CHAPTER 1
The doorbell from the door downstairs clattered in the office causing Ken to jump up, pace hurriedly over, and press open the connection to the call bell. "Sleuth Works," he announced. Ken was once more pleased that he had rescued an old communication connection between an upstairs bedroom and the apartment's downstairs kitchen, inserted the contraption from the foyer to the entrance by the doorbell. The family could screen callers without walking down to the door.
"I'm an attorney wishing to interview you for an investigation," came the garbled syllables.
"I'll be down, sir."
Ken hastily went through the living room doors, sliding them shut behind, him, through the office to the foyer, sliding those doors shut behind him, opened the door to the downstairs, and walked down sedately, knowing his steps could be heard on the solid oak stairs.
"Come in, come in," he greeted the short, older fellow, gesturing him up the stairs. The stranger took off his hat from a bushy head of hair as he climbed and said, "I repeat: I'm looking to engage an investigator. Am I in the right place?" He looked askance at the small room.
"Kendrick Massey here, one of the Sleuths," said the WORKS partner. "May I take your coat?"
The visitor shook his head, unbuttoned and took off his coat, then placed it on the coat tree.
"And who might you be, sir?" Ken asked. He sat down at the little desk in the foyer, gesturing for the fellow to be seated.
"I'm not 'might be,' I'm actually Walter Raleigh, and would not be anyone else," the fellow answered with a slight smile. "I have a law practice across the street in Country Club Plaza. An acquaintance, a police officer retired from your Air Base south of here, Phil Tyler, said you're in the business of tracing people, data, and/or things, Ricky."
"Please call me Ken, Walter, as I actually am."
"Sorry. And your profession? Was I correct? You follow clues?"
The two men's slight frowns showed that they each knew that they were off to an uncomfortable start.
"Yes, sir. I finished my Air Police hitch, under Tyler part of the time, got hitched, and charged headlong into being a sleuth." Ken rose, shook hands formally across the desk, and handed over a business card.
SLEUTH WORKS Telephone 2345 P. O. Box 123 Kansas City, Missouri Kendrick Massey, Investigator Belinda Jones Massey, Librarian and Accountant Holly Osborne Jones, Owner and Manager
"The company is named Sleuth Works because we trace whatever is lost." Ken thought that it was hard to tell how to deal with this guy who seemingly examined everything. Little sense of humor usually went along with that oh-so-serious personality. "What type of an inquiry would you would like us to undertake?" Ken kept his voice even and respectful. He wasn't going to describe the allocation of who ruled each aspect of their housing/business domain––with, of course, input from others––but ultimately each did rule, made the final decisions in the area of expertise. He had the interviews; Belinda led the nursery and account ledgers; and, Holly ruled the household help and the firm ... and owned more than half of SW.
"These three people compose the outfit that undertakes investigations––the 'we' you mentioned?" Walter asked. "I see you here in your office; I note that there are two ladies mentioned on the business card; but, there's no mention of a secretary or other staff, unless they would be ensconced on a corner shelf. I see no one except you."
Ken patted himself on the back: Roger, wilco ... this guy was into detail work. "My wife, Belinda, is a former librarian and is my partner 'til death do us part. My mother-in-law, Holly Jones, is an experienced administrator as well as the senior partner. Their workspaces are on both sides of a desk in the main office. We all know how to type and spell." Dang, don't get sarcastic. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh. It's a lot different than my office, and I'm the only owner, but I have a secretary." Raleigh studied both the small, sparsely furnished room and Ken's face. Because Ken's hair receded from his brow, people often mistook him for being older than a mere three decades. Walt's facial hair and scalp, in contrast, sprouted every which way and did nothing to conceal his middle age.
The only decorations in this anteroom were two watercolors, both of the same apple tree, one from the winter and one from the spring. They certainly had not been painted by Georgia O'Keefe but were more in the two-dimensional naïve style of Grandma Moses.
The visitor sighed. He sighed again. "I indicated that I need an investigation carried out. Would you please give me some idea of your procedures? I suppose that means that the others have to hear this as soon as you can round them up. Or get it as second hand gossip."
"No, sir. We have our main office next door and live in an adjoining apartment, and we can go into the office to involve them. We don't like to advertise that we live where we work, in case things get dicey. If your request seems to mesh with our talents, we will go in there. So, tell me a bit about it."
"I need the ownership traced of a donated set of items to the local art museum."
Ken rose and hit a bell on his desk that was heard as a faint, single tingle. "That, I am sure we can do. I'll ask my partners to join us in the main office next door."
Walt Raleigh nodded and seemed to relax a bit. "I noticed that you advertised only a phone number and a post office box number both in the yellow pages and on this card. I can certainly understand that. My wife is not only a teacher, but is also a sometime diplomat. The State Department calls upon her to help host dignitaries from the Far East. We too have learned to be circumspect about our private lives.
