right glow from the window on the top floor- I guessed that I had it made! For how many detectives could say that their office was on the top floor of a high-rise office building in a metropolis? Not many, I thought, blowing smoke in satisfaction up towards my art deco ceiling.
There was a knock at the door. Standing, I went to open my frosted glass oak door from the 1930’s, admiring the lettering upon it- Jess Thornton Detective Agency. The smoking revolver underneath always made me smile, and I hadn’t gotten any complaints about it, yet- but you never knew about people. The door swung wide, revealing a small lady, with graying hair and the sweetest little face I had ever seen. She looked like an aged Hummel!
“Are you the detective?” she asked smiling widely. It almost seemed that she should be carrying a large shepherd’s crook, and wearing a bonnet around her old head. I nearly expected to see a small bunny and other gentle forest creatures gamboling about her skirts, as in an old Disney movie.
“Yes, Ma’am.” I smiled back at her, but I’m sure not as sweetly. I tried, though. She was like the nicest grandma that anyone had ever seen. I ushered her into my guest chair on the other side of my old maple desk, where she slowly sank down.
“I am ever so tired! I have been trudging all about downtown, looking and looking. Just no luck though, none whatsoever.” She broke off with a sigh, and gave me a hopeful look. “I’m sure you can find if, though,” she said, with another grandmotherly smile that made me think of Mrs. Claus.
I had let my cigar go out in the green glass ash tray, hoping the smoke from the dying embers wouldn’t bother her old nostrils overmuch. I leaned back against my desk, looking down at her. “Just what did you lose?” I asked brightly.
“Oh, land’s sake- what must you think of me!” And then she broke out into the most infectious, high-pitched laughter ever, the kind that made you want to reach for one of her home made ginger snaps. I waited until she finished, she seemed actually to be completely delighted that she had been so forgetful and foolish.
“Wh-why my handbag- my purse. It is quite large, and all covered in prints of flowers. You must think me a foolish old woman, and I dare say I am, but that purse contains so many things of value to me that I can’t say- photos of my late husband, my family, and of course lesser things like my checkbook and such.” She laughed again, saying “You really must forgive a forgetful old woman now, can’t you?” And she looked at me so beseechingly that I almost felt I should hug her and give her all the money I had in my wallet, which unfortunately wasn’t much.
“What is your name, ma’am,” I asked with my friendliest smile ever, the one I only used on sweet old ladies, puppies, kittens, and babies.
“Why, Guin Britton,” she simpered coyly. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Thornton, private detective! And please,” she pointed to my cigar, almost smoldered out, “please smoke- my dear Art was always burning something, - oh, how I miss the aroma!”
I caught myself as I jerked reflexively forward to hug her, my hand pulling out my wallet at the same time. This would never do- but what a sweetie. Walking the other way, I sat behind my desk, and picked up my cigar. I looked back across at her- did she really mean it?
She did. She was looking at me expectantly, as if at a small child whom she had given a home-baked treat, just waiting for the little tyke to enjoy it. I shrugged, and lit it again with my brass lighter. The smoke curled up towards the ceiling as I drew on it, getting it glowing red again.
The satisfaction on her cherubic little face was as if I was her grandchild, and had just been potty trained. “I do so love a man who smokes a cigar!” she exclaimed rapturously. If I had been 60 years older, and been 86 rather than my own age, I probably would have proposed on the spot.
But after a couple of draws, more for her benefit it seems than my own, I returned to business. “Where do you think you might have left it? Where did you go before you found it missing?”
“Why, that’s just it.” she said. “I went so many places, I can scarcely remember them all- let’s see- the post office, I know I went there, since I mailed a letter, and talked with that nice window clerk Jason with the dark hair… and then, I went to the Social Services building; I had a call from that nice Angie there- she is so worried about me, bless her soul, thinking I don’t eat enough, or something…” Guin thought then, and resumed with a little smile, “Oh, and I took a walk around Riverside Park- I really love to walk, even though Angie and those others are always offering me rides and such- and oh yes, I also took a long walk around Hixon Forest, up one of those trails, I forget which one.”
I was startled. The Hixon Forest trails are steep, and quite long as well! This was one remarkable senior citizen indeed.
She went on in her remembrance. “And I stopped at the library, after dropping by the Hixon House. I like that place, reminds me of my youth.” As she said that, her face actually seemed to become youthful, just for a moment. Beautiful, really. Then, like a vanishing mirage, she was once again just sweet old Guin Britton, Mrs. Claus meets Aunt Bea, or Grandmother Willow, once again.
I felt tired just from this listing of far-flung local places. At this point, I was surprised she hadn’t walked up to Galesville and back! I knew I would be taxed even at my young age to track down all of these location that she had gone to in one day. I thought about asking about her fitness and nutrition secrets, but instead just assured her I would examine all of those locations to the best of my abilities.
“Can I give you a ride back home?” I asked her. It was December in the Coulee region, and there was close to a foot of snow on the ground, while the wind was a cold 15 degrees and blowing.
