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dorfman real estate & business brokerage 760-942-4230
Green unscrabbles a mystery. Prevents environmental disaster.
THE HOUSE DETECTIVE
or
the further adventures of Ray Green
by Amy as told by Doctor Watson
Looking back later, I couldn't believe that such a
relaxed afternoon turned out the way it did. (I guess I shouldn't have been
surprised, considering my recent adventure with that gorgeous blonde lady who wasn't at
all what she seemed, to put it mildly.)
Anyway, my day began as it often does, showing property to a Los
Angeles couple, Jimmy and Marge, who had decided it was time to escape the pace
of the big city and move to a more leisurely, "civilized" area, namely our North
County. After looking at a few homes in Solana Beach and Encinitas,
they had finally honed in on the Carlsbad area, and I found them a place they
loved, in easy walking distance to the ocean. I'd spent a little time with them, walking
around the village with its quaint boutiques, galleries, and antique stores.
Marge especially enjoyed visiting the Carlsbad House of Antiques, an
antique-and-collectibles mall on State Street that was crammed with what she
called "good stuff!" Afterward, we had lunch at Fidel's, a great
Mexican restaurant on the corner of Carlsbad Boulevard (The Old Coast Highway)
and Carlsbad Village Drive. We sat on the patio, enjoying the fresh ocean air and
the delicious chile rellenos. My clients relished Fidel's special frosty
margaritas, while I -- being my usual dull self -- indulged in a frosty root beer or two.
After depositing Jimmy and Marge at their friend's house, where
they were spending the weekend, I decided to satisfy my sweet tooth by going up to a
little place called Just Desserts where they have some of the most delicious ice
cream to be found anywhere. I ordered a dishful of decadently chocolate stuff and sat down
at one of the small patio tables to polish it off. Someone had left a half-played game of
chess on the table, and I fiddled idly with the pieces, testing my skill. (I freely admit
I'm no Bobby Fischer -- my wife invariably beats me whenever we play. But then, I
invariably beat her at my specialty, Scrabble, so things even out...)
As I tried to figure out my next move against myself, with time
out for slurping up bites of the rapidly melting ice cream, I heard a chuckle behind me,
and a shadow fell across the chessboard. "I say, old boy," a deep male voice
said, "you're missing an obvious advantage by not capturing that white pawn with your
bishop." I turned and looked up at the gentleman who had spoken. He was an
interesting-looking type, heavily bearded and wearing some kind of brown monk's robe and
cap. He smiled broadly at me, apologizing for kibitzing on my game. "Not at
all," I said. "I was just killing time while I finished my ice cream." I
extended my hand and introduced myself, handing him one of my business cards. Ray
Green, House Detective, I said. He looked startled for a moment, then looked at the
card. "You're a detec...Oh, I see, it's a little joke, isn't it? You find houses for
people!" He chuckled again as he sat down and handled me a card from the suede bag
attached to a cord around his waist. I looked at the card, which was imprinted with only
three words: "Friar Spyros Tomero." He glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid I
haven't much time. I'm catching the next Amtrak to Capistrano."
"I assume you're going to visit the friars at the
mission?" I asked. He chuckled again. "Oh no, not the friars...the fliers."
I must have looked puzzled, so he explained further. "The swallows. I believe they're
due back in a few days, aren't they?" I laughed at his little play on words, as
there's not much I enjoy more than a pun or a spoonerism. "Yes," I said,
"they usually arrive on July nineteenth, St. Joseph's Day." This was July
sixteenth, so the good Friar was arriving in plenty of time to greet the swallows on their
annual flight into Capistrano.
