“How did your interview go with Mr. Driscoll?” Helen asked when Hank entered the motorhome.
“It went well. His arraignment is on Monday morning, and barring any new evidence I am sure the judge will release him on minimal bail or even declare that the Shreveport police have insufficient evidence to warrant a trial.”
“That’s good news. Preston will be glad to hear that,” Helen answered.
“I made arrangements with Peter to have Preston go over the store’s books just to see if anything unusual shows up. His murder could somehow be related to the store. Peter told me that Leonard had words with a Mr. George Hart, who is the owner of a competitive furniture store. We are going to pay Mr. Hart a visit tomorrow.”
“If we are staying up here a few more days I think we should find an RV park to stay at,” Helen said. “I hate to keep blocking Ali’s driveway with the Bounder and besides we’ll need to hook up to the utilities soon. Ali said that there is a nice RV park up on the west side of town called Tall Pines.”
“I think you’re right,” Hank answered. “Why don’t you make the reservations while I go talk to Preston about looking over the store’s books? We’ll need to stay at least another week to finish the investigation.”
Chip talked his mother into letting him stay with his Gramma and Grampa for one more night at the RV Park. Ali had packed a small overnight bag for Chip and made leftover turkey sandwiches to be stored in the Bounder’s refrigerator. The sandwiches were a welcome treat for lunch after setting up the motorhome at the Tall Pines RV Park, their new home for the next week.
After a light dinner of vegetable soup and a spirited game of Parcheesi, Chip quickly fell asleep on the sofabed while Hank and Helen retired to the rear bedroom.
“What all have you learned on the case so far?” Helen asked.
“Well, first off, I believed Peter Driscoll when he said that he didn’t murder his brother. The only evidence that the police have is Peter’s fingerprints on Leonard’s boat and motor and a matching piece of anchor rope that they found in his garage. The piece matched the rope that was wrapped around Leonard’s body and attached to the anchor. Peter claimed he had loaned his anchor to Leonard. He said he also replaced the fuel filter on Leonard’s boat motor and that is the reason his prints were present. I stopped at the boat dealer and picked up a copy of the receipt for the fuel filter. I’ll need to contact Peter’s lawyer tomorrow so he can present it to the judge at Peter’s arraignment on Monday morning.”
“I can see how the police think they have enough evidence to hold him,” Helen replied. “But a fair judge should at least grant him bail. Did Peter have anything else to offer in his defense?”
“Peter said that Leonard seemed edgier than usual lately but wouldn’t talk to him about it. He also said that Leonard was frequenting one of the local casinos lately, he thinks, to play poker. That’s why I want Preston to go over the store’s books. At this point we don’t know if Leonard really had a gambling habit and if he did, how big of one.”
“Well, if there is anything amiss in the books Preston will find it,” Helen offered.
“We should also check out Diamond Jack’s Casino tomorrow evening,” Hank said. “I noticed that you still have that cup full of quarters that you won over in Biloxi last summer. You can play the slots while I check out the poker tables and inquire about Leonard’s gambling habit.”
“I’m feeling lucky already!” Helen responded.
The next morning Helen arose and started the coffee maker in the kitchen. Chip heard the activity and sat up in the sofabed. “Good morning, Gramma! What’s for breakfast?”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Helen responded. “Your Grampa said that he is going to make your breakfast this morning.”
“Does Grampa know how to cook?”
“Of course I know how to cook,” Hank said as he entered the forward cabin. “This morning we are going to have egg in the hole bread.”
“How do you make that?” Chip asked.
“Well, why don’t you help and I’ll show you’ll how it’s made.”
“OK, Grampa, what should I do?”
“First you need to butter one side of two pieces of bread and then cut a hole in them with that round cookie cutter.”
Chip proceeded to butter and cut the bread while Hank melted a pad of butter in the fry pan.
