Barry Hargrove,
Private Investigator
By
Bob Nailor
Published by Bob Nailor at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Bob Nailor
Barry Hargrove,
Private Investigator
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical or otherwise, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or by any known informational storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission from the author.
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Barry Hargrove, Private Investigator
by
Bob Nailor
It was a tedious day, one where time moved so slowly a person felt infinity was close at hand. I remembered back to the magazine ad: Have an exciting life. Learn hidden secrets. Earn BIG money. Become a Private Investigator. Well, I'd bought that line and was now sitting at my second-hand desk with its stacked papers and folders; all of it a sham, indicating non-existent work in progress. The Washington Times, dated Friday, January 2, heralding the New Year of 2015, spread out in front of me. I could only hope the New Year would offer me, Barry Hargrove, some great opportunities. An article about finding lunar orchids at Armstrong City on the moon didn't quite entice me. Instead, the glass front door beckoned my attention, but it was just a flash. So I sat there, elbows on desk, arms up and my chin resting securely in my palms; I began reading the backward lettering for the umpteenth time.
Exciting? My first job was to find some kid's pet dog, a Char-pei for a reward plus expenses. Two hours and one visit to the local animal shelter had Shoo Shoo in the mangling arms of a snot nose brat just in time for Christmas. I couldn't believe a family would be so lazy or busy they didn't even bother to call the dog pound. I earned an extra fifty for expediency. My total earnings came to $156.32 which wasn't bad for two hours of work, but definitely not exciting. That was almost three weeks ago and the Christmas season had come and gone.
What I needed was a drop-dead, gorgeous blond bombshell of a dame to walk into my life and office, desperately seeking my assistance. Instead, a fly landed near the newspaper and I watched in fascination while it performed its ritualistic cleaning.
A sudden movement at the front door caught my attention and I saw her standing outside, timid and hesitant. She hadn't walked up to the frosted glass front office but had appeared like smoke jelling into a solid.
I sat up, mesmerized while she gingerly pushed the door open and then languidly eased into the room, strutting toward my desk. Realizing I had to appear busy, I quickly folded and relegated the newspaper to the trash can and began to fumble with some papers, most of them doodlings.
"Are you Hargrove?" The voice was soft, melodic, yet husky with silken overtones.
I froze and took her in. An open coat, draped loosely about her shoulders, revealed the ruby red, form fitting dress which was low cut and had every reason to be; the hem was knee length with a slit at the right side to allow her long legs to stride sensuously in the five inch stilettos she wore. Her brunette hair curled about her shoulders making faultless circlets and the perfect accent to her face. Deep green eyes glistened like smoky, fire-edged emeralds as she moved quietly across the tile floor immersing me in a gut sucking emotion with each step. A good PI can never absorb too many details.
"May I help you?" My parched bullfrog voice shattered the silence and I awkwardly motioned, offering her the chair. With a weak smile, I mumbled. "Barry Hargrove, ma'am."
She sat down and crossed her perfectly shaped legs, the slit of the dress revealing still more of her thigh. I sat, I could already feel the heat in my loins and I really didn't want to embarrass myself more than my gawking had already done. Obviously, it was lust at first sight.
"My husband..." she started.
The words crashed into the walls of my mind and reverberated endlessly in the suddenly empty realm.
"...and I was wondering..."
"Excuse me," I said apologetically, attempting to gain control of myself. "May I ask a few preliminary questions?"
For just a split second this almost perfect figment of my fantastic imagination seemed to haze and become transparent, as if she didn't really exist.
"Certainly," she said, glancing down, a slight hint of blush coming to her almost translucent cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No, no. I just need a few facts; your name?" I watched her.
"My name? Val. Val Holiday." Her lips were full, luscious, a perfect red to match the dress. Our eyes met and I stared into the green realm I found there.
She coughed breaking the spell. I could feel my cheeks warming.
A pink hanky laced in white appeared in her hands and she twisted it nervously. Her lips tightened into a pout and she blinked her eyes.
"Miss Holi... Mrs. Holiday, what is your current address and phone?" I wrote her name on a blank sheet of paper, taking time to put elaborate curls and such on the 'V' and 'H'. It just seemed appropriate.
"Does this mean you will take the job?" she asked, her eyes wide.
I looked up. Her eyes begged me and my mind screamed 'yes, yes' but I hesitated.
"Explain again, please," I said, controlling my emotions. "Give me all the details. Your husband's name is?"
"Hal. His name is..." She brought the hanky to her eyes and tears formed. "I'm so sorry. It's just that, well, it was so sudden."
