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Business Growth 1
Business Growth 2
Business Growth 3
Career Growth 1
Career Growth 2
Mystery
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Mystery
The Four P’s
of Murder
By Paul R. Lloyd
The flashing neon from the Black Dingus, the dive downstairs, lit my
reception area like an on-again-off-again case of the flu when I
returned from a client meeting. I pretended not to notice the looker
on the chesterfield as I walked back to my office. Berty followed
me, clucking like a mother hen.
I put my brief case on the battleship gray desk with the linoleum
top. “Marketing communications or murder?”
Berty smiled. “She ain’t dressed for business, boss. Unless she’s
the type that services her clients on the night shift.”
“Show her in, and then you can go home.”
“Don’t be looking for any night time professional services, boss.”
“Strictly legit, Berty. No need to worry.”
Combining my career as a writer and private eye is as crazy as
plucking down a sawbuck on the lotto and expecting a winner. It does
have its advantages though. You use deductive reasoning in both
jobs, and it opens mouths downtown when the pols know there’s
publicity to be had for the right information.
The door to my office squealed and I took my time taking my eyes
from her shoes to her blue eyes and blonde hair.
“Mr… ah, I mean… Mr…” She became better looking the closer she
came. And Berty was wrong. She wasn’t a working girl of the evening.
She just dressed young.
"Yes, How may I help you?” I
shook her tiny hand.
“I’m Constance Martin.”
“And how may I help you, Ms. Martin?” I showed her to a seat, but
she continued standing.
“Call me Constance. Somebody killed my brother.”
“Sorry to hear about that. Coffee?” I walked across the office to
the hotplate as Constance Martin wiped a tear from her left eye. I
let the dregs of the day’s java cover yesterday’s stains in the
bottom of my mug. “Your brother have health insurance? Got mine
through Karla Kae Rockwell. Here, write down her phone
number: 630-690-6979. It’s too late for your brother, but you
on the other hand…”
“Gosh, thanks.”
“Anytime. You drinking coffee?” I poured a cup of joe but the lumps
hadn’t dissolved yet.
“No thanks. But I could use something a bit stronger.” She smiled
and leaned on one foot like I should know what that signals.
I knew then she was my kind of client.
* * * * * *
Two hours, two greasy chicken dinners and more drinks than I care to
remember later, I had her story and a hefty cash advance. Turns out
her brother got involved with a rough crowd including a peddler, a
punk rocker, a public relations person and a pawnbroker. I agreed to
interview these characters and find her brother’s killer. She wrote
down their names for me: Percival, Penny, Pitney and Pixie.
There wasn’t much these lowlifes wanted to tell me. They agreed to
meet me at the Black Dingus, but when we got together, they refused
to tell me their names or even which jobs they had. Obviously, they
knew they were suspects. But I was able to garner a few facts.
The female suspects, Penny and Pixie, were both glad they weren’t in
the peddler’s shoes because they had heard there was a big bust
coming.
The public relations man was in a meeting with his boss planning a
PR campaign for Percival when the murder occurred.
Percival and the pawnbroker both had a clear alibi since the police
were interviewing them on another matter at the time of the murder.
Pixie is a big fan of the punk rocker.
You can imagine the surprised look on the faces of these four
suspects as Lieutenant Lawson barged in with a cadre of uniformed
officers behind him. They were at least as surprised as Lieutenant
Lawson when I announced, “I’ve solved the case, Lawson. I can tell
you which job each of these suspects holds, even though they refused
to tell me, and I know who is guilty.”
Whodunit?
Zuk-Lloyd Associates, Inc. – Creative writing and art solutions.
We help
clients increase sales by turning ordinary business information into
extraordinary stories.
Contact:
Paul R. Lloyd
630-393-6516
info@zuklloyd.com
www.zuklloyd.com
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