Harry stamped the snow off his boots as he unlocked the door of his new office and stepped inside. Much better, he thought. He had returned home two days ago, after spending Christmas and New Year’s with his daughter and two sons, just as he had done every year since his wife had passed away.
Retirement was good in some ways. but there were some drawbacks too – or at least Harry thought so. He enjoyed the freedom, but most days he missed having a regular routine.
Then he had an idea which he thought might fill the gap. He mentioned it to the children Benji [Benjamin], David and Moe [Maureen]. They thought it was a great idea and told him to go for it. Then came the next part – he needed an office. Since this wasn’t a money-making venture, he did not want to rent. So he devised a plan and enlisted the help of his former partner, Bruce Parkins.
Bruce had turned out to be a pretty good carpenter, and Harry’s formerly unused garage was quickly turned into an office space that would have pleased even the great Sherlock Holmes – at least in Harry’s opinion. Heating had already been in place, which was good. The back end was partitioned into a small washroom and a storage room. Best of all, he alone determined how many days and hours he worked. And it also gave him the perfect setting to work on that detective novel he’d always wanted to write. Or perhaps he would just write his memoirs for the kids.
Furnished with desk, chair, bookshelves, and several chairs for visitors or prospective clients, it looked perfect to Harry. The only thing he hadn’t come up with yet was a name to go on the door.
After making a pot of coffee, Harry sat down at the desk and booted up the computer. He doubted if anyone knew he actually had an office yet, except for his former co-workers and the kids. So he didn’t expect any interruptions, and that was good because it would give him a chance to start that novel. Moe said if he wanted to do this he actually had to sit down and write. It didn’t matter if he erased it all again later. The key was to get words on paper, to write stories like he told them and when he was satisfied with what he had written then he had something to build on.
However, it wasn’t as easy as Moe had made it sound. Harry stared at the screen and then the keyboard. His hands remained still because nothing came to mind. He was actually glad when he heard the knock on the door and moved quickly across the room to open it.
“Good morning, Detective Hogan.”
“Good Morning, Mrs. Thorne, but you know I’m retired so I’m not a detective anymore.” How had she found out? He groaned inwardly. Then he saw that she wasn’t alone. “What can I do for you ladies?”
“Oh, I’m not here for me,” she assured him. “This is my neighbour, Ella Johnson. She is missing a valuable family heirloom and she feels sure it was stolen.”