“OK, Chip, now that the pan is ready, we put the bread in the pan like this with the butter side up. We also put the two hole pieces that were cut out into the pan. Then we crack an egg into the hole in each piece of bread.”
“What next, Grampa?”
“You need to pour two glasses of orange juice while I keep an eye on the eggs so I can flip them when they’re ready.”
With the juice poured, Chip watched as Hank flipped all the pieces and heard the sizzle when the buttered side hit the pan. One minute later they were enjoying their egg in the hole bread with a small amount of strawberry jam spread around the edges and on the two round pieces of now toasted bread. Helen opted to make herself a western omelet while Chip and Hank devoured their breakfast.
Hank and Helen dropped Chip off at his home on the way to Hart’s Furniture store. Hank received the home phone number of Leonard Driscoll from Preston as he had to call Leonard’s widow to arrange an interview for that afternoon.
Hart’s Furniture was not hard to find on West 70th Street in the commercial district of Shreveport. Upon entering the large warehouse-sized facility, Hank and Helen were immediately set upon by a smiling salesman wearing a rainbow-colored plaid sport coat and bright yellow necktie.
“Good morning, folks. Welcome to Hart Furniture. My name is Bryan. How can I assist you?”
“Good morning, Bryan,” Hank replied. “We would like to speak with Mr. George Hart.”
“Oh my!” Bryan replied. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong. Why do you ask?”
“Well, usually when people come in to ask for Mr. Hart, they are dissatisfied with a recent purchase,” Bryan offered.
“Does this happen often?” Helen asked, amused.
“Oh no!” Bryan responded. “We sell only the top grade of furniture and our customers are extremely satisfied. I thought you just might be a rare customer who found something wrong.”
“I see,” Helen said, not fully believing the salesman. “Would you please direct us to Mr. Hart? We would like to talk with him about a somewhat personal type matter.”
“Of course,” Bryan replied. “I will go and see if he is available.”
When Bryan left to go to check on Mr. Hart’s availability Helen said quietly, “Nice coat and tie.”
“I didn’t know they were hiring clowns to sell furniture now,” Hank replied. “You usually see outfits like that on late night used car commercials.”
“Maybe he was a used car salesman and stepped up in credibility to the furniture business,” Helen offered.
“Apparently it was not too big of a step up if he is allowed to wear that jacket,” Hank replied with a chuckle.
After a few minutes of browsing through the living room furniture section they spied Bryan approaching with a short stout bald man wearing an ill-fitted navy blue blazer and gray slacks.
“Mr. Hart, these are the people who would like to have a word with you,” Bryan said.
“Mr. Hart, I am Hank Moran and this is my wife, Helen,” Hank said as he shook Hart’s hand. “I am a private investigator working on behalf of Peter Driscoll, and if you don’t mind we would like to ask you a few questions in private.”
“I saw in the paper that they arrested Peter for his brother’s murder,” Hart replied. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Hopefully nothing, Mr. Hart. Can we talk in your office?”
Hart led the way through aisleways crowded with unsold furniture to a small office at the rear of the store. He took a seat behind an old wooden desk that was strewn with layers of paperwork with the edges of some papers on the bottom layer beginning to yellow. “So much for a filing system,” Helen muttered to Hank under her breath.
Gesturing for the Morans to be seated on two wooden chairs facing the desk he said, “Now, why would you want to question me in relation to the Driscolls?”
“Mr. Hart, we understand that your store and Driscoll Furniture are the two largest furniture stores in the area, and that there has been some heated competition lately,” Hank began.
“That is true, Mr. Moran. With the downturn in the economy we have had to take every advantage possible to increase traffic to our stores.”
“Peter Driscoll stated that you and his brother, Leonard, had a heated phone conversation two days before Leonard’s disappearance. He also said that you were extremely angry and accused Leonard of trying to drive you out of business. Do you recall the conversation, Mr. Hart?”
