September 6, 2001

Cash Returns

by Joshua Carden

 It’s me again, Cash J. Endor.  C.J to my friends, “that detective guy” to my acquaintances, and I’m afraid I can’t share with you what my enemies call me.  I’ve had some hair-raising adventures in my time, but today I’m going to describe one that takes the cake.  And if it’s going to get away with MY cake, you know it HAS to be good!  It all started back sometime last millennium…

The candles on the table flickered with a soft gleam.  The pleasant sound of clinking silverware mixed with pleasant conversation filled the air and served to drown out the thunderstorm brewing outside (It rains a lot in my town).   The aroma of the meatloaf in the center of the table filled our nostrils.  I sighed.  There were few dining experiences that I enjoyed more than a dinner party at the Judge’s house.  I normally stay clear of formal dinner parties – they don’t let me wear my trenchcoat and fedora indoors.  But this was a special occasion.   Judge Jose N. Renard and his wife Sarah were celebrating the birth of their first child, a daughter.  The Judge was well-respected in the community for his detached, well-reasoned jurisprudence and his legendary ability to beat any and all comers in a round of Bible trivia.  Local legend has it that the copy of the 10 Commandments hanging in his courtroom were won in a judicial Bible trivia contest sponsored by Chief Justice Roy Moore himself. 

Anyway, the Judge and his wife had invited a few of their friends to join them for dinner exactly one month after their daughter’s birth.  I was happy to be numbered among them, and not just because it was dinner.  I looked around the table at my dining companions.  There was Colonel T.M. Stonewall, with his great red goatee reaching almost to his soup bowl.  An ardent civil war buff, Colonel Stonewall never failed to bring a blue/gray hue to any conversational palette.  On the other side of the table sat Miss Scarlet Rose, who always reminded me of a Jane Austen novel waiting to happen.  Quite the literary, Miss Rose routinely bested my crossword scores, much to my chagrin (unless the question involved C.S. Lewis).    Earl from Earl’s Used Autos was there with his family.  The only stranger was a funny little man seated at the Judge’s left.  The detective in me, always lurking near the surface, began trying to place him.   I was too far away to strike up a conversation, so I began to listen in on Miss Rose’s conversation with him.  So I’m nosy.  I’m a detective, whaddya expect? 

“So, Mr. Smith, what line of work are you in?” “Ah, Mees Rose, what does anyone do zees days?”  Hmm.  A dodge.  Miss Rose tried again, “But surely you must have some specialty?  It would be most incongruous to dress as a gentleman and not retain a comparable work ethic.”  “Mees Rose, you are zee most perceptive young lady!  I see zat zere is, how you say? No pulling of the leg.  I will tell all…”  He stood up and lightly tapped his glass with his spoon.   Colonel Stonewall broke off his account of Lee’s surrender at Appomattox as we all turned and watched the little man rise to his feet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am a stranger among you,” he began.  “Even zee Judge has only known me for a few hours.   I came to heem on urgent beezness and he graciously invited me to stay for deener.”  He paused for effect. “As you may have guessed, I am not from zees country.”  Thank you, Captain Obvious.  I choked back a chuckle, not daring to look at the Judge’s wife who shares my twisted sense of humor.  “When I deescovered zat tonight was a celebration for zee birth of the young baby, I felt zee need to offer a geeft.”  He solemnly took a small package from his jacket pocket.  “I have journeyed far to ask zee Judge his advice about zees package, but now I feel zat I should give it to heem on behalf of hees daughter.” 

He turned towards the Judge who began to rise from his seat.  As he did so, lightning flashed outside.  The little man started, his eyes widening.  “The Queen!” he yelled, pointing out the window.  I whipped around and saw a dark silhouette disappearing around the side of the house.  I leapt from my seat and charged out the door. I saw a dark sedan racing away from the house. Too late!   As I watched the retreating taillights, I was struck with two realizations: First, I wasn’t wearing my customary trenchcoat and was therefore getting soaked; second, the car had its license plates covered so there was nothing to trace.  I decided that discretion was the better part of dryness and returned inside. 

