by Donna Doyle
“It certainly sounds like it.” Molly Gertrude looked once again at Michelle’s postcard, a sense of comfort and happiness slipping around her shoulders like a warm blanket. A part of her had felt bad about outing Renee’s real feelings. She hadn’t wanted to embarrass the girl, and news like that was certainly not going to save Michelle and Brian’s relationship. But it was clear to her now that God had heard her prayer that they would all find happiness.
“Now, tell me your wedding date and we’ll get started.”
Misty purred contentedly. It was as if even Molly’s cat knew that all is well that ends well. Another case closed, and another heart opened. I love this job, thought Molly, as she reached for her pencil.
A Fishy Murder Most Foul
A Molly Grey Mystery
1
My first job at the Calmhaven Sentinel
At first the day had started off like any other day for the past three months; boring.
A while back, I had applied for the job as a news reporter at the Calmhaven Sentinel, and they had hired me. Nobody had given me a chance. Not even my mother.
"A reporter… you?" she had said, while her eyes had been almost as wide as those shiny marbles that my little friend Jimmy and I used to play with when we were children, on the streets of Calmhaven. She shook her head in dismay and mumbled, "That's way out of your league, Virgil. Remember, we had to drag you through elementary school? Your grammar is as bad as a leaky faucet."
Thanks, Mom. I am always glad to receive a word of encouragement.
Mom failed to remember I had finished two online courses on creative writing, and I had done a lot of research on YouTube about journalism. None of those things had earned me a crisp diploma on parchment paper that said in golden, twirling letters that Virgil Shepherd was a trustworthy writer, and therefore the family did not believe I could write.
But I wanted to prove them wrong and had started with great hopes. I was ready to hit the big times. I dreamt about being hired by the New York Times or Newsweek and was certain my byline would one day appear in the National Geographic, as my Motorola Smartphone made nice pictures.
But Jack Stapleton, my boss and a skilled editor, believed in the good old-fashioned school of hard-knocks, and he wanted me to start at the bottom of the ladder. So I never wrote even a single paragraph in those first three months.
Mopping floors, cleaning toilets, and serving coffee with donuts to the overworked journalists on call. Old school journalistic training! Not quite my idea of being successful.
But that morning, when I heard Jack Stapleton calling out my name, his booming voice echoing through the office, things changed.
I ran over to his cubicle, the holy of holies of the Calmhaven Sentinel, and knocked on his glass door while holding my breath. What was it this time? Another computer screen that needed dusting?
"Come in, Virgil," Stapleton sang. He raked with his hand through his wavy, black hair and looked at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. "I've got a job for you."
"A job?"
He leaned back in his swivel chair, plucked at his suspenders and said, "I want you to interview Miss Molly Gertrude Grey."
For a moment, I stared at him; not sure if I had heard correctly. "You mean… an actual interview?"
Stapleton frowned. "I'll be honest with you, Virgil. I had much rather given the job to one of my more… well, experienced journalists, but everyone is busy and this is an emergency, so I have no choice but to send you."
A spurt of enthusiasm welled up in the pit of my stomach. This would be my chance, my long-awaited breakthrough. I rubbed my nose and asked, "Who is Miss Molly Gertrude Grey?"
I had never heard her name, but that didn't mean much, as I barely even read the Calmhaven Sentinel myself. But, no doubt, this woman was a celebrity. Famous or infamous. Maybe, she had won Calmhaven's beauty pageant, and they would usher me into her penthouse for an exclusive interview, complete with wine and caviar. Or, and this was just as good, the recent heist of Calmhaven's First National Bank had been her brain child, and I would talk to her in jail, surrounded by stern looking prison guards with their rifles trained, ready to fire.
"She runs a wedding agency," Stapleton replied giving me the 'It's-time-you-read-our-newspaper,' look. "It's called The Cozy Bridal Agency," and the office has been in operation for twenty-five years."
I frowned. I had just turned twenty-five myself, which meant the Cozy Bridal Agency was just about the same age. So this lady was not a beauty queen, and neither was she a notorious criminal. "How old is this woman?" I stuttered.
Stapleton shrugged his shoulders. "Does it matter?"
"Not really," I answered, feeling rather dumb.
But Stapleton was helpful. "As far as I know she's around 80 years. I want you to meet her and talk to her about her life, the Agency, and anything that is appropriate. She is quite a personality in the town and the anniversary of the Agency is of interest to the nice folks of Calmhaven."
80 years old? I sighed. "Will my article be on the front page, Mr. Stapleton?"
"No, Virgil," Stapleton sneered. "That page is for the real important stuff, like the present drought and the war overseas. Your article, if it is any good, comes somewhere towards the end of the paper. 300 Words, no more, you get it? I want it on my desk next Friday."
Stapleton leaned forward again, picked up a paper from his desk and began to read. Without looking up, he motioned with his hand that I was to leave the Holy of Holies. But then, just before I stepped out the door, he cleared his throat. "Oh, Virgil?"
I stopped. "Yes, Mr. Stapleton?"
"That Molly Gertrude Grey, she's a sleuth too," Stapleton answered, still not looking up. "She has solved many crimes over the years; crimes our police officer JJ Barnes couldn't even crack. It's interesting for our readers if you at least mention that aspect of her life in your article."
An 80-year-old crime-busting grandma? Now that’s more interesting!
I nodded politely. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Stapleton. I won't let you down."
But Stapleton did not seem to hear my last comment. His mind was on an article about the unwanted side effects of the facelift of Calmhaven's only movie star, and I closed the door behind me.
I had an assignment. Not a fantastic one, but it was an assignment, and I had begun to climb the ladder in my career as a journalist.
2
Meeting Miss Molly Gertrude
Miss Molly