Jazz Age Wednesdays 9 ― Pip’s Friend Hank

young Lucy blue

Young Lucille Ball

Wednesday, November 8, 2017 

Wow, you’re the berries!  I’m glad to see you back at Jazz Age Wednesdays!  

When I posted a Halloween story, Pip in the Field of Fear, you got to meet Pip’s friend Hank Hertz.  Those of you who have read Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I also know Hank.  Awhile back, I collaborated on a post with Kirt Tisdale at The Wall Gallery.  Kirt also has a “sepia gallery” which is giving me a lot of inspiration for The Skull of the Alchemist (my National Novel Writing Month project). 

For that tale, Kirt’s photo (below) inspired me to write.  However, it didn’t make me think of Pip.  Rather it brought me a backstory for Hank Hertz.  Without further ado, meet Hank.

On the Radio — Meet Hank 

Photo by Kirt Tisdale

No harm in trying one more time, Hank Hertz thought as he stacked all manner of electronic components on the counter.

“Hi, Mr. Hardscrabble,” Hank mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact with the hardware store’s proprietor.

“Hank, I already told you.  Your ma told me not to sell you any of this gadgetry tomfoolery.  You might as well put all that stuff back on the shelves, son.”

Hardscrabble put a hand to his balding head in a frustrated gesture.  He found his spectacles there and smiled because he’d forgotten where he put them.  However, he brightened when the door opened.  One of “Savannah’s finest,” Detective Dabney Daniels strolled into Hardscrabble Hardware.  His finely chiseled features remained neutral, but he raised an eyebrow at the tableau at the counter.

“Now get on with you, boy.  Put everything back.  I can’t take your money,” the store owner repeated before turning to a real customer.  “That boy gets more like his granddaddy every day.  Detective, what can I do for you?”

1928 Detroit police radio Blue

“No need to rest on formality, Homer.  I can’t find my flashlight, so I’m here for another one,” the detective replied then looked sheepish.  “Go ahead and laugh about things going missing at a police station.  I can tell you’re holding it back.”

Hank watched the exchange between the tall detective and the portly shopkeeper as he reluctantly made trips from the sales counter back to the shelves.  He could have carried more things at one time, but he delayed the inevitable, hoping Mr. Hardscrabble would change his mind.  As he picked up a few more items to return to the shelf, the detective stopped him.

“What is all that stuff, son?  If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were building a ham radio.  Or at least intended to before Homer shut you down.”

For a moment Hank’s face lit up at the mention of his passion — all things electronic, especially radios.  He looked dejectedly at his feet.

“Momma wants me to study law.  She says electronics and inventions are a distraction.  She even said they were toys!”

“So all the old fogies are conspiring against you, huh?  Well, you’d better ankle all that stuff back where it came from, like Homer told you.”

***

1920 Radio News

After supper Hank got an armload of books and headed out the kitchen door.  His mother looked at the heavy tomes and gave a satisfied nod.  Hank knew she was watching from the window above the sink as he walked to the little red barn.  Vines of Cherokee roses ran riot over the building.  The Hertz family used the barn for storage, but Hank made it his personal spot to study or just hang out.  He also had a workbench tucked in one corner where he discretely kept his radio equipment.

The horizon blazed red with sunset when Hank slipped out of the barn.  He pedaled the motorized bicycle he had made until he was far enough away that his parents wouldn’t hear the noise of the motor.  Dusk descended as he rode into town.

Hank didn’t pay any attention to the dark Ford parked on the corner, or to the fact that someone sat inside it.  He rode down the alley and came up behind Hardscrabble Hardware.  The back door was locked, but he found a window he could open.  He took his flashlight and climbed into the store.

He knew exactly where to find everything he wanted.  So it didn’t take Hank long to gather all the electronics he tried to buy that afternoon.  He stood at the sales counter and added up all the prices.  He figured the tax.  Then he left the full amount of the purchase, plus two cents, because he didn’t have enough pennies to leave the exact change.

Putting everything into his bag, Hank turned toward the back of the shop.  It felt like an electric charge shot from his neck down his arm when he heard a cough behind him.  Hank jerked around to face the sound.

1920 Victoria motorcycle ad

The boy thought he’d lose everything he ate for supper when he saw the police detective standing there, arms folded.

