Mysterical-E

He Said, She Says

      DART CHAMP GRANNY
                       By Dorothy Francis

Agnes Brown gasped. Gone! Her cameo ring, gone! Nobody had access to her jewelry box except her housekeeper, Roxie. Agnes questioned Roxie as she dusted the marble top dresser.

“No, Mrs. Brown, I ain’t seen no ring.” Roxie brushed bottle-blonde bangs aside. “I never poke into your stuff. What’s the ring like?”

“Oval shaped. Terra-cotta color.” Agnes looked Roxie in the eye. “Eighteen carat gold mounting. The cameo depicted a woman wearing only a filmy scarf.”

“A pornographic cameo!” Roxie chuckled. “Checked the bathroom? The kitchen?”

“No. I seldom wore the heirloom. My granddaughter’s visiting tomorrow. I planned to give Gwen the ring after my demonstration at your husband’s bar.”

“The Brass Monkey? A lady like you appearing there?”

Agnes’s face flushed.   “Dart throwing’s been my lifelong hobby. After I won the state championship, Jacko offered me a hundred dollars to demonstrate for his patrons. I’m donating the money to the Senior Center.”

“Take care, Ma’am. The Brass Monkey’s in a dangerous area.”
“Gwen’s a policewoman. We’re expecting no trouble.”
Roxie shrugged. “I’ll look for your ring. It’s gotta be here somewhere.”
After Roxie left, Agnes found the insurance company’s picture and appraisal of her ring and drove to the police station. Walls. Floor. Furniture. Everything painted tobacco-spit brown. Agnes choked on stale smoke.

“May I help you, Ma’am?” Sgt. Buxton asked.

“I’m here to report my missing ring.” Agnes thumped the picture onto the sergeant’s desk. But before she could continue, another officer stormed into the room.

“A Blake Buxton nude’s missing from the Beau Arts Gallery!” the newcomer shouted. “Suppose it’s your dad’s newest oil? Gallery Security just reported the theft.”

Sgt. Buxton laid Agnes’s ring picture aside, apologized to her for the intrusion. “I’ll circulate this picture, Mrs. Brown. You’ll hear from us.”

Agnes left the station. A Blake Buxton nude missing! She frowned. Her ring would rate scant attention with Beau Arts Security reporting the theft of an oil painted by a police officer’s father.

The next evening when Gwen arrived, Agnes smiled and gave her a hug. Red hair. Creamy complexion. Slender build. Gwen looked a lot like Agnes had looked years ago. Then, biting back anger and frustration, Agnes told Gwen about the ring.

“Oh, Gram. How sad. But maybe it’ll turn up. Maybe we’ll find it.”
Agnes sighed. “Right now we must hurry to The Brass Monkey. I’m so glad you’ve arrived. I’d hate going there alone.”

“Don’t worry, Gram. The Police Academy has prepared me for emergencies.
“Good,” Agnes said. “I’ll give my demonstration, collect my money, and leave.”
Once underway, Gwen drove along well-lit streets until they reached the housing projects. Here, pavement narrowed. Streetlights were few, but they found parking near the bar entrance. Neon lights flashed against a flyspecked window.

The Brass Monkey. Agnes hesitated. Gwen took her arm. Inside, they blinked into the dimness. The stale ale odor sickened Agnes. Jacko approached them, beer belly leading the way. Wiping grubby hands on his bar apron, he led Agnes and Gwen to a table.

Agnes opened her dart case, ignoring the men crowding around, peering at her, leering at Gwen.

“Where’s the target, Sir?” Agnes asked Jacko.
“To your left.” Jacko pointed.
Agnes studied black circles ringing a scarlet bull’s eye. The painting of a nude woman formed the target’s background. Agnes tried to notice nothing except the bull’s eye, but suddenly her heart pounded.

“May I examine that target?” she asked.
“Sure,” Jacko replied. “Don’t worry. It’s regulation size.”
Agnes’s stepped closer, her gaze skimming the target. There on the woman’s finger she saw the likeness of her cameo. How could this be?

She faced Jacko. “I’ve forgotten something. May I make a call, please?” Agnes pulled out her cell phone. “Gwen, please keep an eye on my darts.”

Jacko led Agnes to a private corner. “Don’t let your call delay the show.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Jacko left and Agnes dialed 911, stated her business, and returned to her darts.

Silence blanketed the room. Agnes threw three warm-up shots. The men shouted when her darts hit the bull’s eye. Amid applause and whistles, Agnes made a big thing of flexing her fingers and examining the next dart.

Another bull’s eye. A third. A fourth. The men began stamping, urging Agnes on. Their clamor masked outside sounds. After she scored her tenth bull’s eye, the saloon door burst open and two policemen strode inside.

“Clear the bar!” Sgt. Buxton ordered. “Everyone outside except Jacko and the Browns.”

After everyone left, the officers examined the painting before approaching Jacko with handcuffs.

“We’re taking you and the Blake Buxton painting to headquarters.”

Jacko’s shoulders slumped. “How did you know?”

“Agnes Brown called to report a lead on her missing ring. Blake Buxton’s my father. I recognize his work. How does the likeness of Mrs. Brown’s cameo happen to be on the finger of Dad’s nude model? You have the right to call a lawyer before answering.”

“Don’t want a lawyer,” Jacko said. “My wife, Roxie, had been wearing that ring for weeks,” Jacko said. “Don’t know where she got it. When she dragged me to an art show, I recognized her ring on the nude. That’s when I knew Roxie had posed for Buxton. And I guessed who she’d been sleeping with on all those nights she told me she was taking art lessons. Stealing the painting and placing it under the bull’s eye was my revenge”

“Where’s my ring now?” Agnes demanded.

“Roxie has it,” Sgt. Buxton said. “Another officer’s bringing her to the station. Mrs. Brown, you’re one smart detective. You’ll get your ring back along with the reward Dad’s offering for the painting.”

“Give the reward to the Senior Center.” Agnes watched the officer snap the cuffs on Jacko. “I’m pleased to be able to give Gwen my ring just as my grandmother gave it to me years ago.”

Agnes took Gwen’s arm as they left the bar.

Author Bio

Dorothy Francis writes mystery short stories and novels for both children and adults. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, Sisters in Crime, Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Key West Writer’s guild. Welcome to her website at www.dorothyfrancis.com.