Part 1 from Malcolm's Casebook

I'm in St. Paul visiting family, so for this week and the next I have the privilege to turn this blog over to my good friend and ace detective, Malcolm Boxer-Basset. He has graciously agreed to share his notes on one of his biggest cases. Malcolm is an interesting guy, if a little rough around the edges, and I think you'll enjoy his rather unorthodox outlook on life.

from The Casebook of Malcolm Boxer-Basset

 

Women! You can’t tell them anything. I know. I live with two of them in a big old house in a little place outside Washington, DC called Old Towne. Hey, I heard that snicker. Get your mind out of the gutter. They own the place. They’re my landladies. I’m their tenant. And over the years we’ve become pretty good friends.

I’m Malcolm Boxer-Basset. I know, what were my parents’ thinking? Right? But a name like that makes you tough – fast. And in my line of work I need to be tough. I’m in Security. I keep people safe.

My landladies, Daisy and Rose, own this big Victorian right in the center of this little antiques village. Antiques! I never got the charm. I like new, shiny and comfortable. Anyhoo, the two of them have this neat little business on the first floor and they live upstairs. I have my own room, of course, but we’re all friends here. I have the run of the house. What can I say, they love me!

Those gals even built a great little shed out back for me –a man-cave! Sometimes a guy just needs to be alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he likes to have some friends in for a friendly game of poker or a little shop talk.

But I digress. I know it’s not PC to say so, but the gals are pretty helpless. If they didn’t have me around to keep an eye on things some mighty nasty stuff would have gone down.

Like last December. There was this jerk who was definitely one kumquat short of a fruit basket running around Old Towne, scaring people witless. I figured out who it had to be early in the game, but does anyone listen to the professional? Not on your life. Women never listen.

Well, things almost went pear-shaped one afternoon. The girls were planning a party for that night and Daisy, the cute little blond, was alone in the shop putting the finishing touches on the place when she was ambushed by this loon. She was just inches away from being sliced and diced when I happened to return from a long day of investigating. I took the psycho down with one of my patented maneuvers and waited till the cops got there.

After that, you’d think they’d listen when I talked. But nooooo. Just one boozy night getting over the shock and making drunken promises to take me seriously in future, then it was right back to what does Malcolm know?

Well, let me tell you, not six months later everybody and his mother in our little berg is being blackmailed by another fruit loop. This town seems to be a veritable Winesap orchard, I kid you not. Of course, I knew who it had to be, but those two gals just smiled and shook their pretty heads. They wanted proof. I had no proof, just my gut instinct. But, baby, my instinct is never wrong!

And it was just a matter of time till they got proof and plenty of it when the weirdo tries to make a permanent dent in Rose’s head during a hurricane. And what a loss that would have been! I mean, Rose is one beautiful auburn-haired babe. But it never happened. Thanks to my impeccable timing - again - and some help from my associate, Roscoe, we not only caught the nasty piece of work, but sweated out a full confession that I had the foresight to put on tape.

A word about my associate, Roscoe Birman. Roscoe’s a great guy, even if he is a little on the short side. He’s got this funny red hair and he’s always ready to crack wise. The dude can make me laugh! We didn't always hit it off, but over the years, he's become my best buddy. After the slice and dice caper, I took him on as apprentice in the firm. His help with the take down during the hurricane cemented our association and he became a full-fledged partner. I know who's got my back. When the going gets tough, Roscoe gets going.

Lately, things around here have been quiet - a little too quiet. This is a low lie, but I like the sound of it. Actually, there have been some late night high jinx that are becoming more than a nuisance. I’ve tried to tell the gals to watch their backs, but they keep saying it’s nothing to worry about. But something sure as heck ain’t right. It could just be some kid with too much time on his hands and too little brain in his head. But I’m not betting the farm on that. I think it’s a lot more sinister.

I’ve been on the look out the last week or so and I’ll get him. My gut tells me tonight is the night! I can feel it in my bones. And I can’t wait to see his face when I catch him in the act.

 

Continued next week...