then I cleaned my room.” His room looks pretty clean, but then Sebastian is a bit of a neat freak.
After it’s over, Logan and I retreat into Charlotte’s room. Logan is beaming. “I know who did it. I’ll bet you never thought I’d say that, huh?”
“What?” I’m completely thrown. “How could you know?” It’s a real question. Logan and I were together for the whole investigation. Yet he figured it out and I didn’t. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” says Logan. “But don’t feel bad. I have a piece of information that you don’t.”
“What information? Did you know something from before we started?”
“No-o-o,” he teases me. “We both heard and saw exactly the same things. We also tasted and touched the same things.” He pauses while I think. “Come on, Hunter. It’s as clear as the nose on your face.”
Do you have the answer?
WHICH BROTHER WAS IN CHARLOTTE’S ROOM?
WHAT CLUE DID LOGAN CATCH?
WHY DID HUNTER MISS THE CLUE? ❓
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 1, 2020 5:56:33 GMT -6
I am too sleepy to try and solve this now, maybe later  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 1, 2020 7:43:02 GMT -6
Aha!! That tells me this is not a good choice as a new subject. Will look for something different. 
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 1, 2020 8:20:23 GMT -6
But here's the solution to the last one:
As soon as Logan mentions my nose, I know. Logan must have smelled something that I didn’t, because of my cold. Then I remember that the intruder had spilled a bottle of body spray – and that Logan wrinkled his own nose in Charlotte’s room when he smelled it.
“It was Sebastian,” I deduce. “He’s the only brother we talked to in person. Noah never let us in and Charlie was in the library. You smelled Charlotte’s body spray on Sebastian.”
“I’d recognize her body spray anywhere,” Logan says with this dreamy look on his face. “And it was all over Sebastian. I win.” He pumps a fist in the air.
“That’s not fair. I’m sick.” But I don’t really mind. Logan deserves his moment.
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 2, 2020 7:21:08 GMT -6
Aha ... this makes sense  Sounds good to me, Foxy; my brain seems to want to save its energy for writing  |
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