"I understand." I lied. I couldn't possibly understand. Hal and Val Holiday. How cute; rhyming names. I could see the wedding invitations. I was jealous and scrawled HAL on the sheet in hard abrasive lines, in very drastic contrast to Val's name. Before me was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen or envisioned in my life or mind. It was obvious she never was in want for anything; I mean, I'd give her anything and everything she asked for. Her bearing before breaking down into tears was of one who was always in control. She was like Helen of Troy, Cleopatra or Aphrodite. Men knelt before them in adoration. I had misread the hesitancy at the door. It wasn't meekness or indecision, but perhaps, reluctance.
"It happened New Year's Eve," she said, interrupting my thoughts. "I was in the kitchen getting the champagne. Hal and I had been discussing the new calendar and preparing to celebrate the New Year."
I shot her a quizzical look.
"When the new calendars came out, Hal lost his job." She blinked, forcing back tears, then continued. "The clock starting striking midnight and I raced back into the living room. Hal was gone."
"Ah, I see," I said. What did I see? Nothing, but it was reassuring to her, perhaps. "Had he joined you in the kitchen?"
"No," she sighed, her bosom lifting. "I went to the kitchen alone and when I returned to the living room, he just wasn't there." The dam of tears burst through and she was crying again. "I just know he isn't coming back. Something terrible has happened."
"Do you have a picture of your husband?" I asked. "I could use that." Something nagged me. Something was out of place.
"Only this one," she replied. "Not very good, I'm afraid." She handed me a very frayed and worn photograph.
I took the picture. She hadn't exaggerated. It was terrible, but in reality, closer to terrifying. He was an extremely frightening looking man and I was glad the picture was faded and not in color. I shivered in revulsion, yet hopefully, not visibly for her to notice. My spine arched under the imaginary cold fingers tracing down my back. How a gargoyle looking guy could snag such a beautiful woman was beyond my comprehension. Either he had money or he was a sexual stud. I didn't want to even think about that option because the idea of him and her together bothered me.
"Excuse me," I said, finally realizing the problem. "You say your husband disappeared yesterday. Have you reported this to the authorities?" My mind raced with questions now. Why hadn't I seen it before?
"Why, no," she said and closed her eyes and placed a hand over her face. "I didn't know what to do." Her eyes widened in fear and their stunning green luminescence grabbed me. "You will search for him, won't you?"
I quietly nodded agreement, once again under her spell.
"I assume you will need some payment, a customary retainer?" Money appeared in her hand. "Will $1,000 be sufficient?"
My head continued to bounce up and down like one of those stupid 'retro' bobble-head plastic dogs with the spring loaded head found in the back of some cars.
She slowly leaned forward, stretching the fabric of the dress and forcing the low cut to reveal even more hidden beauty. She placed the bills on the desk in front of me. I remained in a stupor, staring, but not at her eyes.
"I'm extremely difficult to reach. My mornings are so busy," she said. "I could check in with you in the late afternoons, if that's acceptable?" She flashed her eyes at me.
I blinked and mumbled an agreement.
She uncrossed her legs slowly, proceeded to stand up, and then adjusted the dress and its hem, pulling it down to a near respectable height.
Again, I was obsessed and leered at her actions.
"Excuse me," she said, with another slight blushing of the cheeks. Val turned and sensuously crossed the floor to the door. The coat moved erotically, filled with unbidden promises at each click of her stilettos on the linoleum tile. I watched in total ecstasy. The door closed silently and I breathed; the first breath, I realized, since Val had stood up to walk away.
My eyes focused on the door again; Val was gone.
I looked at my lap; never had a woman had such an effect on me. Just juvenile schoolboy fantasies. Had this meeting been real? I stared down at the bills, proof Val really existed.
I looked at the calendar. December 31. No, the paper had said January 2. I'd forgotten to take the old calendar down this morning. I took the new calendar out of the desk drawer. I was lucky to have it. Most businesses just eliminated giving out personalized calendars for 2015. The United World Government had decided, two weeks after Labor Day last year, to make life easy. Each month would be equal with 30 days and there would be 12 months for a total of 360 days. The extra days, called No-Days, would be celebrated at the end of the year, sort of an extended New Year celebration. Start celebrating on December 30, continue on through No-Days 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, to finalize on January 1.
I couldn't wait to see how that was going to work out. If everybody is off to celebrate, then, what will be open? Five days to shop in stores with no clerks, vacation in hotels with no personnel, eat in restaurants with no waiters or cooks. This was worldwide. At the end of the year, twelve short months from now, it would happen, a five-day fiasco. Fifteen years earlier they had sweated and feared a Y2K catastrophe; currently nobody was concerned about the five days of No-Days.
I stared at Miss January, feeling warm that Bill's Auto Repair had forked over the extra expense to get calendars done in the new format. Kellie was the name printed under the picture. She was attractive.
