R.I.P. Jami Jameson

R.I.P. Jami Jamison. He was the lead singer with Survivor on such songs as "High On You," "Burning Heart," "This Is Love" and "The Moment Of Truth," From "The Karate Kid" movie. He was only 63. I saw him in concert recently and he was still an awesome singer. In fact, I used to do "High On You" in a band because it was such a great song. That's too young to die.

The Dumbing Down Of Society

I did a search today on G**gle, (you know who I mean), and this is what I got:

They are intentionally proposing a misspelled word!  What are they trying to pull here?  I think it's in line with the general dumbing down of society.  You can't control them if they have good communications skills and know how to think for themselves.

Turko de Mayo V

Once again, I will be celebrating Turko de Mayo, which turned out to be on May 30th, 2014.  Last night, I got my turkey out to start thawing:

What is "Turko de Mayo," you ask?  Well, it's a relatively new holiday that dates back to 5 or 6 years ago when I first celebrated it.  In fact, I created the holiday myself!  A little back story on how it began:  Each year, my favorite meal is Thanksgiving dinner.  The combination of turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce and all the usual things that go with a traditional Thanksgiving meal just seem to work really well together.  The only problem is - most people only cook a meal like that once a year.  If it's your favorite, you only get to eat it once a year, in late November.  I liked it so much, I created Turko de Mayo so that I could have that same meal twice a year.  Now, each May, I whip out a meal just like on Thanksgiving and enjoy it with whomever I happen to invite over.  All the leftovers never go to waste, either, because I'll make turkey soup out of what's left and it will all get eaten.  And the beauty of Turko de Mayo is that you can celebrate it on any day in May you want to - whatever suits your schedule the best!

So, Happy Turko de Mayo day!

Here's what I served with that succulent turkey:

Eighth Annual Ten Commandments Post

So, here it is Easter once again.  This year's post will travel back in time to the annual broadcast on the ABC network of The Ten Commandments for 1980.  Easter fell on April 6th that year and I can remember that when I watched it that year, I took some pictures of the television screen.  I would take multiple exposures on one frame and I have featured here some of those shots from that broadcast.  That was 34 years ago and I had been watching it back into the 1970's, thanks to ABC.  I hope they keep this tradition alive and always show this inspiring movie on the life of Moses at Easter.  I've probably seen it now right at 40 times, including the 10-year rerelease the movie had in 1966 at theaters around the country.

So, I hope you got your Easter eggs, your Easter candy and had your Easter meal prepared for showtime and enjoyed the movie again this year!  I know I sure will!

"D Is For Doxy" Chapter 6

For your reading pleasure, here is chapter 6 of "D Is For Doxy."

[6]