She looked at me for a moment, apparently mildly shocked. Then, her pleasant smile returned, as she said “Oh my gracious- you are just like Angie- I have two good feet, and I can use them.” She straightened her old-fashioned house dress, and stood up. “Walking is healthy, young man, and don’t you forget it!” She tried to sound stern, but she was just too friendly and happy to pull it off. She headed towards the door.
I jumped up with alacrity, and barely managed to reach my door before she did. I realized she was less than 5 feet tall in her heeled boots. She settled her bonnet about her head, and turned to go, but turned at the last second, looking up at me.
“Young man- I know you are a professional detective and undoubtedly very good at what you do, but I have one thing that I think will help you immensely. It failed me, today, but then I am not a detective.” Her blue eyes were clear, bright and sharp, the eyes of a twenty year old. Piercing in their intensity. They actually for a moment made me glad that I had a shoulder holster with a .357 Ruger revolver in it. She reached into her side pocket-
Her hand emerged holding a bracelet of small blue stones, strung on a gold chain. They were exquisitely cut, brilliant sapphires- I knew, were I to take them to the excellent Mark’s Jewelers on the north side, they would concur! Fleetingly, I realized the stones exactly matched her brilliant, piercing eyes. “Take this,” she said, and her voice vibrated in its intensity. “Though it failed me at last, perhaps it can help you to aid me.”
I took the chain, gazing down at the stone. The sharp azure glow was hypnotic, and when I next looked up again, she was gone.
I thought for a bit on my visitor, seated back in my office. I did always seem to get the eccentric ones, but then I was located in La Crosse Wisconsin, a relatively crime-free metropolis; although I had seen a few extreme crimes in my brief time on this planet, here in the Driftless zone of the Coulee region.
I held the string of sapphires up to the light, admiring their gleaming iridescence. They really were exactly like that old lady’s eyes… I broke away, abruptly- they were hypnotic! I slipped them back into my pocket, deciding I’d have them checked out for authenticity at Mark’s Jewelers on the north side. My old office had been on the same block of Caledonia street with them, and I knew they were completely trustworthy.
But first, I thought I’d visit the Post Office, just a few blocks away at 4th and State. I had a package to mail, off to my dear Aunt Toni, for her birthday. She was turning 99 next week, and had always been my favorite aunt, if only because of the wonderful pasties she made for me in my youth. I had found an antique marble rolling pin for her, that I knew would tickle her pink, since she was still an avid baker and cook.
I sauntered out onto 5th street, into a brisk, cold wind. I pulled my long, fur-lined trench coat close about me though, and drew down the brim of my Brewer’s cap against the glare of the winter sun and the errant snowflake in the breeze. I set off for the post office, my long, heavy cylinder of a package tucked beneath my arm.
I actually enjoy cold weather, and imagined living in a climate that never varied from warm and sunny all year round as a curse I never wanted to realize. The four seasons are wonderful, especially here in God’s Country! The autumn alone is so spectacular that it makes the coldness of winter and the heat of summer worthwhile. But still, I entered the door into the post office with a sense of some relief.
I unbuttoned my long coat, letting the warmth flow into my garments and myself. A long line waited before me, as it always did when I visited the post office. There were five empty window stalls, and only one overworked window clerk behind it. Typical.
The one clerk was named Sam, a young, fit-looking man who really was trying his best to process all of the customers. As usual, I had to wonder- why only one? Behind him, a little off to the side, I saw several supervisors, coffee cups in hand, talking leisurely, but also keeping watchful eyes on Sam. All were overweight and holding donuts as well.
As I neared the window, I detected the problem, as I am of course a detective. Poor Sam had been forced to parrot the same sales pitch to each customer, no matter what.
“Here is my letter. Could you stamp and mail it please?” said one business man, obviously in a hurry.
Sam looked uncomfortable, but noticed the weasel eyes of one female supervisor holding him in her cold gaze. He responded as the script required. “Well, the best deal would be priority mail, at $3.50.” he said, straight faced.
“What?? A first class stamp is only about 50 cents- what are you talking about?” said the businessman, angrily. He held out a dollar bill.
“Would you like to use a credit or debit card?” asked Sam, sweat starting out on his face.
The businessman stared at the bill in his hand, and looked up at the young Sam. “No- what are you trying to do?”
“Express mail would only be $17.50,” said Sam, the rodent eyes of the supervisor boring into him as her feral ears detected his every word. He appeared to be in agony.
“Just mail the damn letter!” said the businessman, turning away angrily. He was flushed red, his brief postal experience turned to postal hell. Congratulations, postal management, that required these stupid questions be asked of every single customer.
But Sam’s torture was not yet done. He remembered suddenly he had one last question required to be asked- “Does this contain anything fragile, liquid, perishable, or potentially hazardous, including lithium batteries and perfume?”
The business man stopped mid-stride, and slowly turned. The long line of customers looked at his half-turned back, along with myself, just behind him. The anger and shock on his face was such that I thought he may be having a heart attack. The three supervisors to the side, who had now been joined by a fourth useless such person, all stared at Sam, critically. They affected not to notice the businessman’s reaction, as their rat-like gazes concentrated on their prey, the new employee, clerk Sam.