Kellie's face faded and Val's appeared on the picture. She was striking in the white fur trimmed cape standing by the snowman. She was beautiful. And married, I remembered. Damn!
The vision disappeared and once again I stared at Kellie's picture. Yes, she was attractive, but when compared to Val, Kellie was a wallflower.
I looked at the photograph of her husband, Hal. What a troll. This was obviously a perfect example of the 'love is blind' or the 'opposites attract' theories.
Okay, Val wasn't paying for me to moon over her. Knowing I needed to get connected with the proper authorities; my buddy, Willie, Sgt. Williamson in Missing Persons, came to mind. He would probably tell me to hold off a few days to allow the guy to show up on his own. Perhaps with his help I could find some little detail that would make all of this fit together. Something just wasn't right.
* * *
The aged red brick building of the police station loomed ahead. Sgt. Williamson was standing on the stoop, a cigarette in hand. A 'No Smoking' policy was in effect for all public buildings. The government was slowly but surely moving to keep life 'simple'. There were basically three places to smoke: your home, outdoors, and in your own car. That was simple!
"Hey, Willie," I said. "Got a few minutes?" He smiled, nodded and watched me climb the steps. "Need a light?" I asked pulling out my lighter. I carried one but didn't smoke anymore.
"Nah. I was just standing here trying to decide if I really wanted the damned thing." He looked down at the cigarette again. "The missus decided that starting with the New Year, my house and my car are smoke free. Damn. Life's a bitch and then you marry..." He looked up from the cigarette and winked at me. We both smiled at the innuendo. I was single and planned on remaining such, until someone like Val came around.
"Come on in, Barry." He put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me into the station.
I tripped on the final step into the building; Willie caught me. Our friendship over the years made for the casual atmosphere; we'd been in college together when he decided to become a cop. I decided to be one, too, until a couple of months ago. I'd gotten tired of walking the beat and Willie had gotten promoted to Missing Persons. I became a private investigator.
"Your first official visit as the great PI. What is it? Lost treasure? Lost person?" His voice lowered and whispered. "Lost dog?"
My elbow immediately struck out and impacted with his ribs. A quick and sudden exhalation by him assured me he'd been caught off guard.
"A person," I said and turned to look at him, sly smiles on both our faces. "He's been missing one whole day, so far." His expression changed. "I know, I know," I continued while raising my hand to silence him. "The person must be missing at least three days before a report can be filed, but, well, you know."
He rolled his eyes. "All right, Barry. I'll help you out on your first official case." He paused and rolled them once more. "I'll bend the rules, this time."
I let the snide comment pass.
"What's the name?" Williamson said, sitting down at his desk and pressing keys on the computer.
"Last name is Holiday," I said. "First name is Hal." My data gleaned from the conversation with Val suddenly seemed extremely sketchy.
"Date of birth?" Williamson paused. I had my sheet with all the doodlings and her name written on it.
"Uh, don't know, but I've got an address." I gave Willie everything I had, which wasn't very much. My cheeks warmed in the retrospective thoughts of Val; the eyes, the walk, the dress. I could feel my heart speeding up.
"She must have been some looker, Barry. I've never seen you quite this flustered." He sat there watching me.
"Let me tell you, Willie. I've never met a woman like this before. I'd be willing to give up anything I have to just be with her. She was perfection. She was..."
"Do I need to throw cold water on you?" He smiled at me, enjoying my awkwardness. The cold water might have helped.
"Let's just go with the information I was able to get. Do you have anything on a Hal Holiday?"
"Printing now," Willie said.
The machine squealed into activity and the paper ejected quickly.
"The screen data only showed one Hal Holiday," he said. "No priors, felonies. He's pretty clean. Here's the printout."
He handed me the sheet. The picture included wasn't any better than the one I had. This guy was ugly.
"Are you going to share any details with me?" Willie sat there, his face full of expectation.
"Not yet," I said. "There's something." I shook my head. "I just can't put my finger on it, but something's wrong. Not bad wrong, like murder or such, but still, not right. She's a drop dead gorgeous woman and her husband is… well, here, take a look at this." I handed the sheet back to him to look at. "That's the husband."
"Are you sure about the murder angle?" Willie said pulling back in revulsion. "If she's so beautiful, why would she be married to this?" He pointed to the picture.
"Just a gut feeling about no murder, I guess. Lord only knows why women marry the men they do."
"Oh, I forgot. The great PI of our day. The new Sherlock Holmes, the..." He hesitated.
I glared at him. "The what?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Good luck, Barry. This is a strange one. If you need any help let me know. I can always use the extra cash." He fluttered his eyelashes and placed a mincing hand to his chest. "Hey, sweetie. I don't do anything for free, y'know."
