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Gertrude awoke with a start. With her gaggle of cats, she was used to noises in the night, but this one was different. This noise didn’t belong. She sat up and tried to peer into the darkness. As she quietly extracted herself from the bed, she heard a mighty crash followed quickly by what sounded like a female whimper. This emboldened her. She eased her bedroom door closed a few inches (that was all the give it had) and reached behind it for one of her baseball bats. She’d been collecting them at yard sales for years, just for such an occasion as this. She wrapped her fingers around the first bat they touched and, pushing walker in front and dragging bat behind, she entered the narrow hallway that led toward the noise. When she entered the living room, she saw a flurry of motion and then heard her own front door shut. Assuming the intruder had left, she flipped on the light to confirm and proudly noted that a box of slinkies had slid off its perch and landed upside down in the path, apparently close enough to the criminal to cause a fright.
Gertrude picked up the slinkies and then surveyed the room to see if anything was missing. It didn’t appear there was. She gingerly approached the door, and then ripped it open to peer outside, but there was no longer anything to see. She shut, and locked, the door. Guess I’m going to have to start locking this, now that I’m fighting crime.
Gertrude went back to bed, but had some trouble falling back asleep. The prowler was probably looking for the photos. But who knows I have the photos? Just Calvin and Trixie. Calvin doesn’t want the photos, for sure. So it must have been Trixie. But why does she want them? Oh, of course! She’s going to take over the blackmailing! Why, that little vixen!
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Gertrude bounced out of bed the next morning, nearly landing on Hail’s tail, and quickly got herself presentable enough to scoot over to Old Man Crow’s trailer. A little voice in her head whispered that he might not be happy to see her so early, so she made him some coffee and poured it into a travel mug she’d gotten at Goodwill. It said “Little River Casino Resort, Manistee, Michigan” on it. She thought he would like it. She grabbed a few of her many flavored cream cups—she thought he seemed like an Irish Cream kind of guy—and a few Splenda and sugar packets and headed out the door. It was difficult to walk like this, so she took her time, balancing the travel mug on top of the walker handle with her left hand, and wondering if she might be able to find a walker cup holder at a yard sale.
Eventually, she reached the trailer and rapped on his door. Of course, he didn’t answer. She shivered in the early morning chill and pounded again. “Let me in, Calvin! It’s cold out here.”
“It’s probably downright toasty back in your own trailer!” Calvin called.
She pounded again. “Let me in! I have exciting news! Some crook broke into my trailer last night!”
Calvin immediately opened the door. Was that actual concern she saw on his face? “Are you all right?”
“You betcha!” Gertrude said, shoving the coffee at his chest and pushing her way past him. “I brought you creamer and an assortment of sweeteners. Now drink up! We have work to do.” She was both amused and disappointed to see that Calvin was still in his housecoat.
Calvin rolled his eyes. But he did pick up two sugar packets. “So what happened with the intruder?”
“Nothing. She broke in, I’m guessing to steal the photos. But she didn’t get them, no siree, and I chased her out of the trailer with a bat.”
Calvin gave her a long look, apparently processing. Then he smirked, “You sure she wasn’t after your salt and pepper shaker collection?”
Gertrude frowned. “How do you know I collect salt and pepper shakers?”
Calvin shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?” He took a sip of his coffee. “Mmmm, not bad, Gert.”
“Don’t call me Gert.”
“So you sure it was a she? You got a good look at her?”
“No, didn’t see her at all. But it had to have been Trixie. Who else could it have been?”
“You chased her out of the trailer with a bat, but you didn’t see her?”
“It was dark,” Gertrude sassed. “Besides, like I said, it was Trixie.”
“That’s a fair bit of conjecture, there, Gert.”
“I don’t know what that means. I said, don’t call me Gert. Go get dressed.”
“Why do I have to get dressed?”
“We have to go see Trixie!”
“We? Why do I have to go?”
Gertrude really just wanted his car, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I need you. You’re my partner.”
Calvin appeared to be thinking about it. “Fine. But only because I don’t have anything else to do.” He picked up his coffee and headed toward the bedroom. Gertrude watched his butt as he went. Then she picked up the unused cream cups and Splenda packets and dropped them into her walker pouch.
When Calvin returned with comb over in place and freshly pressed pants, Gertrude was standing beside his computer. “What?” he asked reflexively.
“Can we get where Trixie lives on this thing?”
Calvin guffawed. “I don’t think ‘Trixie’ is even Trixie’s real name.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Calvin said, sitting down to dress his feet, “but if I were a stripper, I wouldn’t use my real name.”
“Oh horsefeathers!” Gertrude exclaimed. “How are we going to find out where she lives if we don’t even know her real name?”
“Maybe we just wait till she goes back to work?”
“No!” Gertrude cried, indignant. “The mayor could kill her by then!”
“OK,” Calvin said, scratching his chin, thinking.
“I know!” Gertrude said. “I bet they’ve got paperwork for their dancers at Private Eyes. Don’t people have to fill out forms when they work somewhere?”
“You mean a W-4?”
“OK.”
“And how are we going to get into Private Eyes to peruse their paperwork?” Calvin asked.
“The janitor will let me in. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“I think the politically correct term is custodian.”
“Political shmitical,” Gertrude said. “We don’t have time for that nonsense. You’d better grab a coat. It’s chilly out.”
“You don’t have one,” Calvin observed.
“I know. That’s why you’re going to stop at my place so I can get one.”
“Stop at your place? It’s a hundred yards away!”
“Do you know how hard it is for me to walk with my disability?”
“What exactly is your disability?” Calvin asked.
Gertrude stopped in front of the passenger door, waiting for him to open it. “That’s not a politically correct question.”