Missing Mamba Page 2

  7.

  “They’re all near the golf course,” I said as we walked towards Frieda’s house, “that’s also where Ferndock trapped the rats and gophers.”

  “It’s probably just a coincidence – I mean we only have two addresses --- Mr. Cassidy calls that a narrow sampling.”

  Mr. Cassidy is our science teacher. George and I are the top students in his class.

  I heard a loud clomping sound behind me and turned around.

  “Hey, Sharon, GB, wait up – where are you guys going?” Walter said.

  “We need to pick up a list from Frieda.”

  “You mean Dr. Krinkdel?” He laughed.

  “Why don’t you come with us and meet her? She has a beautiful lion skin on her rug.”

  “OK ---what list are you picking up anyway?’

  “Names of all the men who worked around her house,” I said, “they were the only ones who knew about the Black Mamba.”

  “So --- it probably just escaped.”

  I frowned--obviously George hadn’t spoken to Walt yet about our conversation with Dr. Krinkdel. Since Walt was a part of our detective agency, I thought I should fill him in.

  “The lock to the cage was cut open,” I said, “so we are dealing with stolen property.”

  “What kind of a moron would steal a Black Mamba -- and why?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” George said.

  When we got to Frieda’s house, I introduced her to Walt.

  “His name is really Walter, but we all call him Walt for short.

  George sat on the Zebra skin chair and Walt sat down next to the lion.

  “It’s strange you would choose to sit by Oscar, ” Dr. Krinkdel said looking at Walt, “your name bears a striking resemblance to the unfortunate Bushman.”

  “Who’s Oscar? What Bushman?” He asked.

  “The lion’s name is Oscar. Wautera, we called him Waut for short, was Oscar’s last meal.”

  “Oscar.”

  “My late husband enjoyed naming all of the animal skins in the house. George is sitting on Herbert. That’s Oscar’s head you’re petting.”

  Walt jumped about two feet in the air. We all laughed. At this point I wasn’t sure about the Bushman story – Dr. Krinkdel probably told everybody who sat on the floor the same thing.

  “Here’s your list Sharon.”

  I studied it and recognized all the names: Elmer the iceman, Cecil the handyman, Billy Thomas, and Jeff Stonely.

  “What do Billy and Jeff do for you?” I asked. “They’re both in our class.”

  “Billy washes my windows once a month and Jeff takes out my trash and mows my back lawn.”

  “Did anyone else know about the Black Mamba?”

  “Only Ferndock’s brother Joe from Cleveland,” she said.

  “Ferndock had a brother whose name is just plain Joe?” George asked.

  “Yes, as a boy Ferndock always complained that Joe was their mother’s favorite. He only found out years later that he was quite wrong.”

  George looked at me with that silly grin of his. After our tea, we all walked back to his garage, which was also the home of the George Bailey and Associates Detective Agency. I took my usual chair, Walt sat on the boat trailer and George sat up on his regular spot --- the workbench. Behind him was an old wanted poster of Mad Mike Proctor, who was involved in one of our other cases.

  “What the heck do we do now?” Walter asked.

  “I don’t know.” I said.

  “I think we have something to go on.”

  “What’s that GB?”

  “Well, we have the name right here of the only four people in the world, besides Joe who lives in Cleveland, who knew that the Krinkdels had a Black Mamba at their house. One of these guys may have stolen Margie.”

  “Margie? Who the hell is Margie?” Walter said.

  I looked over at Walter and smiled.

  “We forgot to tell you– Margie is the Black Mamba’s name.”

  “Margie – oh my god – what a case.”

  “There’s one other thing we know,” George said, “ two hamsters, Daisy and Bronco are missing and so are their cages. Daisy and Bronco both lived near the golf course.”

  “Daisy and Bronco!” Walter said, “ What’s their handicap? I heard somewhere that Bronco was a scratch golfer.”

  I looked at Walter again and couldn’t help thinking of Oscar the lion.

  8.

