Aachoo Voo, Private Eye Episode Twenty-One Solved and Unsolved Mysteries

https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode-twenty.html           link to Episode 20

 

 

 

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye

Episode 21

Solved and Unsolved Mysteries

My life was relatively quite quiet for a few months which gave me time to think about things and work on my files and still open cases. I closed some minor cases that were run-of-the-mill things that were almost too boring to deal with but I needed to put them to bed and get paid so I gritted my teeth and closed them. Cases like The Missing Cases of Shoelaces from Griffin's Shoe Store. Yawn. (It had been the gang of feral cats that still hung out in the alleys in our neighborhood. The one I had saved Weiner from.) 

What is it with cats and strings and stringy things? They certainly were sly and sophisticated in their thefts though. We found flashlights and floor plans of shoe stores as well as delivery schedules and small red wagons in their hideout. Hundreds of opened packages of shoe strings. balls of yarn big enough to choke a goat and dozens of half nibbled mouse carcasses and donuts of every variety. There was a poster of a cartoon mouse hanging on a wall inside the wall of McDo's Muffin and Doughnut Shop where I traced them to that had a bullseye drawn on it peppered with many little darts.

There were lots of cat beds made out of newspapers and old and new clothes all lined up in a row with little Persian rugs beside the beds and little teddy bears lying on them.  (Aha! Not so tough, eh Kitty Cats?) I took loads of photographs because who would have believed me otherwise? Griffin's got their shoelaces back in good condition except for the ones that had been braided into ladders and utility ropes. It took a full day to clean the stuff out and nail all the holes shut. That place looked like a luxury hotel for felines! I swear some of those beds had mink coverlets! And matching pillow shams!

Then there was the case of The Missing False Teeth (which I found under an old lady's bed for crying out loud, along with a Bible and six unpaired pink socks.) And there was the case that had baffled me to no end because I had been given absolutely no clues, no identifying pictures, no descriptions and had never even been told what it was that was missing!  I finally told the second elderly man who'd hired me to find something lost or stolen that I'd found his beloved but ancient missing whatchamacallit and put it back on his living room shelf and he seemed quite pleased with that news, paid me generously and commenced to search for something else gone missing that he could hire me to find. (New York City is a lonely place.) Bless his heart.

I'd also been contacted by Nick's friend Clyde who informed me that Nick had disappeared quite suddenly after his release from the last hospital. He had tended bar a few times but was not his old self. He seemed kind of depressed that all the kinks hadn't been worked out of his legs yet.  He put on a happy face but Clyde could tell that something just wasn't right. I felt terrible for him. He had been alright until I'd ruined his life. I hadn't meant to but I never meant to ruin any man's life, I just did in one way or another. I investigated things as best I could and spent many days and nights at Nick's Place talking to his friends and customers and following up leads. There were lots of lonely women around who missed him and his unique way of communicating telepathically. Eventually, I talked to someone who had talked to someone who had seen someone happen to see Nick down by the warehouse where his Grandfather Resko's magic equipment had been stored. 

I remembered Nick's stories about his grandparents and the way they appeared to vanish in that magic show cabinet and wondered if perhaps Nick had utilized it. So I set out to see if it could be found. Clyde and I searched every inch of that warehouse discovering all sorts of wondrous and magical and spooky things. At last we found the Vanishing Cabinet under layers of dusty sheets and magic show posters starring Nick's maternal grandfather and his lovely assistant/wife, Joy. We uncovered the 4x6 box and stood open mouthed in amazement. There was a shirt sleeve, a pant's leg and a shoe stuck in the door of the cabinet. We finally got the thing opened but that was all that was in it. Not the left sleeve or the left pant's leg or the left shoe, just the right ones. We looked at one another in fear as those items slid down and hit the floor. We then noticed a piece of white paper that said simply in Nick's flowery, unusual handwriting...............

 Gone to find my grandparents. But I'll be back. 

Nick never came back from parts unknown that anyone knows about and he was never seen again. Clyde took over running the club and made Jack Knife James his partner until Nick returned. So I didn't really solve that mystery or close that case but I darned sure tried! And just like in poor Andy's case, I never forgave myself. (Rest In Peace/Pieces, Nick! I'll save your shoe for you!) Then I took a break and went on vacation and came back with a lemur that I decided to named Popeye and he joined our happy menagerie at Lefevre Arms and  I loved him dearly. The parrot on the other hand, no. He stayed on his worst behavior with the lemur. He loved to startle the cute little critter at all hours of the day and night. One day I was afraid he'd actually make Popeye's big petrified eyes...well, pop out.