As I entered, the little man was still looking out the window.  The other guests were still too startled to react.  Just as I re-entered the room, the little man vacantly muttered “We’ll always have Paris” and collapsed.  That seemed to spur folks into action.  Earl leapt to his feet, “I know CPR.”   Miss Rose was right behind him, ready to help out.  Earl bent down and put his ear to the man’s chest.   He looked puzzled.   As he straightened up and began to speak, Miss Rose pointed and exclaimed “There’s something around his neck!”  Earl reached down and pulled a small necklace with a medallion from under the man’s collar.  He turned the medallion over and read the inscription.  He began to laugh.  “It’s okay, folks, this man suffers from narcolepsy.  He’s just sleeping!”  “That’s a relief,” said the Judge dryly, “I was wondering how I was going to explain all this.”  I looked at the little man who was now snoring heavily.  “Let’s move him to the couch in the other room,” I suggested.  After Earl and I placed him on the couch, we returned to the dining room.  The rest of the guests were clustered around Sarah Renard, who was opening the package the little man had started to present to the Judge.  She gasped as the last of the wrapping fell to the floor.  In her hands was an small, ornately carved, golden harp.  “It’s so heavy,” she said in wonder, “Could it be real gold?” She turned it over.  “There’s something inscribed on the bottom.”  “What does it say?” asked the Judge.  Sarah squinted at the tiny lettering: “It says…‘the Queen of Paris’”  She looked up, “Do you suppose this belonged to the Queen of Paris?”  She handed the harp to me.  It certainly appeared to be pure gold.  The little man’s final actions and words came back to me.  “He did have an accent, and he did say something about Paris before he…he fell asleep,”  I reminded everybody.  “But France hasn’t had a queen in years!” objected the Colonel.  “And queens don’t come skulking around houses driving suspicious cars,” I added, explaining what I had seen outside.  “Well, it’s a mystery all right,” said the Judge, “and I for one won’t be at ease until someone figures this out.”  I handed the harp back to Sarah and looked up to find all eyes upon me.  Ah, the joys of being a detective.  I swallowed hard and laughed nervously, “Heh heh, Paris, here I come.  Can it wait until dessert is over?” 

Part II

We rejoin Cash J. Endor as he pursues the sole lead in the case so far: an inscription on a small golden harp that seems to indicate Paris.  

“Would you like some juice, sir?”  I tipped my hat back to see a smiling flight attendant with the drink cart standing over me.   I started to say “yes,” but somewhere between my synapses and my vocal chords, the syllable turned into an affirmative grunt.  Jet lag is a killer!  As I sipped my juice, I tried to force my train of thought to get up a full head of steam.  I ran down what I had on the case so far. 

“1.  A funny little Frenchman gives the Judge what is apparently a solid gold harp.”  I wished I had kept it closer to me, but I had placed it in my one suitcase for safety reasons.   I had threatened the young man behind the ticket counter with eternal recriminations should my baggage be misplaced.  I think he probably put it on the plane himself. “2. Funny little Frenchman falls asleep after saying ‘the Queen’ and ‘Paris.’”  Unfortunately, the narcoleptic little guy hadn’t waked up yet.  The doctor that examined him told us that stress can often heighten the effects of narcolepsy.   That man must have been plenty stressed – it had been three days since that dinner party!  “3. The Judge asks me to go to France to trace the harp since all clues are pointing there.”  Oh yeah, that’s why I am on this plane.  My train of thought got derailed by the captain’s voice on the loudspeaker “Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts, return your trays and seat backs to the upright position…”

Whew, what a flight.  I stood, stretched my wobbly legs, and headed for the baggage claim.  A swirl of French chatter surrounded me.  I wished for Uncle Mike, my friend the restauranteur.  He spoke French like a native – except for the thick American accent of course. I wasn’t so fortunate.  I had brought my foreign language dictionary with me, but I hadn’t gotten too far in my studies.  I was able to tell a shoe salesman that his uncle Victor had sold me his dresser, but that was about it.  As I waited for my bag, I leaned up against the wall.  Next to me was an accordion player with a small cup in front of him to collect his daily bread.  I dropped a few coins in the cup and he started to play.  I hadn’t figured out the exchange rate yet, so I might have given him enough francs to buy a Ferrari.  But the music was nice so it was worth it.  My bag appeared just as he concluded his song.  I clapped politely and decided to test the culture barrier. “Hey, how do you get three accordion players to play in tune?”  He stared at me blankly.   “Shoot two of them!”  He didn’t laugh.  Oh well, I was used to that. 

