This story is by Valerie E. Nye and was part of our 2017 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the Spring Writing Contest stories here.
Penny, wearing black jeans and matching turtleneck, crouched on the floor attempting to open a can of white paint in the Tilson sisters’ high-ceilinged white dining room when it happened. Her cousin, Lola, balanced high atop a ladder in front of the closed double doors that led to the living room eyed the wall, searching her restoration work for touchup clues. A six-foot Michelangelo in painters’ whites, Lola waved an arm toward Penny. “You making noise down there, short stuff?”
“Only my happy humming,” Penny said, still struggling with the paint can lid. “My freelance career has finally taken off. I can wipe out all my credit card debt, save some money. Did I mention that the Washington Post wants my series on women with unusual occupations?” She paused to buff a spot on her favorite purple penny loafers.
“Only a thousand times on the way over here, cuz,” Lola said.
“No boring day job now. Devote all my time to writing. Only thing I’m any good at, really. And, hey, you will be the first profiled in the series, what with your business restoring ancient walls and historic edifices, must be like detective work. I love that. Do walls have ears, keep secrets?”
“Shhhh!” Lola said.
“What?”
“Didja hear something?”
“Well, no. It’s a big house. Tilsons are gone. Anyhow, you think I have a talent for writing?”
“Yeah, and talking,” Lola said. “The Tilsons said there would be no visitors until the Tea.”
“What Tea?”
“The Victorian Daze Tea this afternoon, some church fundraiser—told ya’.”
“Guess I’m giddy about my good luck, such a lucrative assignment. My series could become a book. That would make you famous and…”
“Don’t need fame, Penny
“Oh, people will want to know about your love of walls and, hey, when can I start interviewing you? How you got into this line of work is a mystery to me.”
“Not sure I want you to write about me,” Lola said. “Busy here with the living room, remember? My camera is set up to film the wall restoration step-by-step. Gonna use the video on my web site, maybe a teaching doc.”
Penny stood to her full five feet, opened her arms, and said, “That’s perfect! My Post piece will be great marketing for your business and…”
“Already booked up here in Northern Virginia. I don’t advertise. Never have.”
Penny knelt once more, picked up the closed paint can, checked for opening instructions. No luck, but when she put the can down, she spotted the hefty screw driver Lola had used. Penny laughed, “You’re definitely larger than life, and, obviously stronger. I love investigating other occupations, strange ones. It’s sleuthing, see…”
“Hush!” Standing on the ladder’s next-to-last top rung, Lola put her paint brush over her open can sitting on the ladder. She leaned an ear against the heavy double doors. “I definitely heard something!”
Below, Penny popped the paint can open and started to standup when her cell phone rang. Right then, the double doors burst open. Lola, tumbled to the floor, a white blur, followed by splattering paint, can, and brush, knocking over Penny holding the open can.
On their backs, the stunned, paint-speckled cousins gazed up at a strange intruder looking down at them, a young wide-eyed woman. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved white blouse, a full-length burgundy skirt with her hair done Gibson Girl style. “Oh, dear! Oh, my goodness!” Her voice quavered. “I didn’t mean to—I am so sorry. I thought the noise was my uncle and father playing one of their practical jokes. But—who are you?”
“What?” Lola shouted, rising upright, towering over the petite woman. “How’d you get in?”
“I beg your pardon,” the woman said, “This is my parents’ house.”
Penny, now standing, turned to Lola, “The Tilsons have children?”
“Nah, not even nieces or nephews,” Lola glanced through the open double doors to the living room. “Better not be any of my video equipment missing. I should call the police.”
Penny’s cell phone buzzed again. It was the second call from her editor at the Post. When she saw Lola’s grim look, she said, “I’ll take care of this later.”
“How rude,” the woman spoke to Lola, her pale face growing pink.
“We simply want to know who you are?” Penny said, wondering if this person might be mentally disturbed.
“I’m Mrs. Gilpin,” she said, scanning the room. “Where’s my family?”
“The Tilsons are at church,” Penny said, looking down, distracted now, wondering about the call, noting with relief there was no paint on her loafers.
“We were having a daguerreotype taken,” the woman said. “Then something happened.”
“Is that a period costume?” Penny said, her attention again on the mystery visitor.
“Probably some sort of scam artist, maybe escaped lunatic,” Lola huffed, tried to wipe paint from her hands and hair.
