The Invisible Assistant by John Gaspard

Author:John Gaspard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuth books, short story
Publisher: Henery PressHen
Published: 2016-07-11T16:00:00+00:00

You know how you can sometimes tell when a couple is arguing, even when you can’t hear them? I mean, just by their body language? That was the sense I got as I followed the happy couple across town to the Cedar Lake neighborhood. From my vantage point in the front seat of my car, I could see them talking in the front seat of theirs. And from where I sat, it did not look like a happy conversation.

For some odd reason, that made me sad. Because, I figured, if she had to leave me, the very least she could do was try to be happy with the guy she left me for. I mean, otherwise, what was the point?

In fact, on the few occasions I had witnessed these arguments, I had to restrain myself from saying something along the lines of, “Jeez, you left me so you could argue with him? You could’ve skipped the divorce and continued arguing with me.” But I wisely never said that. At least, not so far.

Harley Keller lived—or had lived—on Cedar Lake, the most mysterious of the Minneapolis chain of lakes, primarily because it was impossible to drive around it. You could drive past it, but not around it.

His townhouse, like all the others connected to it, looked relatively new and completely identical. A different brightly-colored windsock hung in front of each entryway, probably in a failed attempt to aid in the identification process.

Deirdre and Homicide Detective Fred Hutton were already unlocking the front door when I caught up to them. “No crime scene tape?” I observed.

“It’s no longer a crime scene,” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton grunted as he pushed the door open. I was surprised to be greeted by the sound of a yipping dog.

“Hey, there’s a dog,” I said, clearly stating the obvious. “That’s weird. Why is there a dog?”

“There are a variety of pets still in residence,” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton said flatly.

I looked to Deirdre for a more complete explanation. “Harley Keller had a dog, three cats, a bird and an aquarium. We were going to turn them all over to animal control, but the next of kin requested against that,” she said. She gestured toward the identical doorway to our right. “The lady next door stops in several times a day to take care of them. His next of kin are coming to town at the end of the week to handle the estate.”

“That’s quite a menagerie,” I said. “Especially for a pro-death kind of guy like Harley Keller.”

“Yes, it is,” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton said with what sounded like a sigh. This was followed immediately by something that sounded like a sneeze. And then another. And another.

“Fred’s allergic to cats. And dogs,” Deirdre said by way of explanation.

At that moment, a small mutt of a dog came racing towards us, yelping happily. Because Homicide Detective Fred Hutton was the only one of us allergic to animals, the dog naturally went right for him. He dropped a slimy, spit-covered rubber ball at the detective’s feet.

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