Reed Ferguson Short Stories Read online

  Reed Ferguson Short Stories Collection

  Five Mystery Short Stories

  Renée Pawlish

  Contents

  Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat

  Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat

  A Gun For Hire

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Cool Alibi

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  The Big Steal

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  The Wrong Woman

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Sneak Peek

  Free Book

  Renée’s Bookshelf

  About the Author

  Elvis and the Sports Card Cheat

  A Reed Ferguson Mystery Short Story

  Copyright 2012 - 2017 by Renée Pawlish

  First Digital Edition published by Llama Press

  Visit www.reneepawlish.com for information on Renée and her writing.

  Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat

  A Reed Ferguson Mystery Series Short Story

  Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat

  Elvis is alive, I thought when he walked through the door. I must be dreaming.

  “Can I help you?” I asked. I assumed the Elvis-like figure in front of me needed the services of a detective. After all, he had just walked through a door that said, Reed Ferguson Detective Agency.

  “I need you to help me find something,” he said. He didn’t sound like Elvis, and there was no Southern drawl.

  “Have a seat,” I said, indicating a chair across from my desk. I perched my butt on the edge of the desk and contemplated him. His hair and sideburns were a dead ringer for the king during the 70s, but he wasn’t dressed like Elvis, the way the 70s Elvis looked with the flashy sequined jumpsuits - except for the same kind of big sunglasses that Elvis wore. “What’s going on?”

  “My name is Perry Rawlings. I’m an Elvis impersonator.”

  Ah. That answered one question.

  “I work at the Tip Top Lounge. We have an act of a few old impersonators. Elvis, Bobby Darin, The Supremes,” he ticked the names off on a finger adorned with a huge gold ring. “We’re the big names. There are a few others.”

  I nodded.

  “I have - had - a valuable baseball card,” Perry said. “But it was stolen.”

  “What card?” I liked baseball, but I had no idea what baseball memorabilia was worth. Now, Hollywood memorabilia, or first edition books, that I knew a little about. Not that it would help me now.

  “A 1952 Topps #311 Mickey Mantle.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t mean much to you, I can see,” Perry said. “People mistake this card for Mantle’s rookie card, but it was actually his second year card. The 1952 Mantle card is one of the most collectible post-war cards around.”

  “How’d you get it?”

  “My dad bought it in the early 80s. He remembered having one when he was a kid, but his mom threw all of his cards out after he joined the navy.”

  “I’ll bet she regretted that later,” I said.

  Perry nodded. “Yeah, I can’t imagine what cards Dad had. Anyway, he bought some of his favorite players, Mantle being one of them. I forget what he paid for it.”

  “What’s it worth now?” I asked.

  “Depends on the market, but somewhere around ten thousand dollars. How the card is graded for condition would factor in, so I don’t know for sure.”

  I whistled.

  Perry smiled. “Yeah, it’s amazing what some things are worth.”

  “When did the card disappear?”

  “About a week ago. I left it in a locked safe in my dressing room. While I was out onstage, someone took it.”

  “You’re sure it was in the safe when you left the dressing room?” I reached across the desk and grabbed a notepad and pen.

  “Yes. I never take it with me.”

  “Why keep it at the club? Wouldn’t it be safe somewhere else?”

  Perry waved a hand, shooing away my comment. “It doesn’t matter. I need to get it back.”

  “Sure,” I said. I posed my pen officiously on the notepad. “Who has access to your dressing room?”

  “Dean, the owner of the Tip Top, has a key to the dressing rooms. No one else does.”

  “And you’re sure your dressing room was locked when you went onstage that night?”

  Perry blushed. “To be honest, I never lock the door. It’s kind of casual around there. Everyone likes each other, and sometimes the other singers might need makeup or something, so they would just go in my room and get it.”

  I frowned. “So anyone could go and take the card.”

  “It was locked up in a safe. The thief would’ve had to break the lock.”

  “Is it a combo lock or do you have a key?”

  “It’s a combination lock.”

  “Anyone know the combination?”

  Perry shrugged. “I never told anyone.”

  I stared at my notepad, mulling over the facts - what little there was.

  “Will you help me?” Perry asked.

  “Sure,” I said. How could I turn down Elvis?

  Perry and I filled out some standard paperwork, and I arranged to meet him later in the day at the Tip Top Lounge so I could check out his dressing room. After Perry left, I called my best friend Cal.

  “I need some help,” I said when he picked up the phone.

  “Shoot.” I could hear Cal tapping on his keyboard in the background. Cal is a genius, and his computer prowess knows no bounds. Literally. He can crack just about any system to find information for me. This time I didn’t need that kind of help.

  “I want you to come with me to the Tip Top Lounge tonight,” I said.

  “What?” Cal rarely leaves his home in the foothills west of Denver.