Then the most horrible thing happened. I was arrested, hauled down to Headquarters and charged with the unsolved murder of Si, the Shellac salesman!! After all that time I had almost forgotten about him and he barely crossed my mind except when I shopped for Shellac and refinishing products at Marshall's Hardware and Hat Emporium. I was still working on furniture in my spare time on occasion but only occasionally. There was a new guy working there that wore black horn rimmed glasses, a bow tie and seemed to know nothing about the business whatsoever. His name was Eugene. He kept his considerable nose buried in a bird watching book and let dishonest stealthy shoplifters walk out with coat pockets full of sandpaper, putty and hats. At least I didn't have to fend him off like I did Si but could shop and come and go unmolested. He didn't seem interested in anything that wasn't covered in feathers. I did miss the free delivery that Si had provided though.

"What is wrong with you guys?" I shouted as the cops half carried me out of my apartment that late Friday morning just as I was feeding my pets their brunch and making coffee. "At least let me put on some clothes!" But they were impatient and rustled me out to the patrol car in my bunny slippers and pink bathrobe. I bent to get in and looked up and there was the smiling face of the bleached blonde down the hallway. She waved her plump fingers at me and slammed the window. Things began to click into place. I was being framed. Out of petty jealousy and meanness. Framed! Like a third rate print of a badly executed imitation Picasso painting of a shoe on a sailboat.

Oh, I would fix her wagon!!!! "Just you wait, Missy!" I mumbled as the car sped down the street, sirens blasting. Of course everyone watching recognized me and I ducked my head in shame while the cop beside me patted my knee and smiled. I jerked away and said through clenched teeth, "I did not murder that salesman! You know I didn't! You have no evidence whatsoever!"  "We got circumstantial, baby. Lots of circumstantial. And rumors and witnesses and documents and photographs and a very angry wife!" Aha! I knew it!

I called MiMi and she hurried down and brought me some clothes and things I would need. Along with some things I would not need like a negligee and jewelry and perfume. "Take this back home right now MiMi, please." I pleaded in exasperation. "Why?" she drawled in her Cajun/Hillbilly accent. "Don't ye wanna look purty for ye mugshots?" "No, I do not!" I shouted. "In fact, I want you to bring me a pair of overalls, braid my hair up in pigtails and black my front teeth out!" I was so tired of law enforcement attention and side and full frontal mugshots! "Oh, I can't do that, babette." she said. "But don't worry about these coppers, honey, I'll protect ye from them critters! They won't lay an eyeball on ye when I get through with 'em!"

 And they didn't because MiMi had put the fear of God, Beelzebub and Hell Fire in them before she left, very disappointed that they would not allow her to bail me out. This time. "Please don't tell Mother!" I begged as they escorted her away. "I won't, Cherie." she promised but it was too late. It was all over the mid afternoon news, the papers, the television, the radio, on the streets and the tongues of gossipers everywhere by the time she hurried herself back home.  EXTRA!!! NEWS FLASH!!  Aachoo Voo Private Eye  Arrested for Murder  the headlines screamed and the cops said they were afraid she was gonna fry for it! Fry! And not in a cast iron skillet with gravy and potatoes and homemade biscuits and fresh corn and peach cobbler. My Lord! I had only been arrested for twenty minutes and already I was starving for MiMi's good ole down home homemade sweet Southern Cajun cooking and sick of prison food! I would have to ask her to cook me up a mess of something with nail files in it so I could break out of there. Geez Louise!!  Rotting in jail sure made a girl go crazy, I kid you not!

After they had fingerprinted me from head to toe, they then took my fingerprints and twenty two mug shots, including several of me with the arresting officers, their bosses and their bosses' bosses. Then they lectured me, read me some scriptures, tried to get me to confess to that crime and several other unsolved crimes and just before actually taking me to a jail cell, they looked it up in their cop manuals to see if there was any such thing as an official legalized standard procedure allowing them to spank me. Thankfully there was not. I clutched my black lace negligee to my chest (they had let me keep it when MiMi wouldn't take it home.) (They had tried to make me wear it but I'd refused.) The girls of the night in the cell next to mine offered me all kinds of costume jewelry and hose and used lipsticks, etc for the thing but I put my hands over my ears and shut them out.

