Page 6 of The Case of the Vanishing Valuables

“I see.” Ray smiled at Daisy, pocketing his notebook. “Don’t worry, Daisy. We’ll do everything we can to find your brooch.”

Chapter

Five

Ray and I stepped out of Daisy’s room. He glanced down the hallway. This place had more rooms than I’d thought.

“Let’s check the rest of these rooms,” he said.

I trotted ahead of him, my tail twitching as I scanned the corridor. The faint smell of Lysol clung to everything. It made my whiskers twitch.

We reached the next door, but before Ray could knock, a man emerged from a nearby supply closet, a screwdriver in one hand and a toolbox at his feet. His wiry frame was hunched over, as if he was trying to make himself smaller. The man paused when he saw us and wiped his hands on a rag.

“Uh, can I help you with something?” he asked, eyes darting nervously from Ray to me and back.

Ray replied with his usual friendly smile, the one that always put people at ease. “Yeah, I’m Ray Leonard—private investigator. Just looking into the thefts around here. You the handyman?”

The man blinked then nodded quickly. “Rick. Name’s Rick. I do the, uh, maintenance ’round here.”

I padded closer, sniffing the air. Nervous sweat. Grease. And something else—a hint of metal from his toolbox. Interesting.

Rick shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands trembling slightly as he fiddled with the screwdriver, his gaze avoiding Ray’s. “Thefts, huh?” Rick’s voice sounded a little too high-pitched. “Yeah, I’ve heard about those. Crazy stuff, right?”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have happened to see anything unusual, would you? Anyone sneaking around where they shouldn’t be?”

Rick swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t seen a thing. Just, uh, doing my rounds. Fixing what needs fixing, you know?” His eyes flicked toward the door behind him. “Locks and stuff.”

Ray’s brow quirked up. “You work on those too?”

Rick’s face twitched, and he released a nervous chuckle. “Oh, sure. Yeah. Old building like this? Locks get sticky sometimes. But they don’t make them like they used to. These are solid, though. Rooms are secure, no doubt about it.”

As if to prove his point, Rick bent down and fiddled with the lock on the supply closet, twisting the screwdriver a few times. “See? This one sticks a little, but it’s just wear and tear.”

I crept closer to his toolbox and gave it a careful sniff. Grease. Rust. The usual handyman tools. Nothing that screamedthief.

Ray watched Rick with that easygoing smile, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. “Any of the residents mention problems with their locks lately?” Ray asked, his tone casual.

Rick’s fingers twitched on the screwdriver again. “No, no problems. I, uh, fixed the worst of them a while back. Haven’t had any complaints.” He stood up quickly, wiping his hands again. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. Busy day, you know?”

Ray nodded, but his eyes lingered on Rick a moment longer. “Sure. Thanks for your time, Rick.”

Rick gave a stiff nod, grabbed his toolbox, and hurried down the hall, gripping his toolbox tight in his hand.

I sat back on my haunches, watching him go, my whiskers twitching in thought. He seemed in a rush to be anywhere but here, which made me suspicious.

“Something’s off about that guy,” Ray muttered under his breath.

Before I could give my silent agreement, a soft clearing of someone’s throat broke the quiet. We both turned to see Martha, who had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, leaning against the doorframe of her room. Her sharp eyes flicked down the hallway, settling on Rick’s retreating form with a look of thinly veiled contempt. It looked like she’d freshened up her lipstick.

“Careful with that one,” she said, her voice low but pointed. “Rick’s not all he seems.”

Ray blinked, tucking his notebook away. “Oh? You know something about him?”

Martha pursed her lips, clearly enjoying her role as the local oracle of gossip. She stepped close and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Heard he’s in with a bad crowd—used to run with some folks who weren’t exactly model citizens. Had some trouble at his last job too. But Mrs. Hargrove, bless her heart, she’s too soft. Thinks she’s got a knack for reading people, so she hires them without checking too deep. Swears she can spot a good apple just by looking at them.”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “Trouble at his last job, huh? What kind of trouble?”

Martha gave a sly shrug, glancing briefly in the direction of Mrs. Hargrove’s office. “Rumors, mostly. Missing equipment. Maybe worse. But if you ask me, Rick’s not the only one Hargrove’s got a blind spot for.” She shot a pointed look toward the nursing station, where Gina was busy organizing medications. “Though I suppose sometimes, she’s right,” Martha added dryly, tapping her chin. “That Gina... well, she’s a good one.”

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