By Natalie Roffing
“Tell us a story, Gwandpa!”
The old man smiled at the two curly-haired kids, Adley and Bianca, on the floor in front of him, a pipe clasped between his fingers. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”
“Tell us another story about Spark Spaulding!” said Adley.
“Spark Spaulding? But I’ve already told you so many.”
“But they’re always so good! Tell us another story, Gwandpa!”
“All right, all right. How does this story go?” He took a long pull from his pipe, then began. “I was a young detective when I first met Spark. I’d just gotten my first big case at the most prestigious art museum in the city…”
A twinkle lit up the old man’s eyes, and his voice tapered off as he floated down memory lane.
***
“Detective!”
Aaron looked up from his file. “Yes, Chief?”
“How’s the case going?”
“Not very well, Chief. Please, just give me a little more time,” Aaron looked pleadingly at the chief.
“Oh, that’s quite alright. I’ve got a lead for you.” The chief dropped something onto the table.
“Really, Chief?” Aaron grabbed at the folder.
“Yes, Sergeant. You think you can handle it?”
“Of course!”
The chief smirked. “Someone called in a 1-1-5 that fits the description of our suspect. Here’s all you need to know. Get moving.”
Aaron pulled on his leather jacket and ran out to his cruiser. Once seated in his car, he opened the file.
“Disturbing the peace call,” he read. “Suspect evaded the police, fitting the description of the art robber.” Entering the address into his GPS, Aaron rolled out of the garage and down the street.
The cruiser dipped in and out of potholes as the long drive led him to a seedy part of town. The sidewalks were bumpy and cracked, broken glass littered the street, and lights on the buildings flickered on and off even though it was midmorning.
He parked in front of a brick apartment building. Confirming the address, Aaron exited the cruiser and began tentatively climbing the staircase.
Walking along the balcony pathway, he tried to remember which number he was going to, but in the end, it was the eardrum-busting music that led him directly to the suspect’s doorstep.
Good grief! Aaron thought. Talk about disturbing the peace!
He banged on the door. “Open up! Police!”
Instantly, the music shut off, and someone shouted, “Go away!”
Not gonna happen! “I said, open the door! Or I will.”
Silence.
Okay, be that way. Removing his gun from its holster, Aaron placed his hand on the doorknob. To his surprise, the door swung open.
Entering slowly, he began surveying the small apartment. It was filthy. Trash was piled high in the corners, and spoiled food created an overpowering stench.
After passing through the two bedrooms and the kitchen, Aaron returned to the living room. Empty as well. He frowned. Where could his suspect have gone?
“You lookin’ for me?” A voice startled him from behind.
Aaron jerked around and stared at the young man sprawled on the couch he had just passed. The guy was average in height with light brown hair and green eyes. Wearing lime green pants and an orange T-shirt, he was viciously chewing on a fingernail.
“Maybe. Who are you?”
“Spark Spaulding’s the name.” The man spit out a chunk of nail.
“Then yes, I’m looking for you.” Aaron dropped his gun a few centimeters.
“Why’s that?” The fingernail left his mouth momentarily so he could exchange pleasantries.
“You were called in for disturbing the peace, and you’re under arrest for suspected art thievery.”
“Art robbery? Hm. Interesting.”
“Anything you say can and will be used against you. I am required by law to tell you that.”
“Um, well, thanks for that. And you can go ahead and use this against me: I hate pickles.”
“What?”
“They’re just so slimy, and smelly, and…” He shuddered.
“Just… stop. How did we get to pickles?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“That’s beside—”
“Listen, dude,” Spark interrupted. “I don’t know what kind of point you’re trying to make, but let me make your job easier. Them paintings you’re looking for are over in that corner. I got the money I wanted for them. It’s been a pleasure.”
He snapped his fingers and vanished.
***
“Gwandpa, how did he vanish?” Bianca asked, interrupting the old man’s journey down memory lane.
“I don’t know, kiddo. I still don’t understand it, but he told the truth. All the paintings were there, and solving that case was the start of many more successes during my detective career.”
The old man smiled slightly, taking another deep pull on his pipe. Yep, them paintings is the reason for my success.
“You said that that was the first time you met him. Did you meet him again?” Adley asked.
“Yep! But that’s a story for another time.” The old man glanced at his watch. “Nine thirty! You should have been in bed an hour ago! Off you go!” The old man rose from his seat and began hustling the kids to their rooms. As he passed the mantel, the corners of his lips turned up as he surveyed the pictures that lined it, full of smiling people in a happy family circle.
Oh, yes. I met him again. Aaron never saw it coming.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wow! Talk about plot twist!! Excellent description and an exciting story!! 10/10
Nice take on the perspective! I loved the flashback, it added a neat twist.
I love the easter egg that the painting’s Spark stole were by Andy Warhol!
(For those who missed it: The room description includes the fact that “trash was piled high in the corners”. Before he vanished, Spark tells Aaron the paintings are in the corner, trash = paintings, therefore Andy Warhol)
Enjoyed every meticulous description . It kept me engaged until the last word.
This story was fantastic! I really enjoyed it.
Fun stuff! Nice to use a kid’s story as a framing devise.
Love it! 😁
Exciting with a proper twist at the end.