The man never spoke. Red faced, he made a single gesture back at the hapless clerk, who looked down shame-faced. He stalked out, back into the cold, anxious to get out of this crazy governmental run nut-house.
It was my turn next. I looked over to the rodent pack, with their coffee and donuts, examining their clipboards and making notes. “Sam, I have a package here to deliver.” The supervisors perked up, staring with reddish eyes in our direction. Sam looked at the counter, but I looked directly at them. I addressed Sam, but I spoke directly to them.
“I want to pay cash. There is nothing fragile, liquid, perishable, or potentially hazardous, including lithium batteries and perfume. I want it sent first class, not priority mail or express mail or any other upsell of services for which I have no need.” I handed him my package, and a twenty dollar bill for which I received very little change. I looked down at my palm, holding that small amount of coins, and then back over to my attentive rodent pack.
I returned their gaze much as a cat might return it to such a group. They all looked downwards, quickly. “These prices are outrageous for mailing! If you would stop requiring such ridiculous questions of your employees, and also to resign your own jobs and actually start working the mail yourselves, perhaps the USPS would not be in such a mess of failure!” As I spoke, the group quickly dispersed, disappearing back into their little offices and going behind their useless desks, tracking numbers that meant nothing but to justify their unnecessary jobs, along with those of their even more useless superiors. I knew that in Washington D.C. alone there were over 1,000 postal managers that made in excess of six figures yearly- in Washington D.C. alone! No wonder this ‘service to the people’ was failing.
“Thank you, Sam,” I said. “You are doing a wonderful job!” The entire long line behind me broke out into cheers. Ah well- Jess Thornton, private detective and now labor activist.
Back out in the cold on State street, the dim sun and the scant snowfall somewhat revived me, bringing me back into the real world of nature, far from the stifling of bureaucracies and controlling martinets. I shoved my hands deep within my overcoat pockets, and my right hand closed on something- the strand of old Guinn’s sapphires!
Nothing really changed, but I felt something, a tingle went through my hand, and up my arm. I looked towards my reflection in the post office glass door behind me, and I looked the same. However, behind me on State street- what should have been the parking lot for the State Bank now showed a large, shadowy building of red brick, several stories tall. The old Stoddard Hotel, that had been torn down over 40 years ago- I recognized the outline from old postcards.
Not only that, but looking back at the new post office, built in 1980 as a new, nondescript building, I also so superimposed upon it the old, stately outline of the old post office, a glorious red brick building of three stories, with a huge tower mounted on the top. Turning in wonder, I was looking at two La Crosses- an old, stately city of the 1800’s, that lurked kind of in the background of the new city of today. It was incredible.
I dropped the small strand of gems in my amazement, and all at once the old city, lurking superimposed upon that of today, disappeared- all was back to normal. Just a cold, snowy day in La Crosse Wisconsin, standing on the sidewalk in front of a rather boring post office, built when style didn’t matter.
I decided to experiment a bit, walking down towards 4th street, towards the river. I clutched the strand of sapphires in my pocket loosely, and felt the now familiar tingle through my arm. At first, nothing really changed as I walked along. Really, 4th street looked like it usually did, a long row of red brick buildings, a classic German immigrant-built downtown of interesting old buildings. Looking up, I realized why- these buildings had their founding dates etched proudly high above- all were from the 1880’s! Nothing had really changed here, in all this time.
Then, I noticed small discrepancies here and there- a shadowy level appearing above a building that had been added onto, a dim sign that had been long ago removed once again visible on a newer remodel- small things, but still, it was history that was once again made visible. It was utterly fascinating, but then I recalled the lady who had given me this strand, and the task she had set me- to find her handbag. She had told me this little jewelry thing might help, and had even told me where she had been earlier. I set off for the library, on Main street. Surely, if a little old lady had walked to all of these places, I should be up to the task. I headed west, right down Main street, the wind at my back at last, my breath puffing out visibly in front of me as I walked briskly.
The superimposition of two La Crosses became less troubling as I grew used to it. It certainly made for entertaining going, looking about at two separate time periods together. And then I noticed something even more surprising- a man was walking towards me, at first I thought a very old man, because of the wide brimmed hat he was wearing, and the long coat similar to my own, which was from an earlier era. The sun must have been shining very brightly upon him at that moment, for he seemed limned in a bright outline of bluish light as he approached me on the sidewalk.
I know I was staring at him, since he looked back at me in startlement. I stopped, and others walked around us, no one else seemed to find this man out-of-the-ordinary, despite his bluish outline, which stayed about him even as the sun went behind a cloud. I stopped, and he stopped directly across from me on the sidewalk. He looked as startled as I’m sure I appeared to him. I could tell he did not expect to be looked at, he wasn’t used to it.
And that is when a woman walking behind me went around me on his side, and walked right through him. He never moved, never even looked surprised, as if this happened all the time. The woman just kept going, although I did notice her grasp the lapels of her thick coat and pull it tighter about her neck, as if she had experienced a quick chill, just after she walked through the bluish man.
I pulled my hands out of my coat pockets, thinking I would grab this man to ask him a few questions- he disappeared like a blown out candle.
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