What's Going On Here?

The noir adventures of Franklin and Turner, two former English Majors who teamed up to pool their knowledge of TV crime dramas to solve Boston's toughest cases.

How Did this Happen?: About this Blog
Current Case: #002 The Fuschia Falcon


The Accusing Parlor

The turnout at the deMontesque house was fairly impressive for short notice. This was good for me, I wanted to work a crowd today. Plus, even if I was wrong I'd sound right in a larger room; the hasty--and delayed--Google search had already confirmed my theory. As Alice entered, I ran my pipes:

"You're all probably wondering why I called you here. Good.

"When the dame here came to me first, I was admittedly distracted by the lamb's gams. This is probably why it took me so long to figure this one out. Broads kind of have that effect on me, I'll admit. Anyway, when I first cased the joint, I started to work on a theory. This was a little too focused to be your average smash-and-grab job. If anything, they knew what they were coming here for and how to find it. Meaning, they had to already know about the missing gemstone.
"Next, I needed to try and figure out the kind of person who could get into a place like this. Security ain't lax, but it's not exactly Fort Knox either. For that, I staged a break in: came here the other night and tried to climb in. I'm a pretty spry guy," I ignored a couple of scoffs, "but it was a challenge for me. This means the guy was either a pro, or he didn't actually climb in through the window.
"Now, when I met the chick of the house this morning, I discovered something. Hopefully, you're following the pattern that's developing. Either that, or I'm rambling again. So, before you cats all fall asleep, let me ask Alice something. This morning, you dropped your candy bar into a glass. Why'd you do that?"
The dame spoke up, "When I was little, my mom taught me to do that. Kept ants off my chocolate."
"Exactly. And what did we find when I started?"
"A candy bar in a glass. You told me that was the mark of some international art thief."
"The Sommelier, yes. Actually, that's french for Wine Steward. It was a red herring. No, the real thief," I pulled on a pair of sunglasses before continuing, "is actually in this room!"
The collection of gasps was rewarding. Only three, but still worth it.
"Even more shocking, the stolen rock wasn't actually the meat."
This got more gasps: almost everyone this time. Worth all the sawbucks in the world.
"See, I did some internet research on this missing gemstone, the Fuschia Falcon and I discovered something important: it doesn't exist. There are, however, a bunch of Smash Bros. screenshots that fit the description. This wasn't about the gemstone at all, was it, Alice?"
She faked surprise well. "What?"
"How much did you insure the gem for?"
"How much?"
"Ten grand."
"And how much will your insurance company be paying out?"
"Should be ten grand..."
"I wasn't asking you, I was asking him!" I turned and pointed to a stocky man in glasses and suspenders.
"Who's he?" Alice asked.
He introduced himself, "Bob Johnson. I represent your insurance company. To answer your question, Mr. Turner: Zero dollars. Thank you for figuring this out."

The only question I haven't answered yet: how do I tell Franklin that we're not getting a check for this one either? On the plus side, insurance company's letting me off on Accessory to Fraud Charges...


As the purpose of this blog is humor, we request that any offense taken be directed into navigating away from this page; if you don't want to read it, no one is forcing you.

Side effects may include: Post-modernism, Increased Flow of '30s slang, dizziness while standing, and thoughts of Alien Nazi conspiracy. These are perfectly normal, but if you are concerned, consult your local sawbones.

See the Full Disclaimer for more legal mumbo-jumbo. Obviously, not reading this disclaimer is not an excuse.