Things are really starting to look up around here, which is a nice change of pace. Of course, I know that just because I’m hopeful The Mutual Admiration Society won’t ever find out why the caretaker of the cemetery isn’t guilty of those crimes, doesn’t mean that we won’t and that he isn’t. The time might come that, like it or not, we’ll have to face the music and admit to ourselves that Mr. McGinty is the kidnapper and murderer after all.
But until then, I’m praying that after Birdie, Charlie, and me talk to a few other people in the neighborhood, we’ll come across a different bad guy to pin the crimes on. One who has all the ingredients we need to prove that he’s the guilty party, including the motive, which means that Birdie and me gotta chop-chop and get to work. Only we can’t do that until she’s done with her visit with Daddy, because that’d just be asking for her to go unruly on me again if I bug her when she’s hugging, kissing, and whispering into his gravestone, and that’s fine. I don’t mind waiting a little longer, because it’d be much better to explain my new plan to search for another suspect later, during our Mutual Admiration meeting. That way I won’t have to repeat myself to Charlie.
We don’t have time anymore to get together in his bomb shelter, which is the other location where we conduct our business, and that’s a crying shame. It’s cool and soundproof and Birdie likes it down there, too, because there are a lot of canned goods. But as Modern Detection states: “It’s important for a detective to remain flexible during an investigation, for you never know what challenges might arise.” Daddy agreed with him. “Ya need to roll with the punches, kiddo,” he used to tell me, so that’s what we’ll do. Get together for a very quick meeting on Charlie’s back porch about what’s already happened this morning, and then we have to be on our way up to St. Kate’s, so I can confess to Father Ted before his 1:00 p.m. quitting time. I’ll fill the both of them in on my brand-new plan on the fly, and once I get my confessing out of the way, the three of us will roll up our sleeves and get busy working on THE CASE OF THE MISSING NUN WHO MIGHT BE KIDNAPPED AND MURDERED BUT BY SOMEBODY WHO IS NOT MR. MCGINTY.
As the president of our society, I feel it’s my responsibility to come up with a few names to toss into the ring before the meeting, but all I can think of is one. #2 on my SHIT LIST.
Q. Is it asking too much to make Butch Seeback be the one I saw skulking around the cemetery last night with the dead body?
A. Signs point to yes.
Of course they do, because as much as I’d love to get that vicious kid sent out of the neighborhood and straight over to the House of Good Shepherd Reform School until he can be permanently sent to prison—mark my words, someday he will end up committing even worse hideous crimes than skin upholsterer Ed Gein—there is no denying the facts:
Butch isn’t as skinny as the guy I saw last night. The high school dropout is built more like the safe at the First Wisconsin Bank on North Ave. (Another spot I might have to heist someday.)
The initials on the back of the St. Christopher medal are J. M. and his aren’t. (Almighty God bestowing upon that turd the initials of B. S. only goes to prove once again what a great sense of humor He has, which is exactly what I’m banking on when I step into the box at St. Kate’s to do my Shirley Temple confession.)
Seeback definitely wasn’t the one who shouted out, “I’m warning you! Watch yourself! You’re treading on dangerous ground!” last night. (His voice is as recognizable as mine.)
While Birdie finishes up visiting with Daddy, instead of trying to keep everything that I gotta do in my head, I take my stubby pencil and my navy-blue detecting notebook out and use the back of the gravestone Mr. McGinty bought for us to update my list. Daddy won’t mind. In fact, I’d bet my allowance, if I got one, that he’s feeling a whole lot better about the direction the investigation is going now, which is good, because I don’t like to picture him rolling over in his grave, if he could.
QUESTION OR SURVEIL
Mr. McGinty.
Kitten Jablonski.
Butch Seeback.
Mr. Johnson.
Suzie LaPelt.
Whenever someone says that famous saying “Killing two birds with one stone,” it reminds me of my sister and I gotta reach for my Tums, but it seems to me, that’s what we have to do next.
Killing bird #1. After the very short Mutual Admiration meeting, the three of us will race over to St. Kate’s before Father Ted leaves to go to Lonnigan’s for his lunch of Jameson’s neat.
Damnation!
I hate the hoops this mother of mine makes me jump through. It would save so much time if I could just sign the book in the church lobby as proof that I went to confession, but I tried that once already and it didn’t work. Louise outfoxed me. She checked with her biggest confidential source in the neighborhood who she can always count on to rat me out—#5.
SHIT LIST
Gert Klement.
Butch Seeback.
Sister Margaret Mary.
The grease monkey who fixes cars at the Clark station and tries to peek in the little girls’ room window when you got to stop to tinkle because your sister can’t make it home from the Tosa Theatre after she drinks a large root beer.
Brownnoser Jenny Radtke.
What’s-his-name.