 I climbed into the bottom bunk of the bunk bed screwed to the wall and covered myself with my lace gown and a thin gray blanket. I cried a little bit because although I had been brought in on false charges many times before, I had never been actually jailed. I worried about my pets though MiMi would take care of them. I especially worried about facing the parrot if I ever got out of there after all the times he had taunted me and prophesied that I would one day end up in prison. I couldn't bear the thought of that. I couldn't bear the thought of my mother 'fainting' an average of ten times with her well manicured finger pointing at me and the multitudinous (?) scoldings and threats and the "Oh my Heavens! oh my Goodness! We're ruined! I can never show my face in public agains!" that I knew were coming.

Much to her surprise though, my arrest and notoriety brought her great popularity and an air of glamour and intrigue. As well as dozens of Society Page photographs going and coming from balls and charity events, stepping out of limos to the flashbulbs of news hungry photogs. 'The Mother of Notorious Private Investigator Aachoo Voo'  they called her, 'Arrested on Charges of Cold Blooded Murder in The Gruesome Death of Well-Known Shellac Salesman' etc etc etc. She was invited to all the best soirees, parties, banquets and gallery openings but never once did they ever film her coming out of a grocery store or a dry cleaners! Patricia Paramore Voo had her moment in the spotlight at last, her fifteen minutes of fame as someone would later coin the phrase and her hour of misguided glory as it were...and all because of me. The perpetual black sheep of the family. (Not counting MiMi and my brother.)

As I laid on the hard bunk pondering my misfortune, I thought about Tom B. and T Wayne and all of my friends who would be disappointed that I had been arrested but not shocked. I thought about my father and Poppi Voo and how they would probably blame themselves for never discipling me when I was a child but had only encouraged my hi-jinks. I felt bad for them. I thought about Nick and Andy and Lance. Especially Lance. A week before my arrest, Lance had taken me out on the town for dinner, dancing and a show. It was Lee Lee's closing night before she headed off to Hollywood and we had gone to see her and celebrate her success and frankly, we had painted the town red. And purple. We got back to Lance's place at three in the morning and slow danced for an hour or so and fell asleep in each other's arms. (Which can be hazardous if you're standing up and still dancing.) 

We capped the night off with lots of kisses and sighs and as I made my way off the elevator and past the bleached blonde's apartment at five, her door opened. I tried uselessly to straighten my hair and un-smear my lipstick as she asked sleepily "Have you seen Lancey? I haven't seen him in ages and I need to tell him...." And that's where I messed up. I was half asleep and I said to her, "He's gone to sleep. Don't wake him up." She glared at me with pure hatred and slammed the door in my face. And I was convinced as I lay there on that awful, hard bunk bed crying in my pink bathrobe and bunny slippers that that was the reason I was here in the slammer right now! I would get to the bottom of this, I vowed. I would get out of here and strangle that woman and I would clear my name! So help me.......I......!  But then the top bunk of that bed came crashing down on me holding a large still sleeping female felon, which gave me a  concussion, knocked me out and I was off to la-la-land. A place I knew intimately.

To be continued in Episode 22...............

👇💚  link to Episode 22

https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode-22-tom-b.html

Special recognition goes out to...

James Ray aka Jack Knife James

Tom B. and T Wayne Elliott    

P McDo

Clyde Miraculous

Resko the Great and Joy

Eugene

Nick and Andy

S. Griffin

Lee Lee, the Blue Flame

and Weiner the cat 

(Why? Because I felt like it) 

Professor Lance Strait

                         as Lance (Tony Curtis)

               

Cleo Moore as The Bleached blonde

   Marjorie Main as MiMi Voo

                                       Patricia Paramore Voo, my mother

                                       played by Phyllis Calvert

Si, the Shellac salesman

                                               Craig Stevens playing the part of Si

P McDo Muffin Man

and DoNUT maker

                         And me........me  me  me  me! Always.... Me  

as Aachoo Voo, Private Eye

innocent though incarcerated prisoner

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye Episode Eighteen The King of Things and The Butler That Didn't Do It

 https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode_19.html   link to Episode 17

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye

Episode 18

The King of Things and The Butler That Didn't Do It

It was trying to rain then it did then it stopped. It was frustrating. I wondered if I should take my umbrella but I didn't so I got drenched and ran back to my apartment and grabbed it just in time for it to stop raining so I was stuck carrying the darned thing with me all day long. The sun was bright and shiny by the time I got to my new convertible parked on the lot of The King of Things Collectibles and Curiosities Shop. Terry Wayne Elliottt was the owner of the place and a part-time pal of mine. He let me park there for free and yes, he spelled his last name with three ts. He was eccentric to the core but was an interesting character with his wild mop of curly brown hair and coyote blue eyes. He was a teller of tall and short tales and a songwriter of unique and humorous songs. You never knew if he was making things up or relating reality but he always threw in a million details to make everything convincing and he never, ever forgot anything! Not even what he wore to school on a Friday in second grade one June or what his school teacher's cousin's unmarried daughter's first and only boyfriend's name was. 