“So you actually broke into the store and paid for the things Homer wouldn’t sell you?  Son, I don’t know what to make of that.”

Hank stumbled back a step.  He wanted to run, but the copper knew who he was and where he lived.  Besides, Hank had a pretty good idea that those long legs could catch up with him before he got to his bicycle.  His breath caught in his throat.  Hank couldn’t have spoken even if he’d known what to say.

The detective closed the distance to the counter in a single step.  He pointed his new flashlight to the paper where Hank had added up his purchase.  Then he pursed his lips as he thought.  He stared at Hank as if he could see every fib the boy had ever told.  Hank gulped.

“Where’d you get the money for this stuff, son?  Allowance?  Money for odd jobs?”

Hank only nodded, still unable to talk.  Finally he found his voice and croaked out a reply.  “It’s my money sir.  Fair and square.  I wouldn’t steal anything.”

“I guess I’m going to have to have a talk with your parents,” Dabney Daniels said, slowly shaking his head.

Poor Hank felt like he might sink through the floor, right then and there.  His knees felt weak.

“But this,” the copper motioned at Hank’s bag full of stuff.  “I don’t see as any law has really been broken.  After all, I walked in through the front door, which was unlocked.  I know Homer leaves through the back door and forgets to lock the front.  But being as you’re here, I assume he left it open for you.”

Hank gazed at Daniels in wide eyed confusion.

“Besides, I hate doing paperwork.  If you had actually broken into this store, I’d have to haul you to the station and spend the rest of the night writing up the report.  I do have to talk to your parents though,” he added causing Hank to sink further.

The young man managed a groan.

“You know, I really need an intern down at the station.  I think your mother will see that working for me would be a good learning experience for a future lawyer.  In a way, that’s where law starts isn’t it?  With the police?  Meanwhile you can put your talent with radio gadgetry to use.  How does that sound?”

The end

***

I hope you enjoyed this backstory for one of the Murder at the Bijou characters.

Now you know what I have to do next… I must do the shameless self-promotion…  Here are links to the books about Pip and her friends.

Bijou front only 2

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Novel-book-The Three Things Serial Story-Teagan Riordain Geneviene-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-spotlight-author

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

Thanks so very much for visiting.  You’re the cat’s pajamas! 

 

Copyright © 2014 and 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.  

 

Thistledown – Midsummer Bedlam 4

Thistledown Girl

Alex Iby, Unsplash

Welcome ladies and gentlemen, and magical creatures of all ages!  I’m happy you’ve come back to Thistledown.

Congratulations to the winners of Sunday’s lightning contest!  Annette Rochelle Aben won the faery mug and Lavinia Ross won the Creative Haven adult coloring book.  Congrats ladies! I hope everyone will take a moment to visit their blogs.

I know that sometimes it can be a challenge for guys to embrace something as “frilly” as this story.  So I’m extra appreciative of the men who chose to “come out and play” by naming characters.

Writing Process

I posted a faery name chart/game (click here to see it) that gave folks the chance to find their faery names. I did one for “frilly” names and one for “scary” faery names.  Maybe I’m old fashioned, but not many of the possible names seemed to be, well… masculine.  So when a guy joined the game, often as not, I made up my own name for him.  One example is Skypainter Morning — that was the name exchange I made when Kirt Tisdale joined.

Thinking of Kirt’s amazing photos and photo-art, an image popped into my mind of a young male fae, winging through the sky, and painting it as he went.  Kirt generously allowed me to use some of his photos for episodes involving the Skypainter character.

Last Time

Last time (Episode 3) Bedlam Thunder had a new vision of the dark faery-verse and we met some of the “scary” faeries.  Although they actually seemed pretty nice.  I’m flying by the seat of my pants, so I’m not sure if the serial will get to this but — I see the “scary faeries” I’ve introduced so far as being a rebellious group with a rather punk-edge. In a world where everything is dull and people don’t tend to wear anything that isn’t black or gray, this group can’t resist a splash of bright color.  How will learning about Bedlam’s “sugary” world effect their already mutinous tendencies?

About This Episode

Like I said, this serial is spontaneously written, but I’m beginning to wonder when we’re actually going to hear about Bedlam’s main vision that got her (and River Mindshadow too) suspended from school and generally into trouble.  However, I think you get the basic idea.

