mother dead so she could start living big.”
“No, you’re right, it doesn’t.”
“What do you remember about the newspaper clippings?”
“Not a lot. I didn’t take the time to read them through. There were quite a few. There was usually a picture. Always an older woman.”
“Are you talking about obituaries?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned that up front.”
“Were they all local deaths?”
“Local? You mean to Saskatoon?”
“Yeah,” I said, getting up to refill our coffee cups.
“Oh no. These were clippings from all over Canada, and the United States too.”
Oh great. That was going to make them even harder to track down.
“Do you remember any of the names, or maybe the dates of death?”
JP thought about this for a while. “I’m better with faces. I think if I saw the faces again I’d know them. The names, nah, I don’t think I remember any. Damn, I wish I’d paid closer attention. But I didn’t think I had to, seeing as I was taking the file with me.”
I raised an eyebrow at his use of “taking with” as opposed to “stealing.”
“The dates of the obits were over a long period; I’d say from the last five to seven years.”
Terrific. How many old ladies could there be in North America, who died in the last seven years, anyway? Yech.
I sat down with a thud, searching for some way to excavate JP’s head for the information we needed. Why couldn’t he be
one of those photographic memory types of PIs? But wait… “How do you know the women were from Canada and the U.S.?”
JPs eyes grew wide. “Friggin’ right!” he suddenly shouted, hopping from the table.
Barbra and Brutus and I watched him disappear, and listened as his bare feet ran down the hallway toward the den.
I gave the dogs a look and said, “You’re the ones who let him in here.”
Brutus gave me one of his rare woofs.
“Do you know how he did it?”
No answer.
I cleaned up a bit in the kitchen, then picked up our coffee cups and headed into the den to see what boy wonder was up to.
He was at my desk, busily tapping away at a laptop that wasn’t mine. He’d put his clothes on, but the hair was still a piece of modern art.
“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly, as I set his coffee next to him.
“So tell me,” I said, pulling up a chair. “What’s going on?”
“You’re a genius, Russell. You see, I knew the women weren’t local because the newspaper clippings were arranged
alphabetically by the name of the city they’d lived in. Lynette Kraus must have been anal with a capital ‘A.’ Each clipping had a yellow sticky with the city’s name written on it.”
“Are you telling me you remember the names of the cities?”
“Well, a few of them anyway. A couple of others I can make a pretty good guess.”
“So what are you doing now?”
“I have access to an obituary search engine through this genealogy website I’m a member of.”
“Oh? You’re into searching your genealogy?” Nerd.
He stopped tapping only long enough to give me a look, as if trying to determine whether I was being sincere or a jerk. I’m
not sure what conclusion he reached, but he went back to typing while he answered my question. “No. I just thought this would be a good thing to have if I was serious about being a professional detective.”
I had to give him that. “So what’s your plan?”
“I’m going to see how many of these cities I can remember. Pull their obits for the past several years for any women over the age of seventy. See if there’s anyone I recognize.”
My eyes were sore just thinking about it. It’s not that it was a bad idea, just a time-consuming one which had a high
probability of netting no results. Better him than me. “Good luck.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, I’m going to take a shower. You might consider the same thing.”
Without skipping a beat or bothering to look up, he shot back: “Sure. Just yell when the water gets hot and
“No, you’re right, it doesn’t.”
“What do you remember about the newspaper clippings?”
“Not a lot. I didn’t take the time to read them through. There were quite a few. There was usually a picture. Always an older woman.”
“Are you talking about obituaries?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned that up front.”
“Were they all local deaths?”
“Local? You mean to Saskatoon?”
“Yeah,” I said, getting up to refill our coffee cups.
“Oh no. These were clippings from all over Canada, and the United States too.”
Oh great. That was going to make them even harder to track down.
“Do you remember any of the names, or maybe the dates of death?”
JP thought about this for a while. “I’m better with faces. I think if I saw the faces again I’d know them. The names, nah, I don’t think I remember any. Damn, I wish I’d paid closer attention. But I didn’t think I had to, seeing as I was taking the file with me.”
I raised an eyebrow at his use of “taking with” as opposed to “stealing.”
“The dates of the obits were over a long period; I’d say from the last five to seven years.”
Terrific. How many old ladies could there be in North America, who died in the last seven years, anyway? Yech.
I sat down with a thud, searching for some way to excavate JP’s head for the information we needed. Why couldn’t he be
one of those photographic memory types of PIs? But wait… “How do you know the women were from Canada and the U.S.?”
JPs eyes grew wide. “Friggin’ right!” he suddenly shouted, hopping from the table.
Barbra and Brutus and I watched him disappear, and listened as his bare feet ran down the hallway toward the den.
I gave the dogs a look and said, “You’re the ones who let him in here.”
Brutus gave me one of his rare woofs.
“Do you know how he did it?”
No answer.
I cleaned up a bit in the kitchen, then picked up our coffee cups and headed into the den to see what boy wonder was up to.
He was at my desk, busily tapping away at a laptop that wasn’t mine. He’d put his clothes on, but the hair was still a piece of modern art.
“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly, as I set his coffee next to him.
“So tell me,” I said, pulling up a chair. “What’s going on?”
“You’re a genius, Russell. You see, I knew the women weren’t local because the newspaper clippings were arranged
alphabetically by the name of the city they’d lived in. Lynette Kraus must have been anal with a capital ‘A.’ Each clipping had a yellow sticky with the city’s name written on it.”
“Are you telling me you remember the names of the cities?”
“Well, a few of them anyway. A couple of others I can make a pretty good guess.”
“So what are you doing now?”
“I have access to an obituary search engine through this genealogy website I’m a member of.”
“Oh? You’re into searching your genealogy?” Nerd.
He stopped tapping only long enough to give me a look, as if trying to determine whether I was being sincere or a jerk. I’m
not sure what conclusion he reached, but he went back to typing while he answered my question. “No. I just thought this would be a good thing to have if I was serious about being a professional detective.”
I had to give him that. “So what’s your plan?”
“I’m going to see how many of these cities I can remember. Pull their obits for the past several years for any women over the age of seventy. See if there’s anyone I recognize.”
My eyes were sore just thinking about it. It’s not that it was a bad idea, just a time-consuming one which had a high
probability of netting no results. Better him than me. “Good luck.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, I’m going to take a shower. You might consider the same thing.”
Without skipping a beat or bothering to look up, he shot back: “Sure. Just yell when the water gets hot and
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