When I returned to the Flurfendorf estate, the evidence was right there, neatly piled up so I wouldn’t miss it. Mrs. Flurfendorf sat nervously on the sofa, a practiced look of remorse struggling to stay on her face. It was too perfect, too easy. When you’ve been in the gumshoe trade as long as I have, you can smell a decoy a mile up the block.
It only took one stray glance on her part to give the game away. I turned and realized Mrs. Flurfendorf had been playing me for a patsy the whole time, covering up to protect the real culprit, Mr. Flurfendorf. But now I had him boxed in, and it was crying time for both of them. At least they had plenty of tissue to dry their tears.
Too cute!
Now get the box off the dog’s head.
Nope, not me, it’s that guy. ???
Mike- you are a doll! 🙂 Your witty observations bring smiles to my face.
The glance.
The humiliation.
The laughs.
Priceless!
A Sam Spaded story. ;D
Are you sure it’s not Sam Spayed? (See how I fixed that?)
Yup!
Ok, got me! Laughed right out loud?
Mrs. Flurfendorf looks an awful lot like Ricky, who never met a tissue or paper napkin he didn’t like … to eat.
Busted. So Busted.