Missing Mamba (George Bailey Detective Series Book 4) Read online

  Missing Mamba

  by

  Mike Hershman

  Dedicated to

  Kristin

  &

  Violet

  Table of Contents

  The chapters are pretty short!!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Copyright 2016

  Mike Hershman Publishing

  Hamilton Island

  1936

  1.

  “Sharon, do you want to go to the movies tonight?”

  “What’s playing?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  George Bailey Watson is my boyfriend. He’s not the handsomest boy you’ve ever seen and he’s pretty short. I’m not too tall either, and, in fact, I’m even shorter than he is. I try to call him George now, but I sometimes forget. His mom calls him George Bailey because his dad’s name is also George. The one thing about my boyfriend that’s important is he’s really very smart. He’s a detective too, which, you have to admit, is pretty unusual for a 15-year-old-boy with thick glasses, or even for a 15-year-old with 20-20 vision. George had a lisp when we first started seeing each other, but he doesn’t have one anymore. He called me Tharon all the time then. Now he only does it when he gets really excited.

  “If it’s another Nick and Nora or Charlie Chan –I’ll go.” I said.

  Nick and Nora are a little like George and Sharon -- except they’ve solved a few more cases than we have. We’ve only solved three so far along with the help of his friend Walter Jenkins. I like Walter OK most of the time, but he’s sure not as smart as George, and sometimes makes me crazy. Walter always calls my boyfriend GB. Walter also hates being called Walter, so I call him that every once in a while.

  We all live on Hamilton Island, which is about 22 miles from Los Angeles. In the summertime most of the island kids get jobs working in the restaurants, boat rental places, arcades and stores that cater to the tourists. Walter works at the paddleboard rental dock on the pier and I work at the Chamber of Commerce information office right next to the pier. George has the best job though – he works as a Cadet for Officer Keyes, our Chief of Police. That’s how he got two of our cases – from some old unsolved burglaries. George found out about them when he was filing some reports last year.

  “I’ll run down to the Capri and see what’s playing – be right back,” George said.

  He was gone like a rocket – I didn’t even have time to say that I could just check in the newspaper. He no sooner left than Walter Jenkins walked in.

  “Hey Sharon – have ya seen GB anywhere?”

  Walter grabbed a handful of candy that we keep in a jar for tourist kids.

  “He’ll be right back –just ran down to see what’s playing at the Capri.”

  “Oh, I know, it’s that stupid Nick and Nora again.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Figures you two would like that one.” Walter said, popping a candy in his mouth.

  “Tharon Tharon, we’re in luck!” George yelled from about a half block away – his feet were moving fast. He has a funny way of running, with his feet always kicking out to the side. He told me the name of the movie.

  “I already saw that one when I went to visit Aunt Sue last month.”

  “Then let’s just watch the tourists on Oceanfront Walk tonight.” George said.

  “I’ll go too.” Walter said.

  “Oh great.”

  2.

  George Walter and I sat on a park bench right in front of the “Fish-On” Restaurant. There were a lot of sailors in town – a navy destroyer was anchored just outside the harbor and all the bars along Oceanfront Walk filled up quick with guys in white uniforms. Some of them looked younger than Walter, who, even though he was the same age as George, was already shaving. He wasn’t doing too good a job of it yet, and always had little pieces of blood stained toilet paper on his face.

  “George, please find us another case –we need something to do besides watching tourists every other night,” I said.

  A kid with a lollipop in his mouth almost rode his bike over Walt’s bare foot.

  “Watchit jerk!”

  “Who you calling a jerk.” A sailor with a tattoo of a palm tree on his arm yelled, and headed toward Walt. The palm tree grew bigger when the sailor flexed his muscles.

  “Oh sir, he wasn’t talking to you,” I said, “he was talking to that boy on the bike.”

  “Who are you --his baby sister?”

  “Baby sister! --- he’s right --you are a jerk!” I said.

  Fortunately, the sailor’s friends, who weren’t quite as drunk as he was, pulled him into the Hurricane Cove Bar.

  “Crap Sharon – you trying to get me killed?” Walt said.

  “Please watch your language Walter Quentin Jenkins!”

  “Don’t worry Walt – she won’t get you killed, but I might.”

  “Huh?”

  George looked at Walter and smiled.

  “I think I’ve got another case for George and Associates.”

  3.

  “What’s the case this time GB?”

  George looked at the two of us and started laughing.

  “You’re not going to believe this one.”

  “Try us.” Walter said.

  “OK, here goes -- I cleaned out some old files and found one that Officer Hollis had misfiled under “Miscellaneous office.”

  Officer Hollis was Chief of Police before Officer Keyes. He was also a crook and

  we proved it!

  “Miscellaneous office?”

  “Yeah, it should have been under “Missing Pets.”