“Yes, I recall the conversation,” Hart replied. “I sense from your line of questioning that you may think I had something to do with Leonard Driscoll’s murder and I take great offense to the insinuation.”
“Mr. Hart, during a murder investigation there is initially a wide pool of suspects. An investigator’s job is to narrow down that pool until the murderer is found. Now if you can convince me that you were nowhere near Lake Claiborne on the night of October twentieth we will gladly scratch your name off the list.”
“Hart Furniture held an invitation only sale for our best customers on the evening of the twentieth of October,” Hart answered. “The sale was quite a success and after the store closed at nine-o’clock, I treated my sales associates to a cocktail at Brady’s Pub just down the street. My wife will be able to verify that I arrived home approximately at ten thirty and remained there.”
“Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Hart.” Hank said. “I would like to leave one of my cards with you. If you happen to think of anything that would help in our investigation, please do not hesitate to call.”
“So, can I now assume that my name is crossed off of the list of suspects?” Hart asked.
“I think you may safely assume that at this point, Mr. Hart,” Hank replied. “That is all for now. Thank you for your time.”
As the Morans were winding their way up the aisles to the front door they were met by Bryan in the rainbow coat. “Have a nice day, folks,” he said.
“Oh, Bryan, will you be having any more special invitation only sales like you had this past October twentieth?” Helen asked.
“That sale was a great success, but we only have a sale like that once a year. I’ll be glad to take your name and address and send you an invitation for next year’s sale,” Bryan replied.
Helen handed one of the agency’s cards to Bryan and said, “You may use this address. We may be in the market for office furniture in the near future.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Moran. I’ll keep it on file,” Bryan responded.
“Well, I think Mr. George Hart has a solid alibi,” Hank said as they drove back to the Tall Pines RV Park. “By the way, I liked the way you were able to verify that there actually was a big sale at the store on the night in question.”
“We women have our ways to get the information we need,” Helen responded.
“In that case, you better come along for the interview with Mrs. Susan Driscoll this afternoon.”
While Helen was preparing lunch back at their motorhome, Hank placed a call to Mrs. Driscoll to arrange for an interview at 2:00 pm. She seemed reluctant to be interviewed at first, but Hank was able to convince her not to sit by and let her brother-in-law go to jail for a crime he did not commit. Hank thought that Mrs. Driscoll seemed to think that Peter might actually be guilty.
Hank’s next call was to Peter’s attorney, Carlton Oglethorpe, who answered on the second ring, “Oglethorpe Law Office. Carlton Oglethorpe speaking.”
“Mr. Oglethorpe, this is Hank Moran. I need to speak with you in regards to Peter Driscoll. I am a private investigator and I am working on behalf of Peter to prove his innocence. I have some information that you will need for Peter’s arraignment on Monday morning.”
“I am confused, Mr. Moran. How is it that Peter hired a private detective and didn’t consult with me?”
“Let’s just say that I am a friend of the family, Mr. Oglethorpe.”
“I see. What sort of information do you have, Mr. Moran?
“If you are familiar with his case, the charges against him are based mostly on his fingerprints being found on his brother’s outboard motor. He claims his fingerprints were left on the motor from his changing of the fuel filter.”
“Yes, I am aware of his claim, Mr. Moran.”
“I have a copy of the purchase receipt for the fuel filter, which will help to substantiate his claim.”
“That will surely help, Mr. Moran, but how do we know that he actually changed the filter?”
“I hope to get that information this afternoon when I have a talk with Leonard Driscoll’s widow.”
“Well, Mr. Moran, Peter’s arraignment is at ten a.m. in courtroom number three. Why don’t we meet there at nine-thirty to go over what you have?”
“I will meet you there, Mr. Oglethorpe.”
Susan Driscoll lived in an upper middle class neighborhood in south Shreveport. Approaching Driscolls’ house, the Morans passed by the empty lot where Leonard had placed his boat for sale.