Today I introduce Skypainter Morning and his fae talents.  This time we also learn about a bit of faery magic (or maybe it’s faery tech) belonging to Tinder Willowtree, a character we met in Episode 1

Without further ado, here’s the next installment of Thistledown — Midsummer Bedlam.

Thistledown

Midsummer Bedlam 4

A Finder

The musical sound of happy laughter filled the orchard.  Lanterns were arranged and rearranged and lit by the spark of magical peppers.  Everyone seemed to enjoy experimenting with the various lights Pepper Stargazer brought.  Peaches Dragonfly would surely have the best of all the Midsummer parties.

The people I admired most in Thistledown were willing to hear about my awful vision — the one that had caused so much trouble.  They wanted to hear it straight from me.  However, being as bereft of grace as always, I had hurt myself.  Then everybody thought I had fainted, when I actually had another vision…

I realized everyone going outside to help with the lanterns was just a pretext.  They were giving me time to regain my composure.  How could I deserve such kindness?  Though I felt like a wretched coward, I quietly slipped away while everyone was occupied by a particularly explosive pepper.

Aimless wandering brought me near the reflection pool.  The Opal sibs, Moonglow and Stargazer popped up, saw me, and ran down a wooded path.  Their fun laughter trailed behind them.  I didn’t see anything of interest that the children might have been watching, so I guessed they were playing chase.

Green LIghts Drew Collins_1466939721550-ad3ef4b9eeec

Drew Collins, Unsplash

Then I heard a crash and a splash.  A bright flash caused spots to dance before my eyes.  Momentarily half blind, I stumbled on a stick.  Reflex caused my wings to abruptly unfold when I lost my balance.  I cried out as much from fear of hurting my injured wing as from pain.

“Woah there!  I’m really sorry!  Are you okay?” asked a familiar voice.

Someone ran from the reflection pool to the place where I wobbled.  At least I hadn’t fallen on my wings or on my face.  I would settle for a stumbling wobble.

A hand reached out and steadied me.  I was beginning to see a little more than the spots.

“Hi Bedlam.  Are you okay.  I guess you got caught in the flash.  I didn’t expect anyone to be around.  I should have set up some kind of warning,” Skypainter Morning apologetically told me.

“What are you doing, Sky?” I asked curiously.  “Your legendary talents are usually displayed in the heavens.  That flash was at ground level.”

“Something that’s never been done!” Skypainter exclaimed.  “You know the reflection pool helps us see visions.  So rather than just paint a composition on the clouds, I want to have a real, moving vision reflect onto the sky,” he explained with smiling enthusiasm.

He was right.  I was sure that had never been done.  It hardly seemed possible.  However, if anyone could make such a spectacle, it was Skypainter Morning.

“I know it will work, but I just haven’t found the right catalyst,” he began.  “I’ve tried fae enhanced carrot powder, distilled ginkgo extract, and bilberry wine.  This time it was ground red flash-pepper.  That was a challenge to make, let me tell you.  It kept exploding before I could finish grinding it.  And well… as you see that didn’t work out either.”

Sky had pulled me into his experiments that easily.  I was fascinated.  My mind automatically chased the riddle he presented.

“Except for the flash-pepper, all those are plants that help with eyesight.  I can understand the symbolic aspect of the magic,” I said and he nodded, looking glad that I had followed his thoughts.  “Have you thought about gems instead of plants?  Gemstones that are used to enhance scrying or visions?  Maybe black onyx?  That’s what my grand-uncle used for scrying.  Or how phantom quarts helps meditation, or rainbow fluorite increases intuition?” I asked.

Insides_of_a_Amethyst_Geode

Abruptly I felt like I had said something stupid.  Sky was so expert in his visual creations.  I couldn’t possibly have anything to offer.

“Maybe it’s not a useful idea.  It would be a lot harder to grind a stone to a powder than grinding a plant or distilling a liquid.”

To my surprise, Skypainter’s eyes lit up at the idea.

“It wouldn’t be that difficult!” Sky called over his shoulder, hurrying in the direction of his home.

