Samara Spade and the Case of the Antelope Mickey

By Susan Lyttek

My name is Spade. Samara Spade. Tonight was supposed to be my first undercover without Dod—dear old Dad, in other words. But I had backup. At least until someone slipped him a mickey.

The case started this morning. A lady—I’m still trying to get Dod not to call them dames—came into our office distraught. Her husband went missing after receiving a mysterious package. Since it hadn’t yet been twenty-four hours—it hadn’t even been five at the time—she came to us.

“I know he’s missing,” Angela Nobdar insisted. She kept dabbing her eyes, but I didn’t see any tears.

“Calm down,” Dod said. “Tell me—”

“Us,” I interrupted.

Dod scowled. “Tell us what happened. Why you’ve come to pay—” he pulled a notepad out of his pocket and jabbed a pen into it “—for our services.”

Dod was always about the money. He’d improved since I fired his bookie, but we still managed to stay broke.

I really needed to review our ledgers.

I snapped back to the moment. Mrs. Nobdar was still dabbing her eyes. “My Ferdinand’s company supplies creatures to all the zoos and animal parks. He does very well. We live in a luxurious apartment. We socialize with the best people.”

I yawned. “How does this relate to his disappearance, ma’am?”

She grimaced. “I’m sure it’s something with those god-awful animals.” She fiddled with the clasp on her $500 purse. I recognized it because I knew I’d never be able to afford one. Ever. 

“Where’s my Ferdie?” Her pitch intensified as she neared the end of the sentence. She crumpled into the torn leather armchair we keep around for guests.

Dod shrugged and walked toward the window. Comforting wasn’t part of his job description.

“Come on, ma’am.” I leaned in and handed her a handkerchief I swore she didn’t need. She took it and kept blotting her eyes. “Tell us what you know. We can’t go investigating without all the details.”

She sniffed. Behind her, I could see Dod doing tricks with his pen. He could twirl it around his fingers, but anytime he tried to land it on the brim of his fedora, he missed.

I stifled a bored yawn. “Ma’am? Give us something to work with?”

She eked out a whisper. “It was the lion.”

“The lion?” 

“Yes. The zoo created a jungle habitat. They wanted a lion as its centerpiece.”

Dod chewed on his pen like a cigar. “Lady, I may be an old gumshoe, but even I know that lions and jungles don’t go together.”

The woman pulled at the armchair’s stuffing. “I know. Ferdie knew. A lot of people who go to the zoo don’t. They wanted a gentle lion. More for a centerpiece than reality. So Ferdie hunted for the calmest, quietest lion he could find. The one he came back with was reported to sleep next to a peaceful African village. My darling thought it would be perfect.”

I heard a ‘but’ in there even though she didn’t say anything. “Go on.”

“It has roared almost nonstop ever since they put it in the artificial jungle. The zoo threatened to blacklist Ferdie, to make his life a living hell, and take everything from us.”

I couldn’t understand the zoo’s reaction, but I could see hers in bold print. Unfortunately, she was making us act like dentists, extracting each bit of broken information piece by piece. “Yeah?”

“A package came to our door, needing his signature. He seemed overjoyed and told me he was going to fix everything. I thought he would. He always has. But…” She handed me a typed note. It read, “The lion enclosure at 6:00 p.m. sharp.”

Curious. “Nothing else?”

She shook her head. 

I gauged her build. She was about my size. I could put on a blond wig and her clothes. “I’ll go in your place.”

But before I could pull off my mission, I had to scope out the zoo. 

When I entered the jungle exhibit, the misters moistened the air with rhythmic pulses, the birds chirped, and I heard the faint hum of artificial breezes. It wasn’t too realistic, but it was rather peaceful. Then the lion saw me and started roaring.

I smiled. Perfect. It would be my backup tonight. As soon as anyone entered, it would roar, and I would know it.

My return to the office was brief. Angela left me one of her outfits, and Dod promised to keep her safe until after I apprehended whoever sent the mysterious note.

I reentered the jungle just after the sun had set outside, and the lion was quiet. In fact, it was sleeping.

I stomped my foot. I cleared my throat. But the beast just stretched out and turned over.

An arm surrounded me and pulled me back. I cursed myself for letting my guard down. 

“Hush darling,” the voice said. “I told you I would work everything out. The lion sleeps.”

I dropped my hips and slipped away from the guy’s weak grasp. “Let me guess… Ferdie?”

He tried to camouflage an item behind him. “You’re not Angela.”

“Nope, I’m the person she hired to find you. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

He sighed, pointing at a cooler. “Antelope meat.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I assume Angela told you about my lion problem?”

I nodded.

“Turns out one of the village ladies fed it. That’s why it would sleep near her hut. So I had to get him antelope meat. Works like a charm.”

As if on cue, Dod and our client walked into the exhibit. Seeing her darling, she raced across the enclosure and covered him with kisses.

Ugh.

But if a sleeping lion pays the bills, who am I to argue?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Susan A. J. Lyttek, author of four novels, (fifth out June 2019) award-winning writer, blogger, wife and mother to two homeschool graduates currently escapes her employment search by writing random stories. You can find out more about her and her books at her website.

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