“Hmm, that lot is visible from at least six houses in the neighborhood,” Helen said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Hank replied. “We should canvass the neighborhood to find out if Leonard actually moved the boat on the day he supposedly went fishing.”
“You got it, big boy,” Helen responded.
Susan Driscoll answered the door wearing a bright lime green pantsuit and matching sandals. “You must be Detective Moran,” she said with a generous smile.
I guess the mourning period is over, Helen thought while taking in Susan Driscoll’s outfit and smile.
“Yes, I am Hank Moran and this is my wife and associate, Helen Moran.”
Wow, I think I just got a promotion to Associate Detective! Helen thought with a grin on her face.
“Please come in and have a seat. Would you join me in a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Driscoll inquired as they entered the spacious living room. “I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“That would be great, Mrs. Driscoll,” Hank said as he and Helen were directed to a seat on an overstuffed leather sofa.
A minute later, Susan Driscoll returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with an ornate coffee pot, three cups, a small cream pitcher, and sugar bowl.
“Please, help yourselves,” she said as she placed the tray on the coffee table and took a seat in a wing chair opposite the Morans.
Hank did the honors and poured the coffee into the three cups and said, “Before we start with some questions, Mrs. Driscoll, I want you to know how sorry we are for your loss. I also know Peter is finding it difficult to cope with the loss of his brother, especially now that the police think he is the main suspect for Leonard’s murder.”
“I hate to think that Peter could have done something like that, but the police are certain that Peter is guilty,” Mrs. Driscoll said.
“I have every reason to believe that Peter is innocent and my job is to prove it, Mrs. Driscoll. That is why we are here to ask some important questions.”
“Well, Mr. Moran, what is it you need to know?
“On the Monday evening before your husband disappeared, did Peter come to your house to install a new fuel filter on Leonard’s boat motor?”
“Yes, Peter did pay us a visit, and he and Leonard did work on the boat out in the driveway,” Mrs. Driscoll answered.
“Did you hear either Leonard or Peter mention the fuel filter?”
“Yes, I am sure Leonard said that Peter was coming over to install a new fuel filter. It needed to be done before Wednesday so that Leonard could go fishing.”
“How did Peter and Leonard get along during the installation of the fuel filter?”
“They seemed to be getting along just fine. I even heard some laughter and they each had a beer or two. Leonard was fearful that Peter wanted to give up and close the store, but I guess they worked things out.”
“Do you know if Leonard also borrowed a boat anchor from Peter?”
“Yes, he did. Leonard complained that his got hung up on a snag last month over in Lake Claiborne and he had to cut the rope. I heard Leonard thank Peter for remembering to bring his anchor along.”
“Very good, Mrs. Driscoll, now do you know for sure that Leonard took his boat with him when he left on Wednesday?”
Mrs. Driscoll pondered the question then answered. “Well, he said he was taking it, but it was down the street in the empty lot. I guess I didn’t actually see him take the boat.”
“Did you see or hear Leonard or anyone return his boat and truck that Wednesday evening or early Thursday morning?”
“No, I neither saw nor heard anyone,” Mrs. Driscoll replied. “If Leonard had brought the truck home he would have parked it in our driveway and not on the street.”
Hank noticed that Mrs. Driscoll seemed uncomfortable answering his questions concerning the boat. After a brief pause he continued the questioning, “Do you know of anyone who would have wished your husband any harm?”
“The police detective asked the same question. I told him no at the time and I haven’t thought of anyone since then.”
“Mrs. Driscoll, had Leonard been acting strangely, or should I say differently, in the time leading up to his disappearance?”
Mrs. Driscoll again pondered the question and then answered, “Yes, he seemed on edge the last month or so. He seemed short with me and didn’t communicate as usual. I thought it was because of the store’s financial problems.”
“Peter mentioned that Leonard liked to play poker and had of late been frequenting one of the local casinos. To your knowledge, did Leonard have a gambling problem or owe any large sums of money due to his gambling?”
