The Osgood Casebook by Herschel Cozine

Author:Herschel Cozine [Cozine, Herschel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Untreed Reads Publishing
Published: 2014-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Mystery at Pumpkin House

Hi. Nathaniel P. Osgood III here. You wouldn’t think that this place of nursery rhymes would be violent. After all, these folks are pretty mild people. But there’s a lot of it going around. Cock Robin, the three blind mice, Jack’s crown, and the blackbirds pecking off the maid’s nose, for example. And that was just last week.

But there is another form of violence that I want to talk about. Spousal abuse. Oh, yes, it happens here, too. Consider Mrs. Pumpkineater. Peter kept her cooped up in that pumpkin all day. I don’t know about you, but that seems to me like a pretty cruel thing to do to a person. I never really understood why he couldn’t keep her anywhere else. Would she run away? If so, what would prevent her from doing so if he kept her in a pumpkin shell?

Now, these questions may not be of interest to you, but there are people here where I live who want answers. That’s where I come in. I’m a private investigator who makes a living by minding other people’s business. But I don’t do it for the intellectual stimulus. Nor do I do it for free. This case was no exception.

My office is located in the heart of Nurseryland, next door to The House That Jack Built. As you might expect there is a lot of excitement there most of the time with cats, rats, forlorn maidens and cows with crumpled horns milling about. But the rent is cheap and I don’t mind putting up with a little noise so long as they keep to themselves.

I was reading the morning paper, as is my wont, when the little man appeared. I hadn’t heard him come in, and sat up quickly, startled by his presence. He had mousy brown hair, large ears and a nose that was too big for his face. A little put off by his sudden intrusion into my morning ritual, I scowled at him and grunted.

“Mr. Osgood?” he asked.

I nodded.

“My name is Kindergarten. Herman Kindergarten.”

Was that supposed to impress me? I wondered. The name meant nothing to me other than that he was probably of German extraction. I didn’t know or care. I waited for him to state his reason for coming to see me.

“I’m in the real estate business,” he said at last. “I own several rentals in the neighborhood. Most of them are—er—unusual.”

“For instance?” I said

“Well,” he said. “There’s a shoe, a gingerbread house, and a pumpkin.”

I smiled at the man. “You believe in recycling, I see. What can I do for you?”

The small man relaxed and nodded questioningly at a chair. I gestured for him to sit down. He removed his hat, placed it on his knee and leaned back. “It’s about one of my tenants,” he said hesitatingly.

I waited for him to continue. He was clearly uncomfortable. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked me in the eye.

“Well, I have no evidence. But I think one of my tenants is abusing his wife.

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