  “Your friend George Bailey is nailing something on the telephone pole in front of our house,” my mom said looking in my bedroom. She wore her favorite blue apron with “Auld friends ere the best friends,” stitched in red.

  I smelled bacon cooking in the kitchen, and ran to the living room window. It was Saturday, my dad sat on his old leather chair listening to President Roosevelt on the radio.

  “Our first problem was, of course, the banking crisis------“

  “What are you doing?” I yelled from the porch.

  “Just posting these notices about Margie, Officer Keyes agreed with you that it would be a good idea,” he said as he hammered away.

  Naturally I always like it when Officer Keyes appreciates my suggestions. I walked out, waving over to Elmer the iceman, as he lugged a block of ice to Mrs. Crandall’s front door. I stood next to George, squeezed his hand, and looked up at the poster.

  WARNING

  A dangerous snake has been reported missing. The snake is grey- green in color and around 8 feet long. If you see the snake DO NOT attempt to capture it, but contact us immediately.

  Signed

  Officer Keyes.

  “Why didn’t he say what kind of snake it is?” I asked.

  “Most people wouldn’t know about a Black Mamba, and he didn’t want to alarm anyone who did. The snake’s been missing for a year and hasn’t hurt anyone yet.” George said.

  “What’re you doing George – Hi Sharon,” Elmer said looking at the poster, “Missing snake huh – I thought I hadn’t seen Margie around. She never looked to dangerous to me – always sort of slithered away when I came in.”

  “Was she loose when you delivered the ice?” George asked.

  “So it is Margie,” Elmer laughed. “Only once years ago when Ferndock was cleaning the cage --she scared me to death when I opened the kitchen door – Margie headed into the broom closet ---thank God. I think they normally kept her caged in the garage. Ferndock apologized and it never happened again, but I always made sure before I went in. I hate snakes –they were crazy to keep that thing. Elmer waved and walked back to his white Model T Ice Truck.

  “I guess we just interviewed our first suspect.” George said.

  “Yeah, only three more to go.” I said.

  “Don’t you mean four?”

  9.

  “I think we should go talk to Henry,” I said.

  “Why --- he’ll just want a reward.”

  George was right. Henry Lido worked with us on one of our cases where we actually ended up with a reward. Henry’s the hardest working kid in our class, or, for that matter, on the island.. He lives with his mother in a tiny little house, probably the smallest house in town. It reminds me of a little dollhouse I once had. Henry caddies at the golf course, catches fish and abalone that he sells to restaurants -- he even once had a bunch of kids on the island collecting bottles from tourists.

  “No one knows the golf course better than Henry.” I said, “That’s where Ferndock trapped the animals he fed Margie. It’s also close to the area where the cages where stolen. Maybe somebody is trapping food for Margie up there and keeping them alive in the cages.”

  “Huh – if you use a rat trap --- the rat is dead.”

  “Oh, I don’t know George, maybe Henry saw something.”

  We walked up to the golf course. Henry sat on the caddy’s bench playing cards with Sammy Trumbell, who’s about 20.

  “Two Kings.” Sammy said.

  “Three of a kind – you lose.”

  Henry pick
ed up the pot –15 cents – then turned towards us.

  “What’re you two doin’ up here -- wanna play golf?”

  “Nah, we just came up to ask you a couple of questions.” George said.

  “New case?”

  George and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. Walt would be upset of course, but one-fourth of something is better than one-third of nothing.

  “We’re looking for evidence on the course.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “We’re not sure – maybe snake skins, or rat bones.”

  “You mean that missing snake in the poster?”

  “Yes,” I said, “snakes shed their skin every few weeks.”

  George looked at me. I could tell he was impressed.

  “Heck I know that – I see rattler skins all the time.” Henry said, “even saw a skin the other day out on the 8th hole –‘cept it sure wasn’t a rattler. You ain’t going to find no rats though, snakes eat em whole –‘sides there’s more gophers than anything.”

  I bit my lip. I hadn’t thought about the “eating whole” part. I also decided it wasn’t a good time to correct Henry’s grammar.