  “Trust me; you won’t want to miss this one.”

  Cal groaned, but finally agreed to come along.

  “My office, five o’clock,” I said and hung up before he could protest more.

  I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was three now, so I had two hours to find out all I could about baseball cards. I nodded at the framed poster of The Maltese Falcon, one of my favorite movies, starring my hero, Humphrey Bogart.

  “Let’s solve some crime,” I said to Bogie as I logged onto my computer and got onto the Internet.

  Two hours later, I knew a lot about baseball cards, and how they were graded for condition. I had no idea if that would help me find Perry’s card, but it had kept me busy.

  “Hey.” A dark-haired man with brown eyes stood in the doorway. My friend Cal. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  “Researching baseball cards. What does PSA mean?”

  “In baseball card collecting, it’s ‘Professional Sports Authenticator’. It’s someone who gives a card a grade, like a numbering system, based on the card’s condition, and also verifies the card isn’t a fake.”

  “Do you know everything?” I huffed at him. Cal was in fact a genius, and he did know everything about everything. But he lacked common sense, too.

  “I learned some of that when I was researching information for you ab
out Hollywood memorabilia,” Cal said. “So what are we doing that I can’t miss out on?”

  “We’re going to see impersonators.”

  Cal’s eyebrows rose up.

  “You heard me right,” I said as I stood up. “Elvis, Bobby Darin, the Supremes, and more. Come on, I’ll explain in the car.”

  “Oh boy,” Cal said as he followed me out of the office. “What have I let you talk me into?”

  “Thanks for coming to see the show,” Perry said as he escorted Cal and I into his diminutive dressing room. He wore a light blue sequined jumpsuit, and his black hair was coiffed just like the king’s was back in the seventies.

  “Thanks for the invite.” I glanced around. “This is where you keep the baseball card?”

  “Yes. Here’s the safe.” Perry gestured at a tiny wardrobe closet. He opened the door, yanked sequined jumpsuits aside, and tapped a small black box with his foot. “You can’t even see it there unless you push the clothes aside.”

  “Why keep it here?” Cal asked. “Even if it’s in a safe.”

  “I, uh, want it near me,” Perry said. “Does that matter? The card’s gone.”

  Cal shrugged.

  I knelt down and examined the safe. It was just a square metal box, about a foot in diameter, with a dial on the door. I couldn’t see where it had been tampered with in any way.

  “No chance for fingerprints from that dial, even if I knew how to get prints,” I said.

  “I’ve opened it a number of times since the card was stolen.” Perry sat down at a chair in front of his dressing table.

  I stood up and looked around the room. My gaze settled on Cal. He stared at me and held up his hands.

  “Can we talk to the manager?” I said to Perry.

  “Sure. My set is about to start. Do you want to watch it and then talk to him?”

  “That’ll work,” I said.

  Cal and I followed Perry out into the hallway. A dark-haired man wearing a sixties-style black suit approached us.

  “Guys, this is Barney Whitman,” Perry introduced us. “Barney’s in the show.”

  Barney smiled, took a step back, and struck a pose. “Guess who I am? Think late-fifties, early sixties.”

  Cal pursed his lips, thinking. Images of long-ago singers raced through my mind. None of them resembled this guy.

  “Bobby Darin,” Barney said. “You know, ‘Mack the Knife’?” He sang a few lines.

  “Ooooh.” I smiled. “Sorry, I don’t listen to a lot of oldies.”

  “Reed is a private investigator,” Perry interjected as he noticed the hurt expression on Barney’s face. “He’s trying to find out who stole my baseball card.”

  Barney’s lips twisted up. “Good luck with that.”

  “You were here when the card was stolen, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah. If I remember correctly, I came in that night a little before Perry went on. I grabbed a quick drink from the bar and then came back to my dressing room to change.”

  “That sounds right,” Perry said. “I talked to everyone that was here that night. No one seemed to know anything.”

  “I’d like to talk to them all again,” I said.

  “How about after the show?” Perry said. “I go on now. After that, maybe you can talk to Dean, the owner.”

  I nodded. “So Barney, did anyone see you in your dressing room?”

  Barney shrugged. “Sure. Sondra, Elaine, and Trish saw me. We sort of share the same room. It’s got a partition to separate male and female areas,” he said quickly.

  “It’s much bigger than my dressing room,” Perry added.

  “So you have an alibi for the whole time Perry was out on stage?” I eyed Barney.

  Barney snorted. “Not the whole time. But I didn’t take the card.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I’ve to go onstage,” Perry said. “You guys have a table on the left, near the stage. Tell Dean who you are, and he’ll seat you. He’s blond, wearing a black shirt. He’ll be by the bar.” Perry punched me lightly on the arm. “Enjoy the show.”