“I know he liked to play poker at the casino, but he always came home happy and he never gave me the impression that he lost any large amounts of money. In fact, I handle our personal finances and I would have been aware of it.”
“Mrs. Driscoll, I see a picture of Leonard on your fireplace mantle. Would you mind if I take a snapshot of it with my cell phone? His picture might aid in our investigation.”
“Please be my guest, Mr. Moran.”
Hank rose and snapped the needed picture and said, “Thank you for being so kind to answer our questions, Mrs. Driscoll. Here is one of my cards. If you think of anything at all that would be pertinent to our investigation, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“I will do that, Mr. Moran, and I sincerely hope you will prove Peter’s innocence.”
“Do you want to canvass the neighborhood now?” Helen asked as they sat in the Honda following the questioning of Mrs. Driscoll.
“No time like the present,” Hank replied. “I’ll park down the street across from the empty lot. I’ll take the houses on either side of the lot and you take the ones directly across the street from it.”
“Am I allowed to ask questions since I don’t have the P.I. license?” Helen asked.
“Just introduce yourself as an associate of the Moran Investigations Agency,” Hank answered.
Hank parked in an available space across from the empty lot. “OK, let’s do it. Don’t forget to take your note pad, pardner,” Hank said as he exited the Honda.
No one was home at the first house Hank tried. He walked down the sidewalk to the quaint two-story house on the opposite side of the lot and knocked on the door. A twenty-something woman in a blue housedress and apron answered the door. “Good afternoon, ma’am, my name is Hank Moran and I would like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Driscoll’s boat that he kept on the empty lot next door.”
“Are you with the police?” she queried.
“No, ma’am, I am a private investigator,” Hank answered as he showed his badge. “I am working on behalf of Peter Driscoll.”
“Oh, I see. Wasn’t he arrested for his brother’s murder?”
“Yes he was, ma’am, but we strongly believe that the police have the wrong man in custody.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll try. What is it you need to know?” she asked as a toddler appeared by her side and begged to be picked up.
“I see that you’re busy,” Hank said, eyeing the toddler. “I just have a few questions, so I’ll be quick. As you probably know Leonard Driscoll disappeared on Wednesday, October the twentieth. Did you happen to notice if he hitched up his boat to go fishing that afternoon?”
“Yes, I sure did. I remember it because it was my husband’s birthday and I had to run to the store to buy more candles for his cake. We gave him a surprise thirtieth birthday party that evening. When I went out to the car, Mr. Driscoll was in his truck backing it up to the boat. I waved to him and left. When I returned, the boat was gone.”
Hank then asked, “Do you remember what time it was when you saw Mr. Driscoll with his boat?”
“Yes, it was just after twelve noon. The noon news had just come on and I turned the TV off to run to the store.”
“Thank you, ma’am, you’ve been a great help. Can I have your name just in case this information is needed in court?”
“Yes, I’m Betty Wade.”
Hank wrote her name in his notebook beside the house number he had previously recorded. “By the way, ma’am, have the police been around asking the same question?”
“No, they haven’t been around,” she answered
“Thanks again, Mrs. Wade, and have a nice day.”
Across the street, Helen had no luck at the first two houses. One old man thought she was an Avon lady and she was told that his wife died eight years ago and he didn’t need anything. After explaining that she wasn’t an Avon lady, she managed to question him about the boat.
“That was over a month ago,” he exclaimed. “How am I supposed to remember that? Heck, I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning!”
“Thank you for your time,” Helen said as she turned to go.
“Wheaties!” the man suddenly shouted. “I had Wheaties for breakfast!” he added triumphantly with a big grin.
“Good for you, sir, and have a nice day,” Helen replied trying to muffle her laughter.
Next door to the old man’s house, an elderly gray-haired lady wearing an aqua sweat suit with a floral design answered the door after Helen saw the curtain move in what must have been an adjacent room.