  “What’s the 8th hole?” I asked.

  “Par four – dogleg right –c’mon I’ll show you.”

  George and I laughed – then followed Henry. I somehow felt better. With me, George, Walt and now Henry on the case – that snake thief was in trouble.

  10.

  “Over here.”

  Henry stood near the red #8 flag.

  “Hey you kids, look out!”

  A fat red-faced golfer yelled at us then looked down at his ball.

  “Come on over,” Henry said, “no way that guy can reach us from there. I caddied for him last week.”

  The man swung the golf club, launching a huge chunk of grass about 20 feet in front of him. He used the same word my dad did when he fell off the ladder last summer. The golfer’s ball almost reached the chunk of grass.

  “Here it is.”

  Henry held up a huge grey and yellow snakeskin.

  “I only saw part of it before,” Henry said, “this thing is long.

  “But kinda skinny,” George said. I think he was disappointed. I wasn’t.

  “We better get out of here, that golfer isn’t going too be to happy when he finally gets here.”

  “Fore!”

  “I can’t watch –let’s go,” Henry said.

  George and I left Henry back at the caddy bench. Two boys rolled nickels against a wall.

  “Who wants to play cards?” Henry said.

  When we got to Dr. Krinkdel’s house, George held the snakeskin while I knocked on the snake doorknocker.

  Dr Krinkdel peeked out the door – her eyes just below the level of the rusty chain –she focused first on me and then on the object in George’s hands --then she screamed.

  “Margie!”

  When we got inside, George laid the snakeskin on the floor in front of Oscar. It looked like one of those old dusty made up-scenes at a local museum. A lion skin about to eat a snakeskin.

  Dr. Krinkdel sensed what I was thinking.

  “Doesn’t happen in the wild Sharon, but snakes sometimes eat baby cubs.”

  “Guess the cubs that live learn to stay away from snakes,” George said.

  Dr. Krinkdel smiled and nodded, “I think our friend Charles Darwin might agree with you Mr. Watson.”

  I asked Frieda if she thought Margie escaped from her captor or killed him?

  “I doubt it,” Frieda said, “the thief must let the snake out once in a while. A large grass area like a golf green would be a good place to do it – at night or early morning. You’d have to clean the cage. Remember, if a snake kills you, he doesn’t know that he needs to hide you. Dead bodies usually don’t smell to good after awhile. I think it’s possible your thief may be hiding Margie in her cage near her source of food.

  I also wondered why someone wouldn’t have stolen the cage too, like they did with the hamsters.

  “It’s much too big to transport easily –perhaps he brought a smaller cage,” Frieda said.

  “Maybe the thief just loved snakes and released it into the wild.” I said.

  “Or took it off the island and sold it,” I said.

  “There’s not too many people who would be crazy enough to keep a Mamba,” Frieda said, “I was interested in studying it’s habit at first and, over time, grew fond of her.”

  “I need to tell Officer Keyes,” George said. I’m sorry Doctor, but I’ll need to

  take this skin in as evidence.

  ‘Don’t worry, I have another one here.”

  She opened a drawer and brought another snakeskin wrapped in tissue paper. It was a slightly shrunken version of the one on the floor –a perfect match.

  “Margie was younger then.”

  11.

  Officer Keyes examined the skin.

  “Did you two find this?”

  The skin was on front office counter next to a small push button bell like Mrs. Quigley has in her library.

  “No, Henry Lido did.”

  “So Henry’s on the case too,” Officer Keyes said. “That’s good. It looked like a perfect match you say?”

  “Yes sir – Frieda said it’s Margie for sure.”

  “Great –we sure don’t need any more than one Black Mamba on the Island. I want to post a warning up on the course. I know there are plenty of rattlers up there too, but most snakes want to keep as far away from you as possible, most folks get bit by accidentally stepping on them or trying to play with them. If the Doctor’s right and Margie’s hidden behind some bush, maybe we should conduct a search in the area where you found the skin.”