“If I were a detective, I’d say she looks Victorian.”
“If you’re Sher-Lock, she’s Loose-Hinge!” Disgusted, Lola threw down the paint rag she’d been using. “You better scram before Sarah and Her Honor the Mayor Elizabeth return.”
“How presumptuous!” She stamped a small high-buttoned shoe. “I’ll show you to the door.”
“That’s the limit! Look at the mess you caused, lady,” Lola said. “Why don’t I just throw her out, Penny?”
“You will not,” the trespasser protested, scurrying to the other side of the room, whirling around, standing with hands on hips.
“Wait, Lola! Maybe she’s come for the Tea.”
“Tea?” The woman’s face reddened. She wrung her hands, flustered.
“So, what’s she doin’ sneaking around the living room, cuz?” Lola heaved a sigh, frowned, picked bits of paint out of her dark curls.
“Obviously, she’s staying in character, see, for verisimilitude,” Penny said, pleased with her speculation. Her cell phone pinged a text from the Post editor. She automatically read it: Call NOW!
“Got a ‘tude, all right,” Lola made shooing motions with her hands toward the interloper. “Leave!”
“I say!” the peculiar lady said, touching the Wedgewood brooch at her throat.
“Just stop sayin’, hear me!” Lola snapped.
“Sorry, Lola, I have to make this call,” Penny said, already dialing her editor, then added, “The Tea’s a fundraiser so this Victorian lady is probably a re-enactor, you know, like at Williamsburg.” Her call answered, Penny listened while the editor transferred her to a new editor, who explained they had changed their minds and no longer wanted her pieces.
Just as Penny’s phone conversation ended, the sisters returned, Sarah announcing, “Hello, we’re back!” When they saw the tipped ladder, paint cans, and Lola in a hurry to bundle the messy drop cloth, the elderly pair chimed in unison, “What have we here?”
Penny began, gesturing “Uh, well, the surprise tea server launched an unexpected, thrilling entrance. This is…”
“Mrs. Elaine Gilpin—how do you do?” Elaine extended her hand to Elizabeth, then to Sarah.”
“Oh, the surprise from our caterer,” Sarah cocked her graying head. “Shall we go to the kitchen?”
Perplexed, Elaine smiled, and followed with a puzzled backward glance at Penny and Lola. Elizabeth said, “You two can put things to rights in here?’
“Sure, Mayor,” Penny said, “Lola’s hiring me as an apprentice, I hope.”
When Elizabeth had gone, Lola said, “What’s with that? I don’t want an apprentice.”
“Need a job,” Penny stooped to collect rags, tools on the floor. “The Post nixed my series. I was so counting on it. If I can’t assist you, I’ll have to check groceries. Such a life.”
“Something will come up,” Lola said, folding the ladder. “You can hustle other stories, sell the series elsewhere. Anyway, I gotta pick up some materials. I’ll come back, get you after the Tea. Cheer up, short stuff. Get a ‘tude.”
After the Tea guests left, Penny confided to the Tilsons about losing her assignment. They commiserated, said it was an unhappy surprise. The other surprise was that the caterer knew nothing about their Mrs. Gilpin. The sisters didn’t know what to do until Lola showed up. As mending walls required creative solutions, Lola suggested a social restoration technique to fix both problems.
“You should do this, Penny,” Lola urged, “It’ll help out the Tilsons, that weird woman, and you.”
“I’m not a detective—maybe they should call authorities, or…”
“Listen, Penny, this tops writing about me and drywall. You know how to interview, research, investigate. Use all your talents.”
“As a private eye? But I need to make a living! Didn’t you hear me? The new editor killed my assignment. No moolah. Checking groceries will pay my bills.”
“I can spot you some dosh,” Lola said. A white paint spot remained on her cheek like a beauty mark.
“I can’t take your money.”
“Couldn’t help overhearing,” Elizabeth, stately in her navy tweed suit, said as she strolled into the kitchen with Sarah.
“I’m sorry, Mayor. I’m not in the private investigation business. Or any other business for that matter.”
“You’d be an excellent detective. Sarah and I want to hire you on retainer—your first clients. Right Sar?”
“Oh, indeed. We can’t turn this poor woman over to anyone, at least not until we know who she is. She seems harmless, very confused. She can stay here while you solve the mystery.” Besides, Sarah added, “Not much for me to do since I retired from teaching English.”