"Actually, my wife was asked by an acquaintance to trace that information, and that is why I am here," Mr. Raleigh revealed. "You can introduce me with that." He followed Ken's lead, stood, straightened his shirt cuffs, and touched the knot on his dark blue silk tie.
A door that fit smoothly into the wall slid open to reveal a little boy clinging to the denim slacks of a tall lady. "Yes?" she glanced at both men as she spoke and stepped back with her hand waving them into a high-ceilinged space. The stranger looked over at the tall blonde who bested his height by a couple of inches while her husband was a good five inches taller than he.
Ken Massey signaled his wife with a wink, nodded at the visitor said, "Belinda", as an introduction. She picked up the boy, left the room through sliding doors across the room, and returned with a steno pad. She had shut both sets of the sliding doors quickly. Walt did not get a glimpse into the private apartment space.
To the left side of the office stood a large, oak desk in front of an alcove with an oriel window. A captain's chair fit behind the desk. The window glass was very old and showed imperfections when a person looked outside, viewing the building across the street or the (usually) blue sky with a resultant crinkled perspective.
An elegantly dressed older woman was already seated at a round table on the right, and Belinda sat down in the alcove behind the desk.
Ken said, gesturing the others, "Mr. Walter Raleigh is an attorney and has another of those delicate type of matters to discuss with us, ladies. He's checking our bona fides regarding confidential matters."
He pointed at a cushioned chair next to a round table, indicating where the client was to sit opposite Mrs. Jones.
Belinda's first words were a warning. "Now, as to security in our approach to cases. If you tried to get into our files, you'd never figure out our filing system. My husband was an Air Policeman for eight years and learned a great deal about security. My mother ran the principal's office in a big high school, and she occasionally dealt with teenage scoundrels. I was a librarian and prevented purloining of books, and have an accounting degree."
Next to the oriel desk area, several framed certificates hung beside the window, above a row of low file cabinets, all padlocked. The circular table against the wall had six grey cushioned desk chairs around it. The large room had dark wainscoting below embossed wallpaper that was decorated with delicate green vines.
Raleigh turned his look toward Belinda and asked, "You combine your work space and living room?"
She answered, "Not really: this is our main office, with the foyer serving as the entry point. Our home base is past that wall. For credentials, our diplomas and Kendrick's Air Force awards and discharge are posted over there; files are in those wall cabinets; supplies are in the desk. Typical office as you may have observed but certainly not a living room as usually defined."
"Intriguing description, Mrs. Massey," the visitor said smoothing the air with his hands as though he thought she had been irritated by his question.
"Please call me Belinda."
"Do you really think this is a secure area? From your children when you or your mother are not keeping watch because you're busy with work?"
Belinda responded smoothly to the query, "The nanny keeps our children out of the office; they're usually upstairs. I hardly ever have my boy with me when I'm near here. Today was unusual when I heard talking in the foyer while I was reading to him in the living room next door."
Mrs. Jones sat regally beside the table, studying him.
Belinda Massey pulled out a shelf with a wooden leg that unfolded immediately from a slot on the side of the desk and placed her steno pad and pencil on it.
Ken sat in a swivel chair and said, "The walls to this office are soundproofed. Try yelling for help if you don't believe me. Furthermore, we all know how to use pistols, shotguns, and bows and arrows. The area is secure, sir."
Raleigh looked back at the door to the foyer. He could discern the sliding door's outline because he knew where he had entered, but there was no knob. He glanced at the wall opposite the foyer and again discerned the outline to a sliding door, that one evidently leading to the living room, and, again, no knob.
"This is rather like an extremely large priest's hole."
"Cromwell's time?" Mrs. Jones asked.
"Yes." Raleigh looked surprised. "In fact, it's a European connection that brought me here. But from four hundred years later." He slapped the table gently.
"And, how may we help?" She was still appraising him.
"No," the lawyer said, "I can't tell you yet. I need to have some references. About your results from snooping. That it's above board and legal. I limit my practice to Civil Law and stay away from Criminal Law. That is, I will deal with issues that could deprive you of your property and/or time but cannot take your life. And therefore I must know specifically what types of investigations at which you are experienced."
Belinda stirred, her mother nodded in understanding, and Ken simply raised an eyebrow.
Mrs. Jones said quietly, "I object to the word 'snooping,' sir. We don't know how you found us, but we investigate; we don't listen at doors or focus binoculars on trysts."
"For some reason, your taking umbrage makes me feel better. The onset of this inquiry may sound complicated, but it's only a chain of friends. My wife, Meg, has a friend who needs ownership of some items chased down for an art museum."
"Sounds clear so far. Suit of armor? Ancient painting?"