    I got in touch with Miss Stalmaster from the nearest telephone booth and she agreed to meet me at Maxwell’s office.  It had been closed for the day because of his death, but she assured me she had a key and wouldn’t mind opening it up.  I found the place pretty easily and was there waiting when she arrived.  I had only been there a few minutes, though.  I recognized her right away, not from any description I had of her, but because she truly looked like a secretary.  She was around 26 or 27, and fairly average in every respect – height, weight and build.  Plus she wore her hair up in an ungodly-looking bun.  She also wore glasses.  A fairly mousy sort of woman; the kind that probably doesn’t go out much because she’s not asked to.  As she walked up to me, she said, “Mr. Randall?”
    I replied, “Yes.”
    She acknowledged me with a nod of her head then pulled a key out of her purse.  She used it efficiently to unlock the door and we both went in, with her going in first.  The first thing she did once inside was to turn on some overhead lights.  These illuminated the office quite well and we could both see where the body had lain.  She skirted the residue of a large bloodstain and walked to a desk.  I followed in her footsteps.
    “Now, is there anything you particularly wanted to see?”
    “No, not really.  I just wanted to look around.”
    “Okay.  The desk isn’t locked and the filing drawers are over there.”  She pointed to them at the side of the desk.  “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”
    I sat down behind the desk and began opening drawers.  I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but if I found something noteworthy, I’d be sure to know.  While I looked, I asked questions to the secretary.
    “How long did you work for Maxwell?”
    “About two years.  But only on Monday’s, Wednesday’s and Friday’s.”
    “I take it, you really knew his operation well, huh?”
    “Yes, I’d say so.”
    Not a real talkative person, I was finding out.  I felt around under the bottom surfaces of the desk, because you can’t be too careful sometimes.  I didn’t feel anything hidden.
    “Were you happy in your work here?”
    “Yes.”
    I turned to the filing drawers.
    “Had anything happened around here lately that was out of the ordinary?  And not necessarily work related.”
    “I was trying to think of that this morning when the police asked me.  I couldn’t think of anything then and I still haven’t remembered anything.  Nothing went on here, just business.
    Of that, I had no doubts.  I tried to get her to loosen up about her boss.
    “What about Mr. Maxwell.  What was he like to work for?”
    “A very pleasant, honest man.  It’s hard to find as good an atmosphere to work in like this one is.... was.”
    “I see.  And how did you get the job?”
    “Through an agency.”
    “Which one?”  I had a feeling I knew what the answer was going to be.
    “Westbury Placements.”
    “Oh?”  I sat up unexpectedly and she looked at me with a sudden, startled expression.
    “What is it?  Have you found something?”
    “No, only that name rings a bell.”
    “It does, how?”
    “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but there have been three murders in the last week, and every one of them were similar to this one.  Did you know that?”
    “I think I read something about it in the newspapers.”
    “Well, one of the other men that died had a secretary from Westbury Placements, also.”
    “What was her name?”
    “A Susan Prescott.”
    “Yes, I know her.  I still go there two days a week for temporary placings.  You know, a job that only lasts a few hours or so.  I’ve run into her occasionally.”
    “That’s very interesting.  Now, about last night.  What was it like?”
    “Well, he wanted me to work over, for as I’ve told you, I don’t come in on Tuesdays or Thursdays.  But, he had some things he needed for me to get ready and he was busy doing something, too.  So, he got me working on a project he needed first thing in the morning, and when I finished it, he was done with me and sent me home.”
    “What time was that?”
    “It was between eight and nine o’clock.”
    “Can you be any more precise?”
    “Let me think.  Oh, yes.  I remember it now.  When I was walking out of the building, I saw a girl I worked with and glanced down at my watch.  I remember it said eight-forty exactly.”
    “And Maxwell, did he give you any indication as to how much longer he was going to be?”
    “He hoped to be finished by at least ten.”
    “Do you think he would have been done by then?”
    “I have no reason to doubt it.  He was good at estimating his time.”
    “Did he mention any further plans?  For after his work?”
    “No, I assumed he’d go home to his wife at that time.”
    “There’s nothing else you think that might be relevant?”
    “One thing, but I don’t know if it’s relevant to what you’re working on.”
    “What is it?”
    She walked over to the corner of the room and stood by a big potted plant.  Since there were no windows in the place, it undoubtedly had to be fake.
    “He always kept some cash around the office, for ‘expenses,’ he said.  As long as I’ve known him, he always
had some on hand.  But, he didn’t know that I knew where he kept it.  One day, I came in early and saw him
replacing this plant.  Later on, when he was out of the office, I checked under it.  And I found about four
thousand dollars.”
    “Whew, that’s quite a lot to keep around.  Is there any there now?”
    “We’re about to find out.”
    She grasped the plant around the middle of the stalk and lifted it, pot and all, over to the side about two feet.  Underneath it was a large brown envelope.  She picked it up and looked inside of it.  It was unsealed.
    “Well?”  I asked.
    “I don’t understand it.  It’s empty.”
    “That’s odd.  And you say he always kept some there?”
    “Yes.”
    “And how do you know that for sure?”
    “I.... uh.... well, I checked on it from time to time.”
    “For what reason?”
    “No reason, really.  I was just curious.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    “I never took any of it, if that’s what you’re implying.”
    “I wasn’t thinking that at all.  I was simply wondering where it had gone.”
    “Yes, I wonder that myself.”
    She put the plant back and we left the office.  I hadn’t found anything, but it had been a longshot chance anyway.  When she locked the door, she said:
    “I guess I’ll have to give this key back to Mrs. Maxwell.  Technically, I have no use for it anymore.”
    “No, I suppose not.”
    I could have volunteered to take it back to her, but I didn’t know if I needed to see her again.  No use making any unnecessary trips if I didn’t have to.  However, I did need to make one necessary trip.
    I wanted to find out if Martine’s secretary had worked for Westbury Placements, too.

I Got Energetic Today

I wanted to use some of the blackberries out of my freezer so I'd have room to put in more later on in the year when they're ready again.  Therefore, I decided to make a blackberry cobbler this morning.  I tried a different recipe than the regular one I use because I was in the mood for something a little different.  Fortunately, I bought some vanilla ice cream yesterday and that always tops off fresh, hot cobbler just out of the oven.  And yes, it turned out good - it was delicious.