“Well…” Penny said, considering that she had no real options. The trio nodded approval.
“Do it, cuz. A windfall, right?” Lola said. “Unless you’d rather check groceries.” Lola winked at the Tilsons.
“Oh, you can write about it for our local paper, can’t she, Elizabeth?” Sarah said. “Our Mayor has pull.”
Beaming, Elizabeth added, “Our small town could use some excitement. I’ll draw up a simple contract for your detective services right away.”
“What about a name for business cards?” Sarah said. “I’ll order them.”
When had she agreed? Penny, though still uncertain, felt her hopes rising. She loved researching, people with old or new occupations, or with outlandish hobbies, quirky personalities. “Well—okay, but doesn’t it require more than business cards to make it official, a license or something?”
“Doubt it,” Elizabeth said. “But you can check.”
“I got it!” Lola said, grinning and waggling an index finger. “No Wall Too High—get it? I’ll paint you a sign, and underneath: Penny Notes, Soft-boiled Detective.”
They all laughed, except for Penny. She looked out the kitchen window where Elaine, whoever she was, sat on the nearby park bench, her head in her hands. Penny gestured for the Tilsons to look. Their expressions turned serious.
“We’ll go collect our guest,” Elizabeth said.
It’ll be dark soon,” Sarah added, as they traipsed in tandem out the back door.
Turning from the window to face Lola, Penny said, “Help me with this, okay?”
“Sure, cuz. Said I’d paint a sign,” Lola pulled a face.
“More than that. I might need a tall person sometimes,” Penny tried a high elbow to Lola’s ribs. “I hear detective work can get rough.”
“What? Short stuff can’t handle that?” Lola laughed.
“Exactly my point. You’ll be my capable assistant. We’ll have adventures, and I still want to interview you for that special feature and …”
“Do I have to?” Lola feigned a grimace, folded her arms.
“Yes, and we have to get busy. Not sure what to do first. I’ll come back here with you tomorrow to get us started.” Penny reached up to thwack Lola on a bicep.
“Hold on, I have work already, that living room wall, remember?” Lola said rubbing her arm.
“I’ll work with you on that, too, and…”
“Like you did this morning?” Lola shook her head.
“Look how good that turned out, Watson,” Penny shrugged, grinned. “I have a great life!”
###
Penny, wearing black jeans and matching turtleneck, crouched on the floor attempting to open a can of white paint in the Tilson sisters’ high-ceilinged white dining room when it happened. Her cousin, Lola, balanced high atop a ladder in front of the closed double doors that led to the living room eyed the wall, searching her restoration work for touchup clues. A six-foot Michelangelo in painters’ whites, Lola waved an arm toward Penny. “You making noise down there, short stuff?”
“Only my happy humming,” Penny said, still struggling with the paint can lid. “My freelance career has finally taken off. I can wipe out all my credit card debt, save some money. Did I mention that the Washington Post wants my series on women with unusual occupations?” She paused to buff a spot on her favorite purple penny loafers.
“Only a thousand times on the way over here, cuz,” Lola said.
“No boring day job now. Devote all my time to writing. Only thing I’m any good at, really. And, hey, you will be the first profiled in the series, what with your business restoring ancient walls and historic edifices, must be like detective work. I love that. Do walls have ears, keep secrets?”
“Shhhh!” Lola said.
“What?”
“Didja hear something?”
“Well, no. It’s a big house. Tilsons are gone. Anyhow, you think I have a talent for writing?”
“Yeah, and talking,” Lola said. “The Tilsons said there would be no visitors until the Tea.”
“What Tea?”
“The Victorian Daze Tea this afternoon, some church fundraiser—told ya’.”
“Guess I’m giddy about my good luck, such a lucrative assignment. My series could become a book. That would make you famous and…”
“Don’t need fame, Penny
“Oh, people will want to know about your love of walls and, hey, when can I start interviewing you? How you got into this line of work is a mystery to me.”
“Not sure I want you to write about me,” Lola said. “Busy here with the living room, remember? My camera is set up to film the wall restoration step-by-step. Gonna use the video on my web site, maybe a teaching doc.”
Penny stood to her full five feet, opened her arms, and said, “That’s perfect! My Post piece will be great marketing for your business and…”
“Already booked up here in Northern Virginia. I don’t advertise. Never have.”