"I'll fill you in after you supply references that I can check. My wife, Meg, knows your former sergeant, Ken, one Phil Tyler, and I have met him. I checked with him and with an attorney I know who lives near your last Base."
"But you're saying you already know about our reputations from checking with your wife's friend and a lawyer back there in Granstadt." Holly Jones made the observation in her quiet manner. "Yet, you want more references about cases we have taken on?"
"Of course. But those earlier were checking about Ken's character and due diligence. I need some idea of how you proceed and how successful you are. And your fee schedule."
Holly Jones replied evenly, "We'll give you the names of, say, four cases for whom we've traced ancestors or items, sir. Those are the ones most relevant to the task you're describing. They have, of course, given us grateful permission to use their names. And, as you said, you've already checked with other names regarding Ken's integrity ... which will rub off on us, naturally."
Raleigh laughed after absorbing her remark. Ken had to appreciate his mother-in-law's sneaky injection of the compliment. He was glad she had not sounded insulted by the man's superior tone of voice.
She added, "Let me describe our procedure. I take down the information provided by a client, work with Ken and Belinda on how differently names may be spelled over the years or in the census because differences do occur for the same person. We have several ways to check documents. We have not yet been involved when a legal issue was at stake, if that's what you're asking: we stay away from crimes. We did trace a stolen family item to a pawnshop. That was our first case but had nothing to do with a crime because it was an internal family matter, and, moreover, it led to another task for the same family."
Mr. Raleigh nodded and responded with an order. "Those will suffice but kindly prepare that list for me so that I may check with the people who experimented with hiring you. You merely sketched your methods, and you haven't mentioned your fees. I believe that this will be a minor investigation that I cannot devote time to but does involve a legal conclusion."
Ken responded to the challenge. "Sir, I'll add some detail. We trace people such as relatives who want to find heirs, phone or address changes, names in marriage or divorce. We find data that are related to ancestors: birth, death, sickness, licenses, real estate, insurance, cars, boats, hunting, farms, dairies, diaries. Things that have been stolen/pawned/lost, mistakenly discarded, heirlooms, cars, books, statues. For tracing people, we have the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Jeff City, Jackson County courthouses here and in Independence, graveyards, telephone books, Census Bureau by Bannister Road––you'd be surprised, sir, perhaps, that twice the person was found in the very town of the seeker; once, she was merely around the corner."
Belinda chuckled before she explained. "AND we don't do crime scenes, any more than you do, although, as I mentioned, Ken has the expertise from his career as an Air Policeman. We turn his expertise into using his keen eye, low-key interviewing skills, and knowledge of the way people respond to situations. My mother dealt with high school rascals for 23 years. She ran the principal's high school office."
"I heard. When may my secretary pick up that list of references?"
"We'll be happy to bring it over tomorrow," Holly Jones said. "Just whereabouts is your office, Mr. Raleigh?"
"Walk all the way across the Plaza to the west end to the brick and stone building, Mrs. Jones. The directory is inside beside the doorman's chair. The second floor has my office."
As Ken rose to escort him out, Raleigh nodded at Belinda and Holly and rose as though weary. Ken had the foyer door open when the attorney said, "We have to pay a lot for our address, and here you have one quite nearby, and, yet, I bet you don't pay a third as much rent as I do."
Ken simply grinned at him, opened the outer door, and said, "Goodbye for now, sir."
Raleigh glanced at the ceramic letters mounted on the outside wall by the door. The door plate had been Mrs. Jones' design"
Sleuth Works People, Data, and Things Sleuth Works We Finders, You Keepers 2345
"I'll have my secretary schedule you to see me. She'll call you," he said.
"Yes, sir."
After he watched the man put on his overcoat and hat and then close the door behind himself quietly, Ken turned, walked back to the inner room, and swiveled his chair toward Belinda and Mother Holly.
"Was he trying to rile us, dear? I heard his remark about rent."
Ken merely chuckled. "We'll let him stew over that one." In fact, Mother Holly Jones had bought this building after her husband died. They didn't pay a dime in rent — the other tenants paid rent to them.
"Serves him right," Mrs. Jones added. "I do believe he thinks I'm the nanny, too!"
Belinda said, "Wouldn't he be surprised to find out that we have two servants, and that Mom's job is to supervise them as well as the building's tenants and our office?"
Seating herself at the desk, Belinda then pulled the cover off the Remington and began typing on a piece of their letterhead stationary. Her steno pad had four names and addresses on it.
"Yes, I think he was establishing the pecking order. The time will come when he will find out, but not from us. It'll be a bigger revelation if we don't bother to brag. He doesn't know yet that we're so serene and superlatively satisfied with our lives that we're hard to shake. We're cloak and dagger, not choke and stagger."
