Not Much To Go On

by Shaendl Davis

Marla Stonem sat alone in a corner of the dimly lit Au Cocolet, it was nearly one o’clock in the morning and there was a cup of hot water next to her she was yet to touch. A man in a dark brown fedora walked through the door; he had on a blue blazer under the trench coat he was wearing. He stopped and surveyed the room, when he spotted Marla he paused before slowly approaching her corner. He pulled out a wooden chair and eased himself into it.

They looked at each other and the fedora clad man leaned into the table.

“What is it I can do for you?”

Marla reached for her glass and held it in between her hands, she didn’t answer right away and the man looked at her intently. She had a short black bob and a red hat that came down to her eyebrows.

“My fiancé,” she paused, “he went on a walk, about two nights ago. He was suppose to be gone just an hour, but well,” she paused again and looked up at the man. This was the first time she had looked up from the table surface; Marla looked at him intently.

“Huntley Griffin is it?”

Griffin returned her hard stare,” Yes.”

“I heard you’re the best there is.” She said this quietly while still gripping her glass.

“That depends what your looking for, or should I say, who your looking for,” Griffin said with a smile for himself.

Marla had clearly worked up some courage since he had walked in and she now talked without breaking eye contact. “Well I’m looking for my fiancé. The last time I heard from him he said he was going for a walk and might stop by at his pal’s house.”

Griffin raised his eyebrow,” And this pal’s name would be….?”

“Hollis would never hurt a hair on Emerson’s head.”

“That’s all very well and good, but I will still need this Hollis’s last name,” at this point Griffin had pulled put a small pad and paper.

Marla shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Hollis is really just the sweetest man,”

“All the same,” Griffin said in a light but stern voice.

“Rutherford,” Marla said reluctantly.

Griffin jotted down what she told him.

“His brother,” Marla whisper was barley audible.

“What was that?”

“His brother, Truman. He is a terribly jealous. Of everything, Emerson’s financial success and how much everyone likes him and even me. Truman, I’ve been fearful of him for some time now. “

“I see,” Griffin said looking at his note pad.

“I don’t mean to be a bother, but it’s ever so important that you find him as soon as possible. I know that you must have other cases, but I’m willing to pay through the nose for your attention,” Marla reached into her purse and pulled out a wad of neatly stacked bills.

Griffin didn’t bother to look at the money and instead continued to look at Marla.

“Well, Ms. Stonem, I can assure you I’ll do my very best, but you have to understand I can’t make any promises….”

Marla interrupted him with a wave of her hand,” I know that! Of course I know that! I’m not a fool. I just, I want to know. I want to know if there is anything to know.”

Griffin looked at her, Marla was still clutching the glass and crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Alright then,” said Griffin getting out of this chair. “If there isn’t anything else.”

“Here,” Marla said hurriedly scribbling something on to a cream colored napkin. “Call me as soon as you anything alright?” she pressed it into his hand.

Griffin nodded, “I’ll be sure to do that.”

Back in his car Griffin mulled over what Marla had told him, and if he was being honest, there really wasn’t much for him to go on. Probably just a guy who was ready for something new. Sad really. But anyway, it wasn’t his job to try and dissect the relationship between a missing man and the girl he’d seemingly left behind. After deciding he would wait until the next morning to go and talk to Truman and Hollis, Griffin made his way back to his modest office and collapsed into bed, without bothering to even take off his overcoat.

It was glaringly sunny the next morning, and after a futile attempt to find his sunglasses, Griffin got into his car and started towards Hollis Rutherford home.

Hollis heard the sharp rap on his front door but did not hurry himself to see who was there.

The knock came again and Hollis dragged himself from the kitchen table.

“Yes?” he said as he opened the door.

“Yes, hello. I’m looking for Hollis Rutherford. Is that you?” Griffin peered at the man was looked messy and disgruntled.

“Yes, that’s me. Who are you?” Hollis asked sharply.

Extending his hand Griffin replied, “Huntley Griffin. Private investigator.”

Hollis hesitated before accepting Griffin’s hand, “what is this about?”

“You know an Emerson Brinkley do you not?”

“Yes…” Hollis said slowly, “why?”

“Well according to a Ms. Marla Stomen he’s gone missing.”

“What…?” Hollis shook his head, “come in. Please come in,” he said walking away from the door.

