More Harry Hogan stories!
Harry returned from his morning walk, something he was slowly getting used to. The doctor said he needed more physical exercise, but he still used inclement weather as an excuse. He showered, changed his clothing, and headed over to the office he'd established in the garage when he retired several years ago.
Bertie's SUV was already in the driveway. His 'volunteer partner in crime' as he often thought of her, had made a proposal he couldn't refuse shortly after she retired as the local Librarian. Like him, she'd been looking for something to occupy her time and was a big help to him. He'd thought she was exaggerating her research abilities, but she had proved him wrong - many times. They'd also become good friends, and that was nice too.
She did a lot of genealogy research in between their 'cases,' charging only a small fee, to cover expenses, just as he did. They basically worked for free, but it gave them something to do and when they went to their respective homes, they could leave the day's work behind them... most of the time.
He smelled the freshly-brewed coffee as he opened the door. That was another thing - they used the same coffee but, somehow, it always tasted better when she made it. And she wouldn't tell him why. She glanced up from her computer as he entered. "Morning, Hogan." Always the same.
"Morning, Blackett," he replied, heading for the coffeepot. He poured coffee in a mug, placed it on his desk and sat down. "What do you know about Clive Baxter?"
"That strange, timid little man who's always perfectly groomed?" Bertie gave a little shiver. "He gives me the creeps."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know... he's so perfect, it's almost like he's not quite real... not what he appears to be. But I often wonder if he's as perfect as he seems."
Harry nodded. "Okay, I get it. But what do you actually know about him?"
She tipped her head to one side as she looked over at him. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Harry sighed. "I met his groundskeeper, Clayton Poole, on my walk this morning. Baxter's been doing research somewhere in Europe for the past eighteen months, due home in a few days. Everything remained normal, up until last week. He saw lights among the trees several nights following, but couldn't find any evidence of trespassing."
"That's strange. I think those trees are ancient, could be some windfalls among them. Probably not safe to walk around there at night," Bertie said.
"Poole thinks it might be ghost-hunters, looking for evidence of the ghosts that were said to live among the trees many years ago."
"And he wants you to investigate before his boss returns," she said.
He nodded. "I need more information first. What - if anything - does Baxter actually do?"
"I doubt if anyone knows much about him. He lives in that little cottage on the Morton Estate, over on Maple Street... it used to be the guest house when the Mortons were alive. It's so small that I often think of it as one of the first tiny homes."