I glanced again at his card, wondering a bit at his ethnic
background. Spyros sounded Greek, but his surname, Tomero, was surely Latin, perhaps
Spanish...and yet his accent was somewhat like my own English one, with even a touch of
Cockney lilt creeping in. I was just about to ask him about it, but he was concentrating
hard on the chessboard, and I didn't wish to disturb him. I watched him as he stared
fixedly for a long moment, then made a rapid, sure move, capturing a knight on my side of
the board and leaving my king totally unprotected. He smiled at me and said softly,
"Checkmate." Startled, I shook my head. "How in the world..." I
stammered. "I don't see how you managed that!" He shrugged modestly. "It's
nothing, really. Elementary, you might say."
My mouth was still open in astonishment, but the Friar no
longer seemed interested in the chessboard or my reaction to his skill. In fact, he looked
around restlessly, again glancing at his watch. I started to ask him where he was from,
but he broke in before I could frame my words. "Now where do I catch the train to Capistrano?"
I explained to him that he had to go to Oceanside as only the Coaster train
stopped at our little local station. He looked perplexed, and I quickly asked if I might
offer him a ride to the Oceanside Amtrak station, which was only ten or fifteen
minutes way. He smiled and accepted gratefully, and we walked together down to my car.
We barely conversed in the car, as I could sense that the
Friar was lost in thought. I did manage to ask him if he had any friends in the area, and
he gave me rather a sharp look, his eyes narrowing and glinting in a strange way.
"Friends?" he echoed, his voice softened almost to a whisper. Then, in his
normal tone, but again preceded by that chuckle, he answered my question with one word.
"Perhaps," he said. I thought it an extremely odd answer but decided not to
question him further. To be honest, there was something about the Friar that made me a bit
uneasy, though I couldn't put my finger on it. Just then we arrived at the Oceanside
train station, and he quickly got out of the car. I noticed for the first time
that he had no luggage and supposed he'd shipped it on ahead of him. Oh well, just one
more little oddity about the fellow...
Looking at me through the open car window, he said, in what
I judged to be a somewhat mocking tone,"Thank you, Detective Green!" He
gave me a jaunty wave, which I returned, and then he headed for the tracks, where the
northbound train was just pulling in.
When I arrived at home in Del Mar, I told my wife
about my little adventure and showed her the Friar's card. She glanced at it briefly and
wondered idly, as I had, whether he was Greek or Spanish. After dinner, we settled down
for our usual game of Scrabble, but for some reason I couldn't concentrate. In fact, I was
well on my way to defeat, a most unusual occurrence. Finally, my wife asked me what was on
my mind. I didn't answer her, as I was too busy.
I'd taken out the Friar's card and placed it on the table.
Using the Scrabble tiles, I duplicated the name on the table and then, feverishly, began
to arrange and re-arrange the letters. I wasn't sure why, but some instinct urged me on...
FRIAR SPYROS TOMERO
My wife tried again to speak, but I shushed her, rather
rudely, I'm afraid, as I worked. Fascinated, she watched as I kept working on the letters,
finally arriving, after several minutes, with the only combination that made sense:
PROFESSOR MORIARTY
I raced to the phone to telephone my friend, Doctor
Watson, and tell him the news. He and his associate, Homes, had long
suspected that the evil Moriarty would show up to cause them more trouble, and
now it seemed he had. Watson thanked me profusely for the information and he and Homes
headed immediately to Capistrano.
Watson reported back to me the following week. He
and Homes had succeeded in diverting Moriarty from his
"mission" (I couldn't help but smile at Watson's little pun). It seems that Moriarty's
little suede sack had contained more than just his anagrammed business cards. It also held
a laboratory vial full of a deadly virus fatal to a specific type of avian creature,
namely the swallow. They had caught Moriarty in the act of filling the Capistrano
area's welcoming bird-feeders with the fatal liquid. Fortunately, they were in time to
remove the virus and avert the catastrophe that would have surely occurred if the fake
Friar had been allowed to proceed with his plan.
Unfortunately, however, Moriarty himself escaped
capture and is still on the loose, undoubtedly in some other clever disguise, ready to
attempt another diabolical scheme to cause Watson and Homes more
trouble. We'll be on the lookout for him, though...and perhaps the next time we'll
actually catch him.
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