It was Earnest. (The boyfriend's name was Earnest.) And he went to Canada after graduation and got run over by a herd of moose and died calling Becky's name. (The unmarried daughter's name.) I didn't know Becky or Earnest of course and really didn't care but T Wayne (I called him T Wayne just to irritate him) insisted on recalling all of the gory and strangely funny details of these people's lives as he did with everyone he had ever met. I could only wonder concerning the stories he told about me. I knew he did, complete with sound effects and the same cartoon vocalizations he did for virtually anyone and everybody. Everyone was a looney tune by the time he got through mimicking them. He was a maker of new stuff and a restorer of old stuff and his large shop was crammed with everything from broken radios to Egyptian mummies.

When I got to my car I bent to take off the galoshes I had put on when it looked like rain and to my shock realized I hadn't put on any shoes!  I was standing there dressed in a very nice suit, hat, gloves and red lipstick because I was due shortly to see a very wealthy and well respected Fifth Avenue client (I knew this because she told me) that had just found her butler dead of a gunshot wound in the butler's pantry. It did not appear to be a suicide so the butler couldn't have done it. (Sorry, I just couldn't resist.) The lady was in a panic and insisted that I come and look things over before she called the cops. I was trying to dress to impress as most women do and there I was with no matching shoes, no shoes at all! 

Just at that moment, Mr. Elliottt pulled into the lot and parked in his private parking place that had a sign that said Unless Your Car Is Invisible Do Not Park Here and sat there looking at me in my finery and bare feet. He grinned and shook his head and said "And what catastrophe has befallen you this fine morning, Miss Voo?" He said it like it was a usual and familiar regular occurrence and of course it was in my life so I just shrugged and smiled, "I seem to have lost my slippers, Sir and I'm going to be late to the ball."  "Never fear, Terrence Waynewrite is here!" he said, referring to himself as Terrence Waynewrite as he often did. I think it gave him a sense of grandeur and respectability or something and detracted from the fact that most people just called him a "junk man." He hopped out of his old new car, opened the trunk and nodded at a bunch of shoe boxes that he had just acquired at an estate sale. Along with a dinosaur bone and one of Dorothy Lamour's jungle girl wigs. And a broken Cuckoo clock missing it's cuckoo.

 "I think I have just what you need!" And he certainly did. Beautiful expensive red shoes that fit me perfectly. He had bought twelve pairs for six dollars even though they looked to be worth hundreds. But that was what he was good at: Wheeling and dealing. He was a master mind at it or just plain danged lucky. I gave him a hug and thanked him profusely and drove away in a mad rush to get to my appointment. He waved at me and shouted "Now, I want those shoes back when you get through with them! I didn't say you could have them!" The jerk!

When I arrived at the tastefully appointed Fifth Avenue penthouse which resembled more of a luxurious mansion than an apartment, I was ushered inside by a weeping maid drying her eyes on a pretty lace apron and led into a drawing room that was big enough to land a plane in. There were drawings all over the walls, most of which had been "drawn" by very famous "drawers" as MiMi Voo called painters. A virtual art museum. Sitting on a plum colored velvet sofa was a somewhat large, well dressed older woman who looked me over and gave me a small wry approving smile. "How do you do...Miss...Voo, is it?" "Yes Ma'am." I answered quietly, meeting her eyes. "It's a french name."  She nodded and motioned for me to take a seat.

"Would you like some tea?" But before I could reply, she let out a sound between a sob and a groan and said, "Oh, I forgot! Dinkle has gone and gotten himself murdered! In the butler's pantry of all places! But then I suppose one could say that the butler's pantry is an appropriate place for a butler to die in as he spent a great deal of time there. Butlering and playing his banjo and awaiting my bell and so forth." She kept rambling for some seven minutes but I had tuned her out and was watching the ever changing emotions on the maid's face. "Beatrice, would you bring us some tea, please, since Mr. Dinkle is indisposed....I mean...dead....I mean.. oh, dear!!!! Whatever shall we do without Mr. Dinkle? Oh, dear, oh, dear!" 