  “Henry, Walt, Sharon and I could search the eigth hole before the course opens tomorrow.” George said.

  “Searching that hole is a good idea,” Officer Keyes said, “but be very careful and bring a golf club –and bring Dr. Krinkdel if she can make it.”

  “I know she’ll want to come, and Henry can get some clubs for us,” George said.

  “Oh, I’m sure Henry can.”

  12.

  “I checked with old Gus Greenly, the groundskeeper, and he says there ain’t as many gophers on this hole as there used to be.”

  “Well I don’t doubt that Mr. Lido -- not if my Margie is living out here.”

  “Please Dr. Krinkdel –just call me Henry.”

  “We had a Bushman named Ennree – but he went missing one day.”

  “Huh?”

  Frieda winked at me.

  It was 6:00 AM, the golf course wouldn’t open for another hour, and it took a while for a golfer to reach the 8th Hole. All of us, except Frieda, had to get to work. George wore his beige police outfit and badge, and I wore my daisy print dress and Chamber of Commerce name badge. Walt and Henry just had on cut-off jeans and T-shirts –caddys and boat rental boys were lucky, they could wear anything they wanted to work. I knew George didn’t envy their outfit’s at all –he loved that police uniform -- even if it was just a beige shirt and pants his mom bought from the Sears Catalog.

  Dr. Krinkdel had on the complete Sears safari outfit including the hat. We mapped out our search area like we once did on our investigation of a shipwreck. It was George’s idea –just like that time. He used the 8th Hole Flag for the center and each of us to took a pie-shaped quarter section. Dr. Krinkdel stood by the hole in case any of us found anything, she could come along to investigate. Henry passed out the golf clubs from an old bag he carried. Walt looked at his.

  “Can I have a 9 iron?”

  “What the heck difference does it make?” Henry said.

  “It’s my best club –I can hit the ball a mile.”

  “Well we ain’t hittin’ any golf balls – you can whack that old snake with any club.

  Frieda Krinkdel’s mouth dropped open as she turned to Henry

  “Lets get one thing straight right now -- Mr. Henry Lido,” she said, her face glowi
ng bright red, “just use the clubs to investigate under any bushes and to keep the snake away ‘til I get there. I don’t want anyone whacking my dear Margie on the head. Also it’s aren’t not ain’t young man.”

  Henry apologized and said he was only kidding.

  Henry, Walt, George and I started out from the flag. The plan was to move out about 100 yards covering every inch of our pie-shaped area. The boys, despite my protests, gave me the easiest section – consisting mostly of mowed grass and a half portion of one sand trap. They figured I would see a snake long before I got to it. Walt, with a little extra pleading, ended up with second easiest –more grass and the other part of the sand trap. Henry and George’s section was mainly the steep gully in back of the green-- covered with dried up bushes and tall weeds.

  I figured I could finish quick then go help George.

  We started –it was real quiet for a long time as we all concentrated on the job. I noticed Walt walked slow -- like that Bushman Wauteri in head-high grass. He examined every one-inch blade of grass as if Oscar hid in wait.

  “Ow, Ow ! Damn it!” George yelled.

  “What’s the matter George?” Freida asked.

  “I think a bee stung me on the elbow.”

  “Don’t worry about the silly bee, just concentrate on the ground.”

  The search went on for about an hour. I took my time at the end, because no one would let me go down in the gully.

  Just as we were about to finish, I looked down in the sand trap and saw a shiny silver --grey object buried in the sand. I almost missed it because it was so tiny – like the tip of Mom’s thimble. I tiptoed up near whatever it was and held my golf club way out in front of me.

  “I see something,” I whispered to Walt and pointed with the club.

  “I’ll get the others!”

  I have never seen Walter Jenkins move so fast in my life.

  Soon everyone gathered at the edge of the sandtrap.

  “Be careful Sharon dear,” Dr. Krinkdel said softly , “back up -- if it’s Margie, you don’t know which end of her it might be –the head may well be right near your feet.”