Griffin walked over the threshold cautiously and shut the door with a quite snap. After a few brisk questions Griffin found himself walking out again. As he got into his car he mulled over where to go now. Hollis was what Huntley thought of as a trusty sidekick, there when you need him and never dared to get in the way. Perhaps he was tired of never getting in the way, perhaps.

He recalled part of their conversation, “I know you said that everyone liked Emerson, that he was friendly, goofy even, but are you sure you know if there was anyone who may not appreciated his sense of humor?”

Hollis was quiet, “I really couldn’t say.” He said thoughtfully. “I never heard anything along those lines, but you know, I’ve been told I’m not a very good listener.” This was clearly a ploy to lighten the good: Huntley didn’t smile.

“I see.”

Truman Brinkley was only five miles away, and Griffin thought about stopping at Marla’s house before going on, but decided against it. Marla had at least been right about one thing, Hollis had worshipped Emerson Brinkley and it would be hard to imagine the timid little man committing any type of crime. Although, Griffin chastised himself: one can’t just go on how people seem, that was a lesson he had already learned and he wasn’t keen on repeating it.

Griffin drove himself over to Truman Brinkley’s house only to find it empty and after circling the building several times Griffin found himself getting back into his car. The house looked to be impeccably clean and the grass as though someone went over it with a comb and scissors each day. Griffin shook his head, not understanding the kind of person who invested so much time in their garden, or house for that matter.

As he meandered back over to his car, Huntley spotted a neighbor putting out their garbage and hurried over.

“Hello!” he called when he was about twenty feet away.

The neighbor looked at him skeptically, “hello.”

“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Truman Brinkley?” Huntley asked in his friendliest of voices.

The woman’s expression darkened, “I’m sorry,” she said rapidly, “I really won’t be much help. I don’t know the man besides a passing pleasantry every now and then. He’s rather peculiar and keeps to himself, I don’t think he’s friendly with anyone in the neighborhood.”

Huntley nodded, not taking his eyes off her face. “Well thank you anyway I suppose.”

The woman nodded and hurried back into her house, slamming the door behind her.

When Griffin arrived at Marla’s apartment he found her cleaning furiously. Her hair was tied in what looked like a hurried bun and she had on bright orange rubber gloves, with a sponge in her right hand.

Griffin tipped his hat as he walked in.

“Have you found anything?” Marla demanded: as she sat down and pulled off the gloves.

Griffin paused and looked down. “No, not yet I’m afraid.”

She sighed and stood up again, “Well, alright then. Thanks for coming by.” She moved towards the door.

Griffin slowly got to his feet but didn’t leave. “You never said where Emerson went for this walk. Perhaps it would offer a clue of some sort.”

“There is a path he likes right past that pool in Tilden. What’s it called? Oh right! Strawberry Canyon, I suppose it’s possible that’s where he took his walk, but why? Do you think…?” Marla stopped.

“I just want to make sure no rock goes unturned,” Griffin said in what he considered to be a reassuring tone.

It was near twilight when Griffin got to the out of the way path Marla had directed him to. He pulled his flashlight out from underneath the passenger’s side seat and gingerly got out of the car. He turned on the light and wrapped his coat tightly around himself. After walking for little over ten minuets Griffin heard a disturbing rustling. He peered around quickly before continuing on.

“Wait! Wait!”

The voice was quiet and far off but definitely there, Griffin slowly revolved around pointing his light into the surrounding trees and brush. And there he was a shabby looking man perched on a high branch of an old looking oak.

Here are the facts: Emerson Brinkley had indeed gone for a walk like his fiancée had said. He was feeling anxious about his upcoming nuptials and climbed his favorite tree to look at the view and collect his thoughts. Regrettably he hadn’t thought about getting down and realized there wasn’t a way to do that without sustaining serious injury. So instead he tied himself to the tree with his tie and waited for someone to come along and help him. Unfortunately no one did come until one Huntley Griffin.

Upon being freed from the tree he hurriedly explained all of this to what he now thought of his savior and griffin explained who he was and everything that had happened since his disappearance. Upon seeing a fiancée who she had presumed dead, Marla dissolved into a puddle of tears on the floor and had to be left there while Emerson awkwardly patted her on the head and Griffin snuck out feeling this relived this wouldn’t be a case that haunted his sleep for years to come.