“Yes, what is it young lady?” she asked before Helen had a chance to greet her.
Helen saw the sparkle in the elderly lady’s eyes and thought, I bet she knows something. “Hello, ma’am, my name is Helen Moran and I am assisting my husband, Hank Moran. He is a private detective and is investigating the murder of Mr. Driscoll.”
“Oh my, a private detective, won’t you please come in, dearie? I think it is terrible what one brother can do to another. Just like Cain and Abel.”
“If you are referring to Peter Driscoll as a suspect in his brother’s murder, we are certain that Peter didn’t do it. We are working on behalf of Peter to prove his innocence,” Helen explained. “I need to ask a few questions about Leonard Driscoll’s boat that he kept across the street in the empty lot.”
“Why don’t you come on in and have a seat,” the lady beckoned.
Helen entered the house and stepped into a small foyer that led directly into the living room. She noticed a collection of colorful pottery displayed on shelves lining one wall of the room.
Helen remarked, “Why, what beautiful pottery. That one piece with the magnolia blossom looks just like one that my grandma had. I always admired it.”
“That is my collection of Roseville Pottery. It is all very old. I’ve been collecting it for forty years. All of the pieces are in mint condition and are very valuable.”
“It sure is beautiful,” Helen answered. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time so I’ll get back to the reason we are in the neighborhood and that is to ask about Mr. Driscoll’s boat.”
“Well, go ahead young lady, shoot. And please have a seat.”
“Please, call me Helen,” Helen requested. “And your name is?”
“My name is Mildred Hardwick, but please call me Millie.”
Millie sat in an old fashioned wood rocker and Helen sat on a yellow wingback chair facing her.
“Millie, Mr. Driscoll disappeared on October twentieth. He told everyone that he was going fishing that afternoon in his boat and I need to know if you saw him leave with the boat on that day.”
“No, I didn’t see him take the boat and I didn’t remember if the boat was or wasn’t on the lot that afternoon, but I did hear something strange during the night and I noticed something unusual about the boat the next morning.”
“What did you hear during the night, Millie?” Helen asked trying to hold back the excitement.
“I’m on two different blood pressure medicines and it is a rare night that I don’t have to haul my old butt out of bed and take a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night to relieve myself. After doing my business in the bathroom I was on my way back to bed when I heard some truck noise and some banging that sounded like it came from across the street. I looked out my front window and saw someone unhitching the boat from a truck. Then the person got into the truck and moved it up the street. Shortly after that I heard the sound of one of those whiny motorbikes start up and leave. And then everything was quiet so I went back to bed.”
“Millie, were you able to recognize the person unhitching the boat?”
“I’m afraid not, dearie. It was very dark out that night. I think the person might have been wearing some kind of a uniform, but like I said, it was very dark out and I can’t say for sure. I can say for sure that it was Mr. Driscoll’s truck because it sounded the same.”
“You said something was unusual about the boat when you saw it the next morning. What did you see?” Helen asked.
“Well, Mr. Driscoll always had the boat parked sideways on the lot so passersby could get a good look at it with the For Sale sign on it. The next morning I noticed that it was just backed into the lot like someone was in a hurry to drop it off.”
“So what I guess you’re saying is ... the boat was probably moved that Wednesday and brought back early Thursday morning?”
“I’m just telling you what I heard and observed, dearie. You can make your own conclusion,” Millie answered.
“That’s great information, Millie. Have you noticed anything else strange in the neighborhood, like a vehicle that doesn’t belong or strangers lurking around the Driscolls’ house?”
“No, the only person I saw lurking around the Driscolls’ house was Mike Billings. He’s a plumber who lives on this side of the street directly across from the Driscolls.”
“What do you mean by lurking around, Millie?” Helen asked.
“Well, from my observation Mr. Billings and Mrs. Driscoll take turns of late occasionally visiting each other’s house when Mr. Driscoll isn’t around.”