"D Is For Doxy" Chapter 5

Without further ado, here is chapter 5 of my unpublished book, "D Is For Doxy."  Well, maybe a little ado is in order.  It is number 3 in order of 8 total novels I've written with my hard-boiled detective Steve Randall.  I grew up reading Mickey Spillane, Richard S. Prather and others of that ilk, so it was only natural that my first novel would be of the hardboiled detective fiction genre.  All 8 of the books in this series are, as of yet, unpublished, so if that gives any of you publishers out there any ideas.... go to it!  Now, here is chapter 5.  Enjoy it, but please remember the first four chapters are previous posts here on my blog, so you might want to get those first if you haven't already done so.

[5]

     Stuck as I was on the Lawrence case, I didn’t want to work on my other case right now.  I wanted to think.  Had anybody said anything meaningful?  On reflection, I didn’t think so.  But, somewhere there had to be an answer.  Somehow, I was certain of it.
     When the answer came, it was from the source I had least expected.
     I was sitting behind my desk on Tuesday morning, when my ‘phone rang.  Without thinking about it too much, I picked it up and put it to my ear.  My mind was still somewhere lost in the case.
     “Yes?”  I said.
     “Randall?”  This is Lieutenant McGee.  We met the other day.”
    “Yes, I remember.  Do you have some more questions for me?”
    “Well, yes and no.”
    “What do you mean, ‘yes and no’?”
    “We’ve got some new information to add.”
    “You’ve got a suspect?”
    “No, we’ve got a new murder.”
    “And you think it ties up with Lawrence?”
    “That’s not all we think.  But, you better come on in.  I’ll tell you then.”
    “Okay.  Where are you located?”
    “103rd precinct.  Corner of 25th and Lexington.”
    “I’ll be right in.”
    The voice on the other paused.  “This is an official request.”
    “I’ll be right there, I said.”
    “All right.”

    Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in Lieutenant McGee’s office along with another cop.  The Lieutenant was telling me what he had alluded to over the telephone.
    “This morning, we got a call from a securities commission building over on Wall Street.  They called to report a body.”
    “And you think it’s connected to George Lawrence’s murder?”
    “We didn’t think so at first, but when we got to comparing notes, we noticed some similarities.  But, that’s not all.  Did you hear about a guy we found murdered last Thursday?  A Leslie Martine, big jewelry store owner on Fifth Avenue.”
    “No, what about it?  Is it tied in, too?”
    “He was found shot to death by a .38 caliber gun in his office.  The same as Lawrence and also the same as the man we found today.  Arthur Maxwell.  All shot to death in their offices.”
    “It certainly looks like more than a coincidence.”
    “It does to us, too.”
    “But, why did you call me in here?  I told you everything I knew.”
    The Lieutenant looked briefly at the other cop then back to me.
    “Our info tells us you’ve been hired by Mrs. Lawrence.”
    “Well, what if I have?  It’s not a crime to try and work for a living yet, is it?”
    “No, and we’re not saying it is.  We have no problem with it, in this case.”
    “So what is it you’re not saying?” I asked suspiciously.
    “In fact, we encourage you to look into it.”
    “That’s a switch.”
    “We’ve long known that P.I.’s like you, but not necessarily you, mind you, have ways of getting to the heart of the matter that are, shall we say, not strictly legitimate.  You can operate at a certain level not permitted to
someone, say, at my level of bureaucracy.  Do you get my meaning?”
    “If I find out anything you don’t, you want me to come to you with it?”
    “Exactly.”
    “I had intended on that already.  Sometimes we don’t get along; P.I.’s like me, but not necessarily me, and the cops.  But, when it comes down to it, whenever someone is guilty, the wheels of justice work swiftly.  So, if I can be of some assistance, I hope you’ll remember it someday and cut me some slack.”
    “Good.  Then we understand each other.  Now, I’m not asking you to knowingly commit a felony to get a break in this case.  Whatever methods you may use just keep them to yourself.  I don’t wanna know about them.”
    “If we’re going to work together, at least, unofficially, I’ll need some information on the first and this newest crime.  And I’d also like to see what you’ve got on Lawrence’s death so far.”
    “Fair enough.  We’ve got some sheets prepared.  Studer, the file.”
    The other cop in the room handed me a manila folder he had been hiding somewhere.  I took it from his hand and it was fairly stuffed.  Lifting the cover, I riffled the pages and saw that it held a lot of information.  It even had crime scene photographs.  Probably from all three crimes.  I must remember this day.  To come into possession of this many facts and be handed them by a cop, no less.  I decided to get out of there fast before good fortunes chose to smile on someone else.  The Lieutenant spoke to me as I stood.
    “You’ll call me personally if you get anything?”
    “Yes.  I want this killer brought in as much as you.”
    “To be shot in cold blood, in your own office.  That’s not a very good way to die.”
    Before I turned and left, I said:
    “Last I checked, there’s not a lot of good ways.”
    I clutched the files tightly and left.
    I drove back to my office and was seated behind my desk before I took a better look at the files.  It had the names and addresses of everyone connected to all three murders and even their official statements to the police.  It also had the statement of the janitor in Lawrence’s building – the only person I hadn’t spoken to in my efforts.  I looked his words over, but didn’t think I needed to hunt him up personally from what I read.  He had basically just come upon the body and called the police.  I did notice that the police hadn’t checked up on Susan Prescott’s story yet.  I’d have to clue them in on her.  I still don’t think they’d get anything more, though.
    Now, back to the first murder.  The chauffeur stated that his boss, the deceased Leslie Martine, had just left his club, when he asked to be taken back to his place of business.  The chauffeur, evidently named Pontford, first or last name unknown, took him there and watched him enter the building alone.  After an interminable amount of time, the chauffeur got worried and wondered what was taking him so long.  So, he entered into the darkened building only to find Martine shot to death.  He immediately notified the police.  Previously in the evening, Martine had been playing cards with four other men.  Martine had evidently won a great sum of money, but it was found on his body, so robbery had not been a motive for his death.  All four men had pretty tight alibis, too.  So, it washed them out of the picture.  The dead man was fifty-four years old, married and had two grown children, not at home.  Motive – as of yet, unknown.  What about the newest murder?  I pulled the papers relevant to it and started scanning them for pertinent facts.  The deceased man’s name was Arthur Maxwell, fifty-two, married and no children.  That was something.  All three of the dead men had been married and in their fifties.  I read on.  One of the persons questioned, a worker in the same building as Max, had come in to work early, the same as he always did, to open his office.  When going by Maxwell’s office, just down the hall before his own, he noticed the door slightly ajar.  He states it was never like this before, so he got curious and looked in.  He saw Maxwell, lying on the floor face down, surrounded by a massive pool of dried blood.  He didn’t get any closer to see if he was actually dead, but pulled the door back to with his handkerchief and alertly called the police.  When they got there, the guy was pretty shaken up.  Evidently, he had a pretty weak constitution and was not used to the sight of so much blood.  The wife, when asked why she hadn’t wondered where her husband had been all night, was rather noncommittal.  Said something about business keeping him away a lot.  Hmm.  I wonder if she suspected him of anything like Mrs. Lawrence had intimated to me.  There’s a point I’d have to look into.  The man had no partners or associates, so the list of names connected with him was a lot shorter.  The man from down the hall, Maxwell’s wife, and his secretary.  Lawrence had had a secretary.  I wonder if Martine did, too?  I went back to the folder for the first case’s notes.  Yes, there it was.