The maid fled the room while my potential client reclined herself and put a white handkerchief over her pale face. I wandered about the room wondering if I really wanted to accept this case and if the boys downtown were going to try to bring me in on this one when I hadn't even seen the victim yet and had never met anyone named Dinkle in my whole life. But I supposed they eventually would at some point. It seemed to be mandatory and expected. I cleared my throat. "Ma'am, where is the victim located, if you don't mind?" She fluttered the hankie and moaned "Oh, do get Beatrice to show you to the pantry when she brings in the tea. I can't bear to see him again like that. And the banjo...! Oh, it's terrible! Oh, dear!" "Who found him?" I quickly asked while I had the opportunity. "Well, Beatrice did, of course. This morning at seven. I wasn't up yet and she came screaming, waking up the entire household and..."

"How many people live here, Ma'am?"  "Oh, there are several of us here! Nelson and David. Monica and Swan. Oh, and by the way, I'm Mrs. Rockefeather.  I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself, did I?" "Did you say Rockefeller?" I asked, surprised. How had I missed that? Had I just heard Fifth Avenue and not even gotten the lady's name? Oh, dear, indeed! "No. Miss...Voo, is it? It's Rockefeather, Mrs. Shadrach Rockefeather. He's dead of course, like Mr. Dinkle....." and she trailed off in moans and tears as the maid entered with the silver tea set and proceeded to serve us both. 

After the scones and tea which proved to be delightful, I was taken to a room off the main kitchen area by another maid who remained nameless. She wore a haughty expression and kept mumbling under her breath but I could never make out what she mumbled. She opened a door for me and stood back out of sight while I entered the partitioned room. In the first half, there were several shelves full of tea sets and trays and various and sundry accoutrements for the proper butler. (I realize that I say sundry a lot but I rather like that word and will probably continue to use it.) Off to the back there were pipes and books and a small chair in one nook along with a radio and a pair of reading glasses resting on an open book titled "Everything I Learned About Being a Proper Butler I learned From a Proper Butler." The pages were well worn and turned at the corner and diligently studied, I surmised.

To the left of the chair splayed out on an ancient but un-frayed rug lay the body of Mr. Dinkle and to his left laid a smashed up banjo. There was a small neat hole precisely in the center of his pristine white pocket handkerchief. It hardly looked like a bullet hole and you wouldn't think it was except for the puddle of red stuff that had pooled around him from the back. He had a decidedly surprised look on his face, one white gloved hand stuck up in front of him as though in protest of an intrusion and there was a cup of spilled tea overturned on the lap of the chair. I was sure that he would have been very disapproving of that. This had been his little domain, his getaway off the main and proper butler's pantry and it was immaculate. I felt like I wanted to apologize to him for the mess the killer had made of his haven.

I looked at the angles, smelled the odor of cordite still permeating the air, and silently surveyed everything I thought I ought. There was no gun to be found in the room and no suicide note. There was a half-eaten scone and the beginnings of a letter that had drifted off behind the chair that said: My Dear Mrs....and that was all. I didn't know if it was to a wife or his employer or a fan letter to Joan Crawford. There was a certificate of some kind on the wall given in appreciation to a Mr. Butler Q. Dinkle. His first name was Butler?! A butler named Butler?! Or was that a title?  I didn't understand the smashed banjo. Had it happened before or afterwards? He hadn't fallen upon it. He had no head injuries. Yet the banjo had been destroyed. And who would have wanted to destroy a poor old proper family butler? What had he possibly done to bring about such a demise? "I'm sorry, old fella." I whispered and backed out of the room quietly only to crash into the nameless, haughty maid who screeched and scurried away. 

I found my way back to the drawing room and Mrs. Rockefeather who had been joined now by the aforementioned Nelson, David, Monica and Swan. They stared at me like I had four eyes and Mrs. Rockefeather sat up and said, "Now Children, let me introduce you to Miss...uh.. Voo, is it? Yes, Miss Voo, who has come highly recommended to me by my good friend, Mrs. Devonshire Davenport." (Oh, good lord no! Not that lunatic!) And I nodded at each of them as they glanced at me then averted their eyes. They were all middle aged and unattractive individuals but finely dressed and surrounded with an air of old money and privilege. The La Di Da Hoity Toity crowd I so despised. The old woman seemed almost normal compared to her spoiled offspring. 