  As I grabbed my bag, I surreptitiously checked for the harp.  Sure enough it was still there.  I had mapped out a plan of attack.  One of my old detective buddies had given me the name of the top three jewelers in Paris.  It was as good a starting place as any.  I hailed a taxi and headed for the store nearest the airport.   I arrived, paid the cabbie and entered the shop.  A small bell rang as I pushed open the door.  A young man came from a room behind the counter.  “Ah, you are American?” he said in English with only the faintest accent.  His tone made the question more of a statement.  “Why yes, how could you tell?” I asked.  “Because you came in although the sign says ‘closed’ in French.”   I rather sheepishly apologized and hastily assured him I wasn’t there to shop.  “I’m only here to see if you can identify something.”  I unwrapped the harp and handed it over.  “Have you seen one of these before?”  The young man hefted the harp.  He shook his head, “No, I haven’t…but let me call my uncle – he’s the real expert.  Uncle Victor!”  I started to ask if his Uncle Victor had a dresser for sale, but checked myself just in time.  The French just didn’t seem to appreciate my brand of humor.   An older man came out from behind the counter.  His eyes fell upon the harp in the young man’s hand.  “Where deed you get zat?” He demanded.  “From this gentleman…”  the young man started to reply.   “Well, geeve eet back!” the man snapped, “And you, monsieur, get out of my shop!”  I took the harp and started backing up. “Look, mister, is something wrong?  I just wanted to find out if you know where this came from?”  The old man had turned away, but he looked back for just a moment. “You’re from America, aren’t you?”  I nodded wordlessly.  “Well, you never should have left.  Au revoir.”  He left the room.  The young man shrugged and followed him.  I could hear a hurried conversation in French as the door closed behind them.  I decided I could take a hint, and I moved out into the street.   As I started walking, I tried to figure out the old man’s last cryptic remark.  Why would he care about this particular harp?  I turned the harp over in my hands.    “The Queen of Paris….The Queen of Paris…”  A few passersby looked at me strangely.  I was used to that too.  I walked a few more feet, er, meters.  Can’t get used to the metric system.  I bumped into a blonde coming from the other direction.  I tipped my hat, and said “excuse me,” but she swept on by.  I kept moving and examining the harp.  Suddenly, I stopped cold. Something about the way the light caught the inscription drew my eye.   It appeared as if part of it had been worn away, or even purposely removed.  I squinted at the harp, turning it this way and that.  “Note to self” I muttered, “be a real detective and carry a magnifying glass next time!”  I could see what appeared to be part of a T a short space after the “s” in “Paris.”   Hmmm….Paris T…

My attention was diverted by the realization that someone was following me – walking when I walked and stopping when I stopped.  I tried to play it cool and catch a glimpse of the person in the glass of the shop next to us, but the person was too far back.  Interesting.   Remembering the skulking figure outside the Judge’s house, I wondered if they might be after the harp.  I still didn’t know why; but, in the meantime, I wasn’t going to let the harp out of my sight.  I moved down the street a few more paces and then suddenly darted just in front of an oncoming double-decker tour bus.  I ran quickly down the other side of the street and sat down at a small sidewalk café, removing my hat and coat.  I hid behind a menu and listened as running footsteps passed quickly by the restaurant without stopping.  I heaved a sigh of relief and lowered the menu…to meet the eyes of a young French couple seated across from me.  They looked a bit apprehensive, so I grinned at them and rubbed my stomach.  “Gosh, I’m hungry.  Do you suppose I can find some french fries without Mayonnaise around here?”  They stared blankly.  “Great. Well. Just talk amongst yourselves then. Hey, I’ll give you a topic.  Instant Messenger is neither instant nor a messenger.”   I realized that this was going to get nowhere so I finally got up, intending to head for the next jeweler.   My pursuer seemed to have lost me. 

As I passed by the Arc d’Triumph, a middle-aged woman caught my sleeve.  “Excuse me, sir, but would you take our picture?”  I smilingly acquiesced.  After I snapped the photo, I handed the camera back and asked “Where are you from?”  “Oh, we’re from Rome, Georgia…” she started to reply when it clicked.  “Rome….Paris….that’s it!”  I grabbed her hand, “Thanks a million!”  I turned and ran for the airport.  As I arrived, I arranged with the ticket counter to try to get listed standby for the next plane to America.   As I waited, I decided to call the Judge with my discovery.  The phone rang twice and then he picked up.  “Judge? This is C.J.!”  “Hello, C.J.  Boy, have we got news for you!” He sounded excited.  He continued, “Listen, that French fellow woke up and started talking.  Guess what he told us first…?”  I was way ahead of him: “That I’m on the wrong continent!  Don’t worry, I’m on my way back.”

Part III

Cash J. Endor has realized his mistake with the harp’s inscription and is taking steps to return to America as soon as possible.