Another interesting point.  I wonder if it was significant?  Reading further into all the cases, nothing else
jumped to my attention.  I did, however, make a list of all people I wanted to see myself.  It included both wives, Mrs. Martine and Mrs. Maxwell, Martine’s chauffeur, his four poker buddies, and the secretaries.  I looked at my watch.  It said two-twenty-three.  I had forgotten to eat lunch.  Well, I could rectify that and look up some of the people on the list before it got too late.
    I got a quick sandwich at a nearby diner and decided to see Mrs. Maxwell first.  She had a quiet home on Park Avenue, most likely due to her late husband’s business acumen.  I wonder what she’d do now that he was dead?
    I found a place to park near her address and the sign said no parking from 11 to 2.  But, since it was after 3, I didn’t worry about it.  I located the front entrance by navigating through a wrought iron gate and pushed the button.  From somewhere inside, a deep-noted gong sounded.  The doorbell was working well.
    The huge door was opened by a woman of about fifty years of age.  She was dressed in black, so I couldn’t tell if she was a maid or Mrs. Maxwell.  I took a guess.
    “Mrs. Maxwell?” I asked.
    “Yes?”
    “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to ask a little of your time.”
    “Are you buying or selling?”
    “Neither.  I simply wanted to ask you a few questions.”
    “Then, who are you?  Are you a policeman?”
    “I’m a private investigator, ma’am.  My name’s Steve Randall.”
    “I’ve already told the police everything I know.  I don’t have to talk to you, though.”
    “I know that, ma’am, but have the police told you that your husband’s death might be linked to two other recent murders?”
    “Yes, they have.”
    “Then maybe you can understand why I’m here.  Both of those other men had wives, too, and I’ve come on behalf of one of them.”
    “My Arthur’s death related to those other men?  How, exactly?”
    “Well, the police aren’t really sure quite yet, but they’re exhausting every possibility along those lines.”
    “What does that mean, ‘exhausting every possibility?’  Evidently, you think they’re connected, or you wouldn’t be here.  Right?”
    “I’m not sure.... if I could just ask you a few questions, I might know a little more.”
    “Well, I don’t guess it really matters one way or the other.  You might as well come in.”
    I followed her through a large foyer and off to the left into a richly furnished sitting room.  Here was old money at it’s finest.  The walls were panelled in a dark and freshly polished wood; the ceiling was twice the normal height as usual homes had and it had ornamental sculptures molded in it along it’s outside edges near the walls.  There was a massive stone fireplace, above which hung a portrait of an old guy with a long beard, surrounded by a highlighted ornate gold frame.  There was a gleaming, probably bronze, statue of a nude, skinny woman, probably an ancient Greek portrayal of womanly beauty and charm; over in the corner, and near the fireplace, sat a solid-looking table with gold on all it’s edges.  There were chairs and couches all over the room and Mrs. Maxwell directed us to one near the fireplace.  Logs were crackling cozily inside it and the room did have a certain kind of welcoming feel to it.  We sat down and she turned to face me.
    “What I really wanted to know about was something perhaps you didn’t think to tell the police.”
    “No, I told them everything.”  She looked at me like she was affronted that I should suggest such a thing.
    “Really?  Didn’t you wonder why your husband never came home last night?”
    “I don’t think that’s any concern of yours.”
    “That’s just it.  What he was doing may be of vital concern to the case.”
    “But, don’t you understand,” her voice dropped to below a whisper, “I don’t know why he didn’t come home last night.”
    I paused a moment.  Finally, I said, “I see.  Do you have any suspicions?”
    “No, none.  Nothing.  We were very happy together.  He’d never done anything like you’re suggesting.”
    “You’re sure of it?”
    “I ought to know my own husband, shouldn’t I?”
    “I guess so.  Did he leave any clue or tell you where he was going?  Anything.  Anything at all.  Even if you
don’t think it’s important.”
    “Well, he never came home from work last night, but he did call me.  It was about six o’clock, well after he normally arrived here.  I had no reason to get alarmed over his not showing up, yet.  When he called me, he said he had to go over some paperwork and he had his secretary there to type out some things that he needed the next day.  He told me he shouldn’t be too late, most likely not past eleven, so I didn’t think much about it.  I didn’t wait up on him, but I did wake up around midnight and look at the clock.  He still hadn’t arrived home yet, and I just thought that maybe it was taking him longer than he had expected.  It wasn’t until the next morning, when the police arrived, that I knew what had happened to him.”
    “Did he always have a secretary around?”
    “Yes.  Since he was the only one there, a secretary’s help was invaluable to him.  He used her to get some of the more time-consuming things done so he could concentrate on the real business at hand.”
    “Do you know where he got the secretary from?  Was it an advertisement in the newspaper, word of mouth, or did he go through an agency?”
    “I don’t really know.  But, those records are likely to be at his office.”
    “How could I get to see those records?”
    I could take you there, but I wouldn’t be of any help locating them.  Perhaps you’d better get in touch with his secretary.”
    I remembered her name from the police files.
    “Is her name Lynn Stalmaster?”
    “Yes, that’s it.”
    “Okay.  I’ll get in touch with her.  Do I need a key to get in, or has she got one?”
    “I’m pretty sure Arthur gave her one.  In case she had to come in on a Saturday.”
    “Is there anything else you can think of?”
    “No, I’ve really tried hard, but there’s nothing.  Nothing at all.”
    “Okay, thanks for answering my questions at a time I know must be painful for you.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’ll show myself out.”
    She nodded and I stood and left her alone.  Nothing else I could say would mean anything, so I just left her there to grieve in silence.
    If I hurried, I could get in touch with the secretary and still get in the office this afternoon to nose around a little.