  “Oh great GB – so now, after solving two murders and a two burglaries we are promoted to rounding up somebody’s old smelly pooch. Shall we change our name to Fido Finders?”

  “This one is a little different,” George said.

  “Huh – whatya mean?”

  “The missing pet happens to be a Black Mamba – one of the deadliest snakes in the world.”

  “You mean to tell me that a Black Mamba has been crawling around on this island for a year and nobody even knew about it?” I asked, imagining a snake roughly the length of a large school bus and the width of a fire hose gobbling up house pets and 3rd graders with one gulp. I had no idea what a Black Mamba looked like.

  “Yeah, and the owner it said it was stolen.” George said.

  “Stolen! Who would steal a deadly snake?” Walt asked.

  “A snake collector maybe.”

  “Maybe George,” I said, “or maybe somebody who needed the snake for something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like murder.”

  George looked at me and smiled. “Sharon, there are easier ways to kill somebody than with a Black Mamba --- like a gun, knife, sleepin
g pills, even a crossbow or something.”

  “Crossbow?” Walt shook his head.

  “What’s our first step?” I asked.

  “I think we need to interview the person who owned the Black Mamba.”

  “Who was he?” Walter asked.

  “He’s a she,” George said. “Her name is Dr. Frieda Krinkdel.”

  “Dr. Frieda Krinkdel --- sounds like somebody who’d have a deadly snake for a house pet.” Walter said.

  4.

  Dr. Frieda Krinkdel lives on Tuna Lane in an old original Hamilton Island house with a narrow open porch. Walter said he had something else to do, but kidded that maybe we should wear lion tamer boots to protect ourselves. George and I just wore old tennis shoes instead. George also wore his police cadet uniform complete with badge. When we arrived at the house, it reminded me more of the rear end of a caboose then anything else. The front door wasn’t even six feet high with a doorknocker that looked like a coiled rattlesnake. I stood two feet behind George as he knocked on the door-- ready to run.

  We heard a scratchy high-pitched voice.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Hello Dr. Krinkdel, I’m George Watson, ah – I’m a police cadet and I’m investigating the missing --- ah -- snake.”

  “Are you Dr. Watson’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  Everybody in town, or at least those who cared about their teeth like me, knew my boyfriend’s dad. He was, after all, the only dentist on Hamilton Island.

  The door opened. Dr. Krinkdel was about the same height as George with long grey--streaked brown hair, which she wore in a long ponytail. Walter was right, we should have worn lion tamer boots, because that was exactly what Dr. Krinkdel had on. She looked like she should be out on a Safari somewhere instead of on Hamilton Island. A huge lion skin, complete with head, took up most of the living room floor. I was sure the lion looked right at me.

  It felt like a Tarzan movie. George and I were Tarzan and Jane, except with more clothes on, visiting the big game hunter. Elephant tusks leaned against a bamboo bookcase filled with African masks and carved wood animals: giraffes, gazelles, and gorillas. Animal skins were everywhere.

  Dr. Krinkdel, dressed perfectly for her part as the big game hunter, asked, also perfectly, “Would you care for a spot of tea?”

  “Ah----.”

  “That would be lovely Doctor,” I said.

  As she walked in the kitchen, George looked at me and whispered, “lovely?”

  I sat down in the Zebra skin chair while George sat next to the lion rug and patted it’s head. Dr. Krinkdel walked in with the tea service and nodded at the lion head.

  “My late husband Ferndock bagged that one on the Kalahari in 1919 –a man-eater, gobbled up a Bushmen just a month before. Would you care for a cupcake Cadet Watson?”

  “Gee ---sure --- just call me George,” he said scooting away from the head.

  “Well you may call me Frieda then.”

  How long were you in Africa, Frieda?” I asked, sipping on my tea.

  “Two years --Ferndock studied the habits of the Kalahari Bushmen for the National Geographic Society. He even wrote quite a large article for the magazine. Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure,” said George.

  The doctor reached up on the bookshelf and pulled down the faded yellow magazine.

  While George glanced through it, Frieda and I sat on the couch and talked about her life. She had been a zoologist specializing in snakes and reptiles and Dr. Ferndock Krinkdel, an anthropologist studying the tribes of Africa.

  “Why did you keep such a dangerous snake at home?” I asked.

  “Margie?”

  “Margie? Is that the snake’s name?”

  “Oh yes, and I never had any trouble with her. Of course, I always kept Margie caged. I did have a rather sleepless night one time when I couldn’t find her, and was so relieved the next day to locate her so easily curled up at the foot of my bed.”

  George looked up from his reading.

  “You mean, the deadliest snake on the face of the earth was just sleeping at the foot of your bed?” I asked.