 As I waited in the gate area to see if I was going to make my stand-by flight to America, I chided myself for being so hasty.  “Note to self,” I muttered, “Use a magnifying glass before you buy a transoceanic plane ticket based on a harp inscription.”   Then I reconsidered my self-note.  What are the odds?  I mean, really, how many time would THIS ever happen again?  As soon as I took that family’s picture, that woman had cleared up the whole thing.  Just like there is more than one Rome, there is more than one Paris.  Rather than Paris, France, I should be in Paris, Texas.  I sighed, shook my head, and continued my efforts translating the funny papers into English using my little dictionary.  I tell you, “Peanuts” does not translate well AT ALL. 

I heard a slight commotion at the ticket counter and I looked up.  A blonde woman was whispering frantically with the ticket agent.  For some reason, I had the feeling that they had been looking at me just before I glanced up.  I surreptitiously looked down to see if I had stains on my coat or any other major fashion faux paus.  Hey, the French is kicking in after all!  Spying nothing, I returned to my paper.  Something tugged at my memory. Frowning, I looked back up to see the blonde woman moving away from the area.  I thought back to the blonde woman outside the jewelry shop, then the unseen person who had followed me down the street.  Come on, C.J., if you get any more suspicious, you’ll start accusing your pocket from stealing from your wallet!  Thankfully, I resisted the urge to pull my wallet out and check. 

Just then, the ticket agent called my name.  “Here you go, Mr. Endor, have a nice flight.”  I was pleased that they were able to get me a seat on the plane: “Dallas, here I come!”  I settled into my chair and began to work on the airline magazine’s crossword before take-off.  Right before the door closed, the same blonde woman from the ticket counter appeared in the cabin. I tried to ignore the little warning in my head, but it was no use.  I was convinced she was following me.  She didn’t look my way as she eased into her seat a few rows ahead of me, but I had the feeling she knew exactly where I was.   Uneasily, I fell asleep, grateful that the harp was safely in the belly of the plane. 

I awakened in time to hear the pilot reading off the weather report for Dallas.  I ignored it, simply for the fact that the forecast in Texas rarely changes: Sunny. Hot. Dry.  After the landing, the passengers moved to the baggage claim. I managed to surreptitiously keep an eye on the blonde woman as she surreptitiously kept an eye on me.  I wasn’t sure exactly what her interest was, but if it was in the harp then obviously that harp had some significance.   She got her bag first and moved toward the door.  I decided that maybe I had been imagining things all along.   When my bag arrived, I headed out the door, intending to proceed to the rental car counter. 

As I moved down the walkway, a white unmarked van with tinted windows pulled up alongside me.  I looked over in time to see the side door open and the blonde woman gesturing to me with a small pistol.  “Get in,” she said.  Unfortunately, there was no one nearby to notice my abduction, and I had no bread crumbs to pull a Hansel and Gretel.  I weighed the options for a minute.  She cocked the pistol.  The options suddenly evaporated into a single choice: I got in the van.   “Well, it’s not my usual limo, but I guess it’ll do.”   I sat down in the van, and the blonde woman immediately put a blindfold around my head.  “So what’s your name?” I asked, “My mom told me never to ride with strangers.”  Someone in the front of the van (presumably the driver) let out a snort.  “You can call me ‘E’” said the woman in a voice that let me know she wasn’t amused.  “Okay, E,” I responded cheerfully, “so what time are we getting to Paris?  I’m sure the Queen must be waiting.”  It was a long shot, but I was hoping to elicit a response.  I wasn’t disappointed.  “Shut up,” E ordered, “You’ll get there soon enough!”   Well, I had my answer.  One of them anyway.   Unfortunately, I now had a new host of questions!

We rode in silence for the rest of the trip.  I managed to eliminate most of the schemes that presented themselves to get me out of my situation.  Sadly, most of them involved the gun being in MY hand instead of hers, and NONE of them involved having the blindfold over my eyes.  I decided to wait and see what they wanted with me and the harp, which I assumed was the reason they chose to kidnap me.  I mean, it’s not like I have really expensive-looking luggage worth stealing.  The woman calling herself “E” spoke only once.  “Radio ahead and tell her we’re coming.”  I could only assume she meant the Queen.  