Penny knelt once more, picked up the closed paint can, checked for opening instructions. No luck, but when she put the can down, she spotted the hefty screw driver Lola had used. Penny laughed, “You’re definitely larger than life, and, obviously stronger. I love investigating other occupations, strange ones. It’s sleuthing, see…”
“Hush!” Standing on the ladder’s next-to-last top rung, Lola put her paint brush over her open can sitting on the ladder. She leaned an ear against the heavy double doors. “I definitely heard something!”
Below, Penny popped the paint can open and started to standup when her cell phone rang. Right then, the double doors burst open. Lola, tumbled to the floor, a white blur, followed by splattering paint, can, and brush, knocking over Penny holding the open can.
On their backs, the stunned, paint-speckled cousins gazed up at a strange intruder looking down at them, a young wide-eyed woman. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved white blouse, a full-length burgundy skirt with her hair done Gibson Girl style. “Oh, dear! Oh, my goodness!” Her voice quavered. “I didn’t mean to—I am so sorry. I thought the noise was my uncle and father playing one of their practical jokes. But—who are you?”
“What?” Lola shouted, rising upright, towering over the petite woman. “How’d you get in?”
“I beg your pardon,” the woman said, “This is my parents’ house.”
Penny, now standing, turned to Lola, “The Tilsons have children?”
“Nah, not even nieces or nephews,” Lola glanced through the open double doors to the living room. “Better not be any of my video equipment missing. I should call the police.”
Penny’s cell phone buzzed again. It was the second call from her editor at the Post. When she saw Lola’s grim look, she said, “I’ll take care of this later.”
“How rude,” the woman spoke to Lola, her pale face growing pink.
“We simply want to know who you are?” Penny said, wondering if this person might be mentally disturbed.
“I’m Mrs. Gilpin,” she said, scanning the room. “Where’s my family?”
“The Tilsons are at church,” Penny said, looking down, distracted now, wondering about the call, noting with relief there was no paint on her loafers.
“We were having a daguerreotype taken,” the woman said. “Then something happened.”
“Is that a period costume?” Penny said, her attention again on the mystery visitor.
“Probably some sort of scam artist, maybe escaped lunatic,” Lola huffed, tried to wipe paint from her hands and hair.
“If I were a detective, I’d say she looks Victorian.”
“If you’re Sher-Lock, she’s Loose-Hinge!” Disgusted, Lola threw down the paint rag she’d been using. “You better scram before Sarah and Her Honor the Mayor Elizabeth return.”
“How presumptuous!” She stamped a small high-buttoned shoe. “I’ll show you to the door.”
“That’s the limit! Look at the mess you caused, lady,” Lola said. “Why don’t I just throw her out, Penny?”
“You will not,” the trespasser protested, scurrying to the other side of the room, whirling around, standing with hands on hips.
“Wait, Lola! Maybe she’s come for the Tea.”
“Tea?” The woman’s face reddened. She wrung her hands, flustered.
“So, what’s she doin’ sneaking around the living room, cuz?” Lola heaved a sigh, frowned, picked bits of paint out of her dark curls.
“Obviously, she’s staying in character, see, for verisimilitude,” Penny said, pleased with her speculation. Her cell phone pinged a text from the Post editor. She automatically read it: Call NOW!
“Got a ‘tude, all right,” Lola made shooing motions with her hands toward the interloper. “Leave!”
“I say!” the peculiar lady said, touching the Wedgewood brooch at her throat.
“Just stop sayin’, hear me!” Lola snapped.
“Sorry, Lola, I have to make this call,” Penny said, already dialing her editor, then added, “The Tea’s a fundraiser so this Victorian lady is probably a re-enactor, you know, like at Williamsburg.” Her call answered, Penny listened while the editor transferred her to a new editor, who explained they had changed their minds and no longer wanted her pieces.
Just as Penny’s phone conversation ended, the sisters returned, Sarah announcing, “Hello, we’re back!” When they saw the tipped ladder, paint cans, and Lola in a hurry to bundle the messy drop cloth, the elderly pair chimed in unison, “What have we here?”
Penny began, gesturing “Uh, well, the surprise tea server launched an unexpected, thrilling entrance. This is…”
“Mrs. Elaine Gilpin—how do you do?” Elaine extended her hand to Elizabeth, then to Sarah.”
“Oh, the surprise from our caterer,” Sarah cocked her graying head. “Shall we go to the kitchen?”