  “You should watch the whole show,” Barney said. “It’s really good. Bobby Darin had a lot of hits.”

  “I know who you remind me of,” Cal interrupted. “Don Adams.”

  Barney and I stared at him. “You know,” Cal said. “Get Smart. That sixties show where Don Adams was Maxwell Smart.”

  “Aaah,” I said, studying Barney. “You’re right.”

  “Ha ha,” Barney said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Just watch me perform. You won’t be thinking about anybody else but Bobby Darin.”

  “Okay,” Cal said as Barney stormed off. “He does look like Don Adams.” He hummed the intro the Get Smart.

  “Come on,” I laughed. “Let’s go watch the show.”

  The Tip Top Club was an old warehouse that had been converted into a club, with tables all around a stage that seated at least a hundred people. Tonight the place was packed.

  “I didn’t know this many people liked impersonators,” Cal spoke up to be heard over the house music.

  “Me either.”

  We found Dean standing by the bar, as Perry said he would be. Dean showed us to our seats after agreeing to meet with us after Perry’s set.

  The theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey began, then the drums banged out a rhythm and Perry strode onstage. He quickly launched into ‘Hound Dog’. As far as I was concerned, he was Elvis. Perry had the mannerisms, the look, and the voice. And judging from the screaming women, they believed he was the king, too.

  “Thank you, darlin’,” Perry drawled to a woman as she gave him a red rose. He tossed a scarf at another woman, and she squealed when she caught it. By the time he finished, I was half-convinced that somehow Elvis had inhabited Perry’s body.

  “He’s awesome,” Cal applauded as Perry bowed and left the stage.

  “I think I just became an Elvis fan.” I stood up and headed to the back with Cal on my heels.

  “I can only give you a few minutes,” Dean said as he escorted us into an office near the bar. He waved at a couple of leather chairs that sat in front of a large mahogany desk. He lowered himself into a leather swivel chair. He let out a slow breath. “At my age, it’s nice to give the old feet a break.” He put his elbows on the armrests, and made a steeple of his hands. “We’ve got a full house and I like to keep tabs on things.”

  “You know that someone stole Perry’s baseball card,” I said as Cal and I sat down.

  “Yes. I told Perry he shouldn’t keep the card here.” Dean wagged his head in disgust. “He was courting trouble.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You knew about the card?”

  “Everyone did,” Dean said. “The performers are constantly going in and out of each others’ dressing rooms. I just don’t know who could’ve broken into the safe. Unless Perry forgot to put the card back in the safe, and someone snatched it from the room.”

  “He says he’s certain he put the card in the safe before he went onstage,” I said.

  Dean shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone was sure they did something, when actually they didn’t.”

  “Good point,” Cal murmured.

  I leaned back in my chair. “Do you know of any reason why someone might steal the card?”

  Dean shook his head.

  “No one with a grudge?” Head shake. “A huge card collector?” Head shake. “Money issues?”

  “Someone’s having financial problems?” I asked.

  “Well,” Dean said slowly. “Trish, she’s Diana Ross in The Supremes act...”

  “What?” I nudged.

  Dean hesitated. “She’s asked for an advance on her salary a few times in the last couple of months. The way I heard it, her husband lost his job and things are tight for them right now.”

  Cal and I exchanged a glance.

  Dean raised a hand in protest. “She’s a sweetheart. I can’t imagine that she’d steal anything from anyone.”

  “You don�
��t mind if we talk to her after the show?” I asked.

  “It’s up to her.” Dean stood up. “I need to get back out there. I don’t mind if you ask the performers some questions, but if they want you to leave, then you leave.”

  “Fair enough,” I agreed.

  We traipsed back past the bar and along the edge of the audience, heading backstage. Barney was onstage, crooning ‘Dream Lover’. Okay, so I know a few Bobby Darin songs.

  “He’s good,” Cal said. “I recognize that song.”

  Barney ended the song and started conversing with a woman seated at a table right in front of the stage.

  “Do you like card tricks?” he asked, pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. “How about a memory trick?”

  “Singer and magician,” Cal said.

  “He’s got to compete with the king,” I grinned.

  We slipped through a curtain to the left of the stage as Barney continued his act.

  “What’d you think?” Perry asked as he let us in to his dressing room.

  “Fantastic,” Cal said, and I concurred.

  Perry beamed as he sat down at his dressing table. “It’s fun being the king. Did you talk to Dean?” He started wiping makeup off his face with tissues. “I sweat so much; I have to reapply between sets.”

  “Yes,” I said. “He said you all are in and out of these rooms the whole time you’re here. Anyone could’ve come in here.”

  “But who knew the combination to the safe?” Perry had finished cleaning up his face. He reached for some base makeup and dabbed it on his nose.