But then I was informed that she was the step-mother and not the actual producer of these spawn of Belial. That explained things. It soon became clear also that they hated their step-mother with thinly disguised passion. So I immediately took her side and began interrogating the lot of them with renewed interest. In a matter of minutes they hated me twice as much as they hated her. Though Nelson kept giving me winks and looks that made me feel soiled and solidified his position as the Dirty Old Man of the family. He tried to come close but I kept my distance. I wished MiMi was there to put the fear of God in him. I tried to be tough but there was no competition with her. She could make Teddy Roosevelt un-CHARGE in retreat!

"Do you think it was a burglar, Miss.. uh.. Voo?" Mrs. Rockefeather finally asked above the din her step-monsters were making over in the corner. "No, Ma'am." I said decidedly. "There's no evidence of that whatsoever. It was an inside job. Someone in this very room did it." Which was a major mistake on my part for the room grew eerily silent and the level of hatred took the form of a tidal wave and swept over me like a hurricane. Mrs. Rockefeather gasped and pretended to faint though she couldn't quite pull it off and began to sob "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Whatever shall I do?" "Call the police, ma'am." I said crossing the room. "And whatever you do, do Not mention my name! I'll call you later and tell you what I know." (I didn't know nothing.) I glanced back to see her sprawled half on and half off the plum sofa with the hankie covering her distraught face and sighed. Then I hurried out of that place as fast as my newly shod feet could carry me, leaving Mrs. Shadrach Rockefeather to her own fate, something I would forever regret.

I took off my borrowed shoes and slipped them inside the door of The King of Things Shop and crept up the way to my apartment building wearing my galoshes and still carrying my red umbrella. I had carried the stupid thing around all day with me, even to Mrs. Rockefeather's apartment. But I had left my purse in the front seat of the car! I remembered setting the umbrella down to drink my tea and  had forgotten about it but someone had thrust it at me after I'd hurried away down the hallway and across the foyer. But who was it? I didn't know! Was it a maid or a family member? My back had been turned as I'd made my exit and the umbrella had been pushed out of the half closed door and I'd grabbed it and ran. And luckily for me because it began to sprinkle before I got to the front entrance of LeFevre Arms and home. It wasn't until later while I was putting it away that I noticed the very wet stain on my very red umbrella. Redder than the rest of the red and undoubtedly blood. I wrapped it in a towel and put it in the closet until I could think clearly upon the matter. I was too tired and too damp to deal with it just then.

The next day brought both good and bad news to my doorstep. I was making coffee and feeding all the beasties when Lance knocked softly on the side door that I invariably forgot to lock and slipped in beaming and bearing gifts. "Hello, Beautiful!" he smiled, "How's my favorite girl?" I raised an eyebrow at him and handed him a plate of eggs and bacon but he set it aside and pulled me into his arms. "Long time no see." I murmured as he kissed my neck and tried to un-belt my pink bathrobe. "No, no, no!" I warned and pulled away. "God knows where those hands have been!" I set two plates of food down on the small dinette table and hurried to pour two mugs of coffee. 

"Get the paper, will ya?" I ordered sweetly and he went to the front door obediently and came back carrying the morning paper and the pair of slightly used red shoes. He gave me a look and handed them over. Stuck inside one shoe was a note from Terrence/T Wayne Elliottt that said... I was only KIDDING!  You can have them! haha.  The darling! Wonderful! Then I opened the paper and gasped in horror. MATRIARCH OF ROCKEFEATHER FAMILY STABBED BY UNKNOWN OBJECT DIES AT AGE 85. Then I dropped to the floor in a perfectly graceful faint that Mrs. Rockefeather would have been proud of.

To Be Continued In Episode 19.................

https://aachoovooprivateeye2024.blogspot.com/2024/07/aachoo-voo-private-eye-episode-nineteen.html    link to Episode 19

Special mentions  goes out to.....💖💖

LeFevre Family (my maternal grandmother's name)

David And Nelson ... you know who you are...or were....

apologies to the Rockefeller family.........

Swan (who is not anything like this Swan!!!!  neither of you lol)

Terry Wayne Elliott (who does NOT spell his name with 3 t's) lol

but who IS the King of Things!!!!!  

                       

Beatrice ...R.I.P.  love you always, Mrs. Howard!!!!! 💓

Lance as in Strait..........

anyone named Shadrach *

anyone named Dinkle *

This series created and written solely

by Voo Shining Stone

© copyrighted

The "drawer" of the Voo

Painter Vincent van HogThrottle