Chapter-ette Two: An Unlikely Case
The lady was a real English rose. She wore a floral print dress, white lace gloves, and a straw hat with a satin ribbon. In short, she wasn’t the typical woman who visited a San Francisco detective agency.
“You sound like you’re far from home, Miss Marple,” I said as I pulled out a chair for her. “How can I be of services?”
“Thank you, Mr. Spade” she said as she glided into the chair and held her large purse on her lap with both hands. “As I already stated, I need assistance in finding Dr. Steven Cadwell.”
“And who is he to you, may I ask?”
“He is . . . or rather was . . . the fiancé of my cousin. While I was visiting her in New York City last week, Dr. Cadwell disappeared . . . along with Siobhan’s dowry.”
“What makes you think this cad is in San Francisco?” I cringed at my own pun, as unintended as it was. Miss Marple wasn’t my type, but something about her had me flustered.
“He left a note for my cousin, saying that he had urgent business out west. I made inquirers at Grand Central Station and was able to ascertain that he had purchased a one-way ticket to San Francisco. A man fitting his description purchased the ticket under his name and was later seen boarding the train. I got on the next train the following day and arrived yesterday. But the trail has . . . grown cold, as they say.”
“How sure are you that he was on the train or that he took it all the way across country. He could have . . . ?”
“Dr. Cadwell is no wall flower, Mr. Spade. He’s a large man with an impressive beard,” she cut me off, holding one hand over her head to indicate his height and another one below her chin to indicate his beard length, “and a flamboyant style. Even if he hadn’t purchased the ticket under his own name, it was easy for the porters in both New York and San Francisco to identify him.”
“Tell me again, Miss Marple, are you here to hire my service or for a job interview?”
“You flatter me, Mr. Spade,” she blushed slightly and returned her hands to griping her bag. “But I am just a simple girl from a small village in England. I need a local guide to help me track down the man who stole my cousin’s heart, and her money, out here in the wild west.”
“I can get started right away, Miss Marple. I don’t suppose you have a photograph of Dr. Cadwell.”
“Not as such,” Miss Marple said, reaching into her large purse. She pulled out a carnival poster and unrolled it on my desk. Along with a drawing of a large man with an impressive beard dressed in top hat and tails, it read, “Dr. Stefano von Cadwell – Mentalist & Spiritual Philosopher!”