***

As I gazed heavenward, I was surprised to see someone flying past.  It looked like my friend, Tinder Willowtree.  I had known her for as long as I could remember, and maybe then some, but it had been awhile since I had seen her.  However, I knew Willowtree was busy with the visit from her grand-niece and nephew — the Opal siblings.  It seemed odd that I had seen the Opal sibs headed in the opposite direction only moments before.

I waved and Willowtree gently settled to earth.  She had a hopeful look in her eyes.

“Have you seen Moonglow and Stargazer?  They should be around here somewhere,” Willowtree asked as she repeatedly looked at a plate-sized piece of black obsidian.

The children seemed to have a combination of exuberance and curiosity.  It had to be difficult to keep up with them.

“I got a glimpse of them a moment ago.  It looked like they were headed for home,” I replied and Willowtree huffed an annoyed sounding breath.  “Don’t worry, they looked fine.  I have a hunch they were spying on Skypainter Morning,” I added and her eyebrows went up, but her mouth slowly turned to a smile.  “He was at the reflection pool, experimenting on his solstice spectacle.  He had a couple of, shall we say flashy setbacks.”

Willowtree chuckled before saying, “Well, they aren’t that late.  I guess I can take it easy on them.  I’m sure watching Skypainter blow up something was irresistible to them.”

It was ironic that Willowtree should be out trying to find the kids.  She had such a talent for bringing people together.  Athletes in need of someone to fill a spot on a team, craftsmen wanting an apprentice, musicians looking for partners, they all came to Willowtree.  In fact, she was responsible for arranging for Holly Songbird and her group Dragon’s Nest to perform at the Midsummer party Peaches Dragonfly was going to hold.

She looked at that unusual piece of black obsidian again.  Abruptly a fond smile came to her lips.  I asked what it was.  The gemstone slice was bright and reflective, but I could tell it wasn’t an ordinary scrying mirror.

Reflections refract erik-eastman-267511

Erik Eastman, Unsplash

“Oh, you’ll love this.  Fleur and I have been working on it,” she said, meaning her husband, Fleur Moonglow.  “Fleur calls it a finder.  Take a look.”

She handed me the obsidian. Where I expected to see my own reflection, I saw multiple pieces, like a broken mirror.  Then the parts started to move and an image melded together.  I watched as the Opal sibs quietly entering the back door of their grand-aunt’s house.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” I exclaimed.  “It lets you see where they are?”

“In a manner of speaking, but it’s a little more complicated than that, and not always exact,” she explained.  “For instance, even though you saw them getting home just now, it didn’t pinpoint where they were here.  I would have flown right past if I hadn’t seen you wave.  It’s still pretty great though,” she added with a grin.

“That’s still hugely impressive,” I told her.  “How does it work?”

“Naturally it needs a little magic.  It also needs whoever I’m looking for to wear a medallion that’s been attuned to the ‘finder’ — otherwise it’s not much more than an ordinary scrying mirror.  And that of course, would need the talents of a seer,” Willowtree told me.

The finder had gone almost dark.  It held a dim view of Fleur standing on their front porch lighting a lantern.  My friend’s face became serious as she looked from the obsidian to me.

“It only shows me Fleur because of our bond.  He’s left the medallions on the children to make sure I could know they’ve gotten home.  But you, Bedlam…  You have the gift.  Even though you don’t think there’s any magic in what you do, you are a seer.  I know you wanted the school to bring out another talent in you.  And maybe you think there’s no longer any hope for that, since you got suspended before even your freshman term was finished.  But that part of your life doesn’t have to be over,” Willowtree told me, but I could tell she hadn’t gotten to her point.

“I know your visions come to you unbidden,” she continued.  “But I believe you will eventually be able to master them.  I’m certain of it,” she stated and smirked at my eye-roll of denial.  “Okay, it might take some time.  Measure that in years, not weeks.  Bedlam you might even be able to do things like this,” she said, holding up the finder.  “But if your gift grows the way I believe it will, you won’t need a finder or any other special magic enhanced device.  I know it, Bedlam.  Whatever else you do or don’t do, you can’t keep believing that your abilities are limited to frightening visions,” she stated emphatically.

Willowtree’s forceful words left me speechless.  I couldn’t think of a response.  After extracting a quick promise from me that we would get together soon, Willowtree zipped into the sky. 