We arrived in Paris, Texas just after dark.  E removed my blindfold and instructed me to exit the van.  She directed me toward what looked like an abandoned farmhouse.  All was dark as we moved toward the door.  “I hope somebody brought the kerosene lanterns,” I offered helpfully.  E ignored me and unlocked the front door.  As we stepped inside, I heard the door close and then a “click” as an inner door opened.  I found myself in a room blazing with light, completely unseen from the outside.  I looked around and realized that all windows had been completely blacked out to disguise the interior.  The room itself was staffed with several people busy at different computers and communication devices around the room.  I took all this in at a glance because E was rapidly propelling me to a small room in the back.   Inside was a small table and two chairs.   The ever stoic E gestured meaningfully with her gun “Sit down.”   After I sat, she took a length of rope and bound me to the chair.  Then she moved toward the door.  “You go ahead, I’ll wait here,” I said cheerfully. 

I didn’t have long to wait.  It WAS long enough for me to wonder exactly who these people were, and what they wanted me for, and what they wanted the harp for.  After a few minutes, the door open and E reentered the room followed by a trim brunette who was carrying the small golden harp.  I decided to make a confident showing.  “Good evening, your majesty” I stood and made a mock bow.  E rolled her eyes.  The woman who could only be the Queen cocked an eyebrow.  “At ease, Mr. Endor.”  At a meaningful look from E, I decided that sitting down was good.  The Queen sat down across from me as E stood guard at the door.   “And now, Mr. Endor, would you like to explain why you are carrying these?”  As she spoke, she plucked three strings of the harp in an odd pattern.  With a click, the base of the harp opened and a roll of bills fell out.   The Queen unrolled the bills, as I leaned forward.  The bills, approximately twenty in quantity,  were all of the highest franc denomination available in Paris.  Paris, France, that is.  I gasped.  I looked up to see the Queen eyeing me intently.  “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’ve never seen these bills before?”  I nodded.  “I suppose you’re also going to tell me that you don’t know these bills are counterfeit?” I nodded again, still shocked at the amount of (apparently fake) money that I’d been carrying around with me.  Her eyes bored into me.  “Mr. Endor, I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but you are in a whole lot of trouble!”

Part IV

 Cash J. Endor has just been shown a large quantity of counterfeit bills concealed in the base of the golden harp.  We join him as he tries to convince the Queen that his involvement with the harp was quite by accident.         