"I know," I replied, smiling at his falsetto attempt at imitating Big Mae. "And neither does Big Mae down on the corner of Hall Street. Thanks for the help. See you around." I took the rap sheet. "Oh, and good luck on the smoking problem. Just remember, it ain't worth a divorce."
* * *
Outside, the late afternoon air was cool. I scanned the rap sheet and headed for my car. I had more information: color of eyes and hair, weight and height, date of birth, social security number. For just a second, it seemed, the elusive fact was within my grasp. It nagged my mind.
The office was hot, the air conditioner had broken. A hint of Val's perfume lingered in the air. My heart fluttered and my gut tightened at the thought of her. I looked at the picture of Hal. Suddenly the office was too dark and shadows seem to move. I needed a light on. My hand quickly found the light switch and I flooded the office with intense illumination.
I headed for my desk and slumped into the cheap genuine imitation 'pleather' chair. Somewhere in this morning's talk with Val the answer lay hidden. I looked back over my shoulder at the calendar. Kellie just didn't make it. Maybe I should take the calendar down. It could be construed as sexist and obviously it was politically incorrect. I grabbed the bottom of the calendar and pulled it from the wall. The thumbtack flipped into the air.
Calendar. Val said that her husband had lost his job with the new calendar and now he was gone. That was it! That was the answer. That was what? I was stymied and stared at the calendar. Somewhere in this stack of paper consisting of numbers, weeks and months was the answer. Kellie and her ever so innocent smile stared back at me.
Val had mentioned the calendar. Obviously, not the same one I had with Kellie on it.
Forget that problem. What was on this calendar that let Val know her husband was missing? Kellie smiled at me enigmatically. I looked at the elusive information on the rap sheet Willie had given me. Mr. Hal Holiday. The data matched what she had given me. Details of hair and eyes were matching. Spouse's name was Val. Actually it was Valentine. What an unusual name, but it would be expected when you realized her birthday was February 14, St. Valentine's Day.
I looked at the calendar.
No. It couldn't be. I looked at the rap sheet. Date of birth. Yes, I had Hal's birth date. I looked at Hal again. An uncontrolled shiver matched the revulsion I felt. Then I looked for an alias name. There it was, under alias was another name with brackets around it to indicate that it was his real name.
Val was right and with grievous feelings, I realized the truth and knew I wouldn't be seeing her again. She had looked at the calendar and her husband was missing. The government, in all its great wisdom, had bungled in the attempt to make life simpler. There was no October 31. All Saint's Eve, Halloween, was not on the calendar. Due to a fluke it had been deleted, not moved. Hal, better known as Halloween Holiday, was missing.
THE END
My name is Robert S. Nailor but most people just call me Bob. I retired in 2006. I was a computer geek and still do some programming yet today. One would think I should have plenty of time to write but I actually seem to have less now. So, to make sure that things work out correctly, I try to force myself to sit down and write. That doesn't always work. Today, writing is fun and I find it relaxing. I get to visit those fantastic and strange places within my mind and well, if I don't come back right away, at least there is no longer a boss sneaking up behind me writing on a pink sheet of paper.
I am a resident of NW Ohio and live with my wife, Violet, in a ranch home snuggled into a small wooded acre. I have four sons and currently have eight grandchildren - 6 granddaughters and 2 grandsons.
My interests are travel (have RV, will travel), gardening, music, cooking and reading. Now as to what I read; well obviously a lot of science fiction, horror and fantasy. While romance, adventure, international thrillers and many of the other genres are also great reads - when they catch my attention.
As to what I have written, I have two books out: one titled "2012: Timeline Apocalypse" and another titled "Three Steps: The Journeys of Ayrold." I also have a short story in book format entitled "Coleen." I am also in several anthologies and how-to write books: "Timeless," "Shadow Street," "Mother Goose Is Dead," "The Complete Guide to Writing Paranormal Novels," "Dead Set: A Zombie Anthology" which won a bronze award at the 2011 Independent Publisher Awards, "Nights of Blood II: More Legends of the Vampire," "A Firestorm of Dragons," The Complete Guide to Writing Science Fiction, Vol 1: First Contact" for which I was a 2008 EPPIE Award winner, "The Complete Guide to Writing Fantasy, Vol 2: The Opus Magus," "13 Nights of Blood: Legends of the Vampire," "The Archives of Arrissia," and "Spirits of Blue and Gray: Ghosts of the Civil War." Of course, I have several short stories and poems in magazines and scattered throughout the internet.
Visit me for current information at www.bobnailor.com
My Books
"2012: Timeline Apocalypse" at www.bobnailor.com/book_2012.php
"Three Steps: The Journeys of Ayrold" at www.bobnailor.com/book_ayrold.php