Sunrise

Photo by Kirt Tisdale

As I watched her fly away, I suddenly wondered if Skypainter Morning could glean any inspiration from the finder for his moving vision idea.

I looked up at the twinkling sky.  Soon the stars would be in alignment for Midsummer.  An inexplicable chill traveled down my spine.

***

End Episode 4

Do you get the feeling that something unexpected might happen with Skypainter Morning’s moving vision creation?  I think we’ll eventually come back to that.  Be sure to fly back next time because we’ll have a special visit from A Pug in the Kitchen.  Until then, mega hugs!

Percy Tie pug hill

Percy

 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. 

Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise. 

 

 

At the Wall Gallery and on The Radio — Meet Kirt and Hank

Today I’m pleased to introduce you to two pos-i-lutely fantastic guys — Kirt Tisdale and Hank Hertz!  It was my great pleasure to be a guest at the Wall Gallery, Kirt’s blog, The Wall Gallery There you will find his inspiring collection of art and photography.  

Thanks to Kirt for working with me on this joint post!  It’s already live at his blog, so forgive me for another rerun if you’ve already been there.  Many of you have already visited there.  Thank you so much!  If you haven’t already seen this post, thank you as well — for being here.

I never managed to move to Arizona in real life, but I had a great virtual visit with Kirt. Let me hand things over to him now.  Kirt, the stage is yours.

Writer Inspires Artist – Artist Inspires Writer or On The Radio – Meet Hank

I could call this week’s post – “The Art of Visualization: The Key Element to Writing, Art and Photography”, but the result of that ability is “On The Radio – Meet Hank”.  I’m doing a joint collaboration with one of my favorite authors, Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene. One of my most consistent comments to her after reading her writing is: “I love it…I am instantly pulled in because I can visualize everything you are writing about.”  

When she asked me to do this joint post, her request was simple: “Go through your art and photography portfolio and send me a picture that you would like to have me weave into one of my novels.”  

I narrowed it down to Cedar Rapids Barn because this capture of an old dilapidated barn created a visualization of a rural setting and the mystery surrounding the structure (side note: I was driving on the outskirts of Cedar Rapids, Iowa in the heavily wooded hills along the river when I spotted this structure nestled in the trees. Of course I had to stop…hike into the woods and take some shots with my camera). So with that, I would like to turn it over to the star of this visualization, Teagan. 

What a fantastic introduction!  I’m not sure I can live up to it… So I’ll call on Donna Summer to build some excitement first! 

3-things-cover_3-2016

From his wonderful collection, Kirt chose the image above, Cedar Rapids Barn.  I let it spontaneously lead me to the story below.

As you probably expected, this tale is set in the Roaring Twenties world of my flapper character, Paisley Idelle Peabody, aka Pip.  (For more about Pip, see The Three Things Serial Story click here.)

Today meet Hank Hertz.  This vignette is part of Hank’s backstory.  He’s a young man Pip will meet when she is sent to live in Savannah, Georgia with her grandmother.  However, this vignette takes place at some point not too long before Pip arrives there, so she is not in this story.

On the Radio — Meet Hank

No harm in trying one more time, Hank Hertz thought as he stacked all manner of electronic components on the counter.

“Hi, Mr. Hardscrabble,” Hank mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact with the hardware store’s proprietor.

“Hank, I already told you.  Your ma told me not to sell you any of this gadgetry tomfoolery.  You might as well put all that stuff back on the shelves, son.”

Hardscrabble put a hand to his balding head in a frustrated gesture.  He found his spectacles there and smiled because he’d forgotten where he put them.  However, he brightened when the door opened.  One of “Savannah’s finest,” Detective Dabney Daniels strolled into Hardscrabble Hardware.  His finely chiseled features remained neutral, but he raised an eyebrow at the tableau at the counter.

“Now get on with you, boy.  Put everything back.  I can’t take your money,” the store owner repeated before turning to a real customer.  “That boy gets more like his granddaddy every day.  Detective, what can I do for you?”

1928 Detroit police radio Blue

“No need to rest on formality, Homer.  I can’t find my flashlight, so I’m here for another one,” the detective replied then looked sheepish.  “Go ahead and laugh about things going missing at a police station.  I can tell you’re holding it back.”