Perplexed, Elaine smiled, and followed with a puzzled backward glance at Penny and Lola. Elizabeth said, “You two can put things to rights in here?’
“Sure, Mayor,” Penny said, “Lola’s hiring me as an apprentice, I hope.”
When Elizabeth had gone, Lola said, “What’s with that? I don’t want an apprentice.”
“Need a job,” Penny stooped to collect rags, tools on the floor. “The Post nixed my series. I was so counting on it. If I can’t assist you, I’ll have to check groceries. Such a life.”
“Something will come up,” Lola said, folding the ladder. “You can hustle other stories, sell the series elsewhere. Anyway, I gotta pick up some materials. I’ll come back, get you after the Tea. Cheer up, short stuff. Get a ‘tude.”
After the Tea guests left, Penny confided to the Tilsons about losing her assignment. They commiserated, said it was an unhappy surprise. The other surprise was that the caterer knew nothing about their Mrs. Gilpin. The sisters didn’t know what to do until Lola showed up. As mending walls required creative solutions, Lola suggested a social restoration technique to fix both problems.
“You should do this, Penny,” Lola urged, “It’ll help out the Tilsons, that weird woman, and you.”
“I’m not a detective—maybe they should call authorities, or…”
“Listen, Penny, this tops writing about me and drywall. You know how to interview, research, investigate. Use all your talents.”
“As a private eye? But I need to make a living! Didn’t you hear me? The new editor killed my assignment. No moolah. Checking groceries will pay my bills.”
“I can spot you some dosh,” Lola said. A white paint spot remained on her cheek like a beauty mark.
“I can’t take your money.”
“Couldn’t help overhearing,” Elizabeth, stately in her navy tweed suit, said as she strolled into the kitchen with Sarah.
“I’m sorry, Mayor. I’m not in the private investigation business. Or any other business for that matter.”
“You’d be an excellent detective. Sarah and I want to hire you on retainer—your first clients. Right Sar?”
“Oh, indeed. We can’t turn this poor woman over to anyone, at least not until we know who she is. She seems harmless, very confused. She can stay here while you solve the mystery.” Besides, Sarah added, “Not much for me to do since I retired from teaching English.”
“Well…” Penny said, considering that she had no real options. The trio nodded approval.
“Do it, cuz. A windfall, right?” Lola said. “Unless you’d rather check groceries.” Lola winked at the Tilsons.
“Oh, you can write about it for our local paper, can’t she, Elizabeth?” Sarah said. “Our Mayor has pull.”
Beaming, Elizabeth added, “Our small town could use some excitement. I’ll draw up a simple contract for your detective services right away.”
“What about a name for business cards?” Sarah said. “I’ll order them.”
When had she agreed? Penny, though still uncertain, felt her hopes rising. She loved researching, people with old or new occupations, or with outlandish hobbies, quirky personalities. “Well—okay, but doesn’t it require more than business cards to make it official, a license or something?”
“Doubt it,” Elizabeth said. “But you can check.”
“I got it!” Lola said, grinning and waggling an index finger. “No Wall Too High—get it? I’ll paint you a sign, and underneath: Penny Notes, Soft-boiled Detective.”
They all laughed, except for Penny. She looked out the kitchen window where Elaine, whoever she was, sat on the nearby park bench, her head in her hands. Penny gestured for the Tilsons to look. Their expressions turned serious.
“We’ll go collect our guest,” Elizabeth said.
It’ll be dark soon,” Sarah added, as they traipsed in tandem out the back door.
Turning from the window to face Lola, Penny said, “Help me with this, okay?”
“Sure, cuz. Said I’d paint a sign,” Lola pulled a face.
“More than that. I might need a tall person sometimes,” Penny tried a high elbow to Lola’s ribs. “I hear detective work can get rough.”
“What? Short stuff can’t handle that?” Lola laughed.
“Exactly my point. You’ll be my capable assistant. We’ll have adventures, and I still want to interview you for that special feature and …”
“Do I have to?” Lola feigned a grimace, folded her arms.
“Yes, and we have to get busy. Not sure what to do first. I’ll come back here with you tomorrow to get us started.” Penny reached up to thwack Lola on a bicep.
“Hold on, I have work already, that living room wall, remember?” Lola said rubbing her arm.
“I’ll work with you on that, too, and…”
“Like you did this morning?” Lola shook her head.
“Look how good that turned out, Watson,” Penny shrugged, grinned. “I have a great life!”
###
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