“Oh, do you mean they are having an affair?” Helen asked.
“I’m only telling you what I observed, dearie, and once again you can make your own conclusions.”
“Thank you for all the great information Millie,” Helen said as she rose from her chair.
“Won’t you stay and join me in a cup of tea?” Millie asked.
“No, I can’t, but thank you for asking, Millie. My husband is outside in the neighborhood and he’s probably wondering where I am.”
“Well, you take care, young lady, and stay out of danger, you being a private eye and all.”
“I’ll do that, Millie, and thanks again. Oh, here is one of my husband’s cards. If you happen to think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Helen came out of Millie’s house and noticed Hank was waiting in the Honda. “Have any luck?” Helen asked as she entered the car.
“The neighbor next to the empty lot definitely remembered Leonard hitching up the boat to his truck that Wednesday. How did it go on your side of the street?”
“One old gentleman thought I was an Avon lady and he was very proud that he remembered that he had Wheaties for breakfast,” Helen replied.
“Interesting bit of information, but I don’t think it will help us solve the case,” Hank said with a chuckle.
“However, the old guy’s next door neighbor, Millie Hardwick, did provide something that might prove very helpful. It seems that Millie is the unofficial neighborhood watch and apparently doesn’t miss much. She had to get up very early that Thursday morning to relieve her bladder and heard truck noise and some banging. She looked out the front window and saw someone she couldn’t identify unhitch the boat and drive up the street. The person might have been wearing a uniform. Shortly thereafter she heard a whiny motorbike start up and leave. At daylight she noticed Leonard’s boat was parked at an odd angle in the lot as if someone dropped it off in a hurry. She claimed that Leonard always positioned the boat broadside to the street so that it and the For Sale sign were readily visible.”
“Hmm, the sound of the motorbike is interesting,” Hank commented. “Whoever murdered Leonard and delivered his boat back to the neighborhood could have easily transported a lightweight motorbike in the truck and then used it for the trip back home. The part about the uniform is also very interesting.”
“Ms. Millie was unsure about the possibility of the person wearing a uniform because of the dark night, but that’s not all she had to say,” Helen added. “It seems that she observed Mrs. Driscoll and the neighborhood plumber who lives across the street making frequent trips back and forth to each other’s houses when Leonard wasn’t around.”
“Do you think he was fixing her plumbing?” Hank asked.
“In more ways than one,” Helen replied. “His name is Mike Billings.”
“Maybe we should pay Mr. Billings a visit,” Hank suggested.
“I don’t think he’s at home,” Helen replied. “I saw his white van in his driveway when we came out of Mrs. Driscoll’s house, but it is gone now. He’s probably out on a call.”
“Well, we can add him to the list of suspects and talk with him later,” Hank said. “Plumbers sometime wear uniforms. You didn’t happen to notice a motorbike around his house, did you? He could have ridden one over to the lake and then brought it back home in the boat.” Hank craned his neck to get a better view of the plumber’s driveway. “His garage door has windows in it. We can take a peek to see if there’s a bike in the garage.”
“No, we better not. Ms. Millie might see us and alert him,” Helen replied, recalling Millie’s penchant for watching her neighbors’ houses through her curtains.
“We can ask him if he owns one when we interview him then,” Hank responded.
“Well then, we should get back to the Bounder to rest up and get ready for our big night at the casino,” Helen said. “I only feel lucky when I’m reinvigorated.”
Helen was excited about the investigation as they drove back to the campground. “I think I might have found a new calling. How do I become a real P.I. in the Moran Investigations Agency?”
“We’ll have to check when we get back to Kenner, but I think all you have to do is apply for an apprentice license, which is good for one year. Then within that year you must complete the basic training course and pass the exam,” Hank explained.
“I want to do it,” Helen said matter-of-factly.
“OK,” Hank said grinning and thinking about what the rest of their lives would be like as partners in a private investigation agency.