Hank watched the exchange between the tall detective and the portly shopkeeper as he reluctantly made trips from the sales counter back to the shelves.  He could have carried more things at one time, but he delayed the inevitable, hoping Mr. Hardscrabble would change his mind.  As he picked up a few more items to return to the shelf, the detective stopped him.

“What is all that stuff, son?  If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were building a ham radio.  Or at least intended to before Homer shut you down.”

For a moment Hank’s face lit up at the mention of his passion — all things electronic, especially radios.  He looked dejectedly at his feet.

“Momma wants me to study law.  She says electronics and inventions are a distraction.  She even said they were toys!”

“So all the old fogies are conspiring against you, huh?  Well, you’d better ankle all that stuff back where it came from, like Homer told you.”

***

1920 Radio News

After supper Hank got an armload of books and headed out the kitchen door.  His mother looked at the heavy tomes and gave a satisfied nod.  Hank knew she was watching from the window above the sink as he walked to the little red barn.  Vines of Cherokee roses ran riot over the building.  The Hertz family used the barn for storage, but Hank made it his personal spot to study or just hang out.  He also had a workbench tucked in one corner where he discretely kept his radio equipment.

The horizon blazed red with sunset when Hank slipped out of the barn.  He pedaled the motorized bicycle he had made until he was far enough away that his parents wouldn’t hear the noise of the motor.  Dusk descended as he rode into town.

Hank didn’t pay any attention to the dark Ford parked on the corner, or to the fact that someone sat inside it.  He rode down the alley and came up behind Hardscrabble Hardware.  The back door was locked, but he found a window he could open.  He took his flashlight and climbed into the store.

He knew exactly where to find everything he wanted.  So it didn’t take Hank long to gather all the electronics he tried to buy that afternoon.  He stood at the sales counter and added up all the prices.  He figured the tax.  Then he left the full amount of the purchase, plus two cents, because he didn’t have enough pennies to leave the exact change.

Putting everything into his bag, Hank turned toward the back of the shop.  It felt like an electric charge shot from his neck down his arm when he heard a cough behind him.  Hank jerked around to face the sound.

1920 Victoria motorcycle ad

The boy thought he’d lose everything he ate for supper when he saw the police detective standing there, arms folded.

“So you actually broke into the store and paid for the things Homer wouldn’t sell you?  Son, I don’t know what to make of that.”

Hank stumbled back a step.  He wanted to run, but the copper knew who he was and where he lived.  Besides, Hank had a pretty good idea that those long legs could catch up with him before he got to his bicycle.  His breath caught in his throat.  Hank couldn’t have spoken even if he’d known what to say.

The detective closed the distance to the counter in a single step.  He pointed his new flashlight to the paper where Hank had added up his purchase.  Then he pursed his lips as he thought.  He stared at Hank as if he could see every fib the boy had ever told.  Hank gulped.

“Where’d you get the money for this stuff, son?  Allowance?  Money for odd jobs?”

Hank only nodded, still unable to talk.  Finally he found his voice and croaked out a reply.  “It’s my money sir.  Fair and square.  I wouldn’t steal anything.”

“I guess I’m going to have to have a talk with your parents,” Dabney Daniels said, slowly shaking his head.

Poor Hank felt like he might sink through the floor, right then and there.  His knees felt weak.

“But this,” the copper motioned at Hank’s bag full of stuff.  “I don’t see as any law has really been broken.  After all, I walked in through the front door, which was unlocked.  I know Homer leaves through the back door and forgets to lock the front.  But being as you’re here, I assume he left it open for you.”

Hank gazed at Daniels in wide eyed confusion.

“Besides, I hate doing paperwork.  If you had actually broken into this store, I’d have to haul you to the station and spend the rest of the night writing up the report.  I do have to talk to your parents though,” he added causing Hank to sink further.

The young man managed a groan.

“You know, I really need an intern down at the station.  I think your mother will see that working for me would be a good learning experience for a future lawyer.  In a way, that’s where law starts isn’t it?  With the police?  Meanwhile you can put your talent with radio gadgetry to use.  How does that sound?”

The end

***

And so Savannah’s youngest policeman began his career.  If you want to know more about the other characters in Murder at the Bijou, Three Ingredients-I, click here.  Thanks for reading.  Mega hugs!

 

Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.