  “Sharon, I suppose it probably does seem a trifle frightening when you put it that way, but Margie was always so docile around me. The Black Mamba will normally only attack when threatened and usually tries hard to avoid human contact. Nevertheless they are the deadliest snake in Africa, and should never be considered a pet. Margie’s cage is quite large and comfortable and we were extremely careful with her. They’re not really black you know – Margie for example is more a greenish – grey color. They get the name because the inside of their mouth is black.

  “How big is Margie?”

  “She’s about eight feet long or twice as big as large rattlesnake.”

  At first I was relieved – Margie’s much shorter than a school bus

  “Frieda, in the police report you said someone had stolen – ah -- Margie. What made you think that?” George asked.

  “I always locked her cage at night-- in the morning the cage was wide open.”

  “Maybe you forgot to lock it that one time.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you sure,” I asked.

  “Yes ---look.”

  She opened the coffee table drawer and handed George a small padlock, which had obviously been cut open.

  “The police report didn’t mention that,” I said.

  “Well, I certainly told Officer Hollis everything.”

  “Did anyone else know you had the Black Mamba?” George asked.

  “Only the men who occasionally worked at our house. Ferndock was very sick the last year or two -- we never were very sociable – except with the Bushmen of course. They were such beautiful people

  “Could you give us a list of the workmen?” I asked.

  “Certainly –more tea George?”

  5.

  The next morning, George stopped by my house on the way to the police station.

  “Don’t you think you should have Officer Keyes issue a warning?” I asked

  “Warning?”

  “Yes George, a very dangerous snake is loose on the island – people should know about it.”

  “It’s been loose for a year –nobody has reported it, and no one has been bit by a snake.”

  “No humans at least.”

  “Huh?”

  “Why don’t you take a look in the file where Officer Hollis should have put that report,” I said.

  “ You mean Stolen Property?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of that, but now that you mention it, that’s sure where Hollis should have filed it. That man should have been fired long ago for being so incompetent.”

  “Instead of for just being a crook? What file were you thinking of?”

  “Missing Pets --Margie had to eat something, and Dr. Krinkdel said Ferndock often fed her gophers or rats that he’d trap by the golf course.”

  “I don’t think too many people keep rats or gophers as pets.” George said. “If we ever get married Sharon – please don’t name our son Ferndock.”

  “That’s true, but Margie, if she’s still alive, is eating something. Don’t worry George, I like regular names --- like Ellsworth or Clifford.”

  “Clifford! I’ll talk to Officer Keyes about a warning, and check to see if anybody’s pet rat is gone.”

  “Let’s stop by Dr. Krinkel’s after work and pick up that list of the workmen,” I said.

  6.

  It wasn’t very busy at work – the bad economy has really slowed down the tourists. It was my job to give them advice on hotels and island tours. It was almost lunchtime and I started thinking about Gail, who’s working as a waitress this summer.

  My best friend Gail doesn’t really like George that much -- says he’s too short for me, but, since I’m so short too, I think it would look pretty funny if I had a real tall boyfriend. Gail likes a couple of boys on the island and a mainland boy whose family has a summer home. I like h
aving one boyfriend and George is so much fun, because we’re both so interested in crime fighting. This Black Mamba case is a hard one to figure out. Why would somebody steal a dangerous snake? I certainly wouldn’t want one for a pet. In fact, last night I kept thinking about Margie at the bottom of Dr. Krinkel’s bed and had the hardest time going to sleep. I have a flashlight that I use when I want to write in my diary late at night. I put my bedspread over my head, turn on the flashlight and write things about Gail and her boyfriends and, of course, things about George. I think I’m in love with him – I mean we do kiss a lot now and he makes me smile.

  “Hey Sharon – look what I found.”

  George ran into the Chamber Office. His face was red and his glasses looked like my bathroom mirror after a hot shower.

  “What?”

  “Missing Hamsters– there’s two of ‘em gone –both were stolen.”

  “Hamsters ---how do you know they were stolen?”

  “Pretty easy – the cage was gone too.

  He handed me the two reports and watched while I read them.

  Missing Pet report:

  June 11, 1933

  Francis Birdwell 11, of 345 Harpoon Bay Road reported her pet hamster, Daisy, and her cage were taken from the back porch last night. The cage smelled so bad that Mrs. Birdwell insisted Daisy sleep outside until Francis cleaned the cage. I think Mr. Birdwell may have done it.

  Signed:

  Officer Hollis

  I looked up at George, shook my head, and read the second one.

  Missing Pet Report:

  August 19, 1933

  Bobby Rogers 9, of 551 Country Club Dr. lost his hamster, Bronco – the cage is also missing.

  Signed:

  Officer Hollis

  “This second report sure isn’t very detailed,” I said.

  “Yeah, well that was when we were on Officer Hollis’ trail on the bootlegger case, anyway Hollis probably just figured Bobby’s dad did it.”