“So, what ARE you going to tell me?” she asked pointedly.  I spoke quickly, stumbling a bit: “I’m a divate protective, er, a private detective.  My involvement with the harp is entirely accidental!”  Starting with the little Frenchman at the Judge’s house, I related the story as it had happened so far.   Her face was inscrutable.  When I got to my abduction by E at the airport, she stopped me with a wave of her hand, “Mr. Endor, either you are a very good actor, or you’re telling the truth.”  “I have NO acting skills,” I assured her, “Let me put it this way, at my first church play, I played the Good Samaritan’s donkey!”  Her lips twitched as she attempted to hide a smile.  She looked at E.  “Make the call,” she ordered.  E immediately left the room.  “Where is she going?” I asked.  “Never you mind,” the Queen said dryly.  “Now, Mr. Endor, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.  If you’re telling the truth, then you can be trusted with this secret.  If you’re not….well, you won’t have the chance to tell anyone!”  This sounded ominous, so I straightened up in my chair and tried to look as honest as possible.  “Mr. Endor, I work for the United States Government.”  I blinked.  “During the last several months, I have succeeded in infiltrating a counterfeiting ring that has been transporting fake French bills from Paris, France, and exchanging them here where American banks have a tougher time discerning the counterfeits from the real thing.”  I was impressed by the cleverness of the concept.  “That ‘little Frenchman’, as you call him, was one of the chief couriers for the organization, but in recent days I learned that he desired to get out of the business.”  “Good for him,” I said hastily, “I knew I liked him.”  She ignored my interruption and went on, “I convinced the ringleaders that I could be the new courier, and that harp with my name on it was to be my first job.  My REAL intention was to approach the little Frenchman to get him to testify against the other members of the organization.  Unfortunately, that night at the Judge’s house, he saw me watching the house and thought I was out to replace him on…shall we say, a more permanent basis.”  Listening to her, I could understand why the Frenchman had collapsed.  She appeared ruthless enough to accomplish his (and my) elimination without batting an eyelash.  Nothing prissy about this one.  “When you took the harp back to France, I was afraid that you were part of the ring and wanted to keep the little Frenchman from leaving the organization with the harp.  I assigned E to follow you and see if the harp left your possession.”  I thought back to my pursuer from the jewelry shop.  “She did well,” I said nonchalantly, “I didn’t spot her until the Paris airport.”  I felt the need to justify my observation skills a bit, since I hadn’t figured any of the rest out.  “Since you didn’t leave the harp in France, we thought you might have another reason for going.  E is checking on that now.”   She stopped.   “I have a question,” I decided to risk one.  She looked up.  “How did you know that I had ended up with the harp?”  She laughed, “Remember the car you saw leaving the Judge’s house?”  I nodded.  “Well, that was E.  She left to, shall we say, ‘string’ you along.  I stayed right were I was outside the window after you went back inside!”   “Oh,” was all I managed to say, a bit crestfallen (and secretly amused at the harp joke).   I consoled myself by reminding myself that she was a government agent and well-trained at that sort of thing.   Just then, E reentered the room.  “He’s clean.”  She left again.  I could tell that we were never going to be best friends, E and I.  “Well, Mr. Endor,” the Queen said, “it looks as if you can be trusted after all.  I’m glad we didn’t have to take more drastic measures.  However, those measures can be revisited should you feel the need to discuss this evening’s conversation with anyone.”  She flashed me a brilliant smile, but I could tell she wasn’t kidding.  “What conversation?” I inquired with a blank stare.  “Perfect,” she said, “I see we understand each other.”  She gathered the bills and carefully replaced them in the harp.  “By the way, didn’t you play piano for John and Hannah Wilson’s wedding?”  I decided I wasn’t going to be shocked at anything that evening.  “Why, as a matter of fact, I did.  How did you know that?”  I didn’t really expect her to tell me, but she did.  “I was actually there,” she said a bit sheepishly, “Hannah is a distant cousin. You’re pretty good by the way.”  “Thanks.” I looked down, “Um, does that mean you’re going to untie me?”   She blinked. “Oh, uh, sure.  Sorry about that….”  She pulled a knife from somewhere, one that looked large enough to shave a elephant, and cut the ropes binding me to the chair.  I wobbled a bit as I stood.  “You know, I’m actually sorry about all this misunderstanding,” the Queen said apologetically, “Is there anyway I could make it up to you?  Coffee? Brownies?”  I guess if they knew I played piano, the chocolate weakness wouldn’t be too hard to discover.  “Oh, brownies are good.  Hey, where do secret agents learn how to cook?” I asked.  “The CIA,” she answered, “it really stands for Cooking In Action.”   Finally, someone with a sense of humor.  “So what is your name anyway?” I inquired.   “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.  MUHAHAHAHAHAHA!”  She danced away with a mocking laugh.  Remembering the knife, I decided not to press the issue.  I followed her outside.  As the door shut behind us, the house returned to its state of darkness.  The white van was there waiting.  “Well, Mr. Endor, it’s been a pleasure,” the Queen offered her hand and handed me a plate of brownies.   I shook the hand gravely.  “Likewise, your highness.”  “Oh stop it,” she said, “You just stay out of trouble.”  I started to get in the van.  “Mr. Endor?” I turned back.  “On the airplane, 15-down was ‘Moon River.’”  My jaw dropped, and so did my pride in my observation skills.  Before I could stutter a reply, she had disappeared back into the house.   “Note to self,” I muttered, “never, EVER, mess with that woman!”  I sat silently, munching on brownie, as the van took me back to the airport.  As I exited the vehicle, the van sped quickly away.   I rather vacantly looked around for a public telephone.  I found one and dialed the Judge’s house: “Hello, Judge?  This is C.J.!”  “C.J., m’boy, where have you been?”  I hesitated briefly, remembering the Queen’s warning, “Judge, it’s a long story, and unfortunately I can’t tell most of it.”  I was really hoping that the Judge would clue in.   I wasn’t disappointed.  “I see,” he said, “well, our little girl is probably going to prefer the piano over the harp anyway.”   “I heartily agree,” I responded, “harps are just pianos after taxes anyway!”   We shared a good laugh and I made arrangements to return home. 

Epilogue

 A few weeks later, I sat in my office, dinking around on the piano a bit.  I paused for a moment between bars and heard the faintest whisper of sound at the door.  I looked down in time to see a playing card slide face down under the door.  I walked over and picked it up.  It was the Queen of Clubs.   As I looked at the card, I noticed two words written in tiny letters at the bottom of the card: “It’s done.”  I decided not to check the door.  Instead, I took a pencil and scrawled “Congratulations, and thanks for the brownies,” on the other side.  I slid it back under the door, and went back to the piano.  As a gesture, I naturally began playing “Moon River.”  It was the least I could do.  They WERE good brownies after all.  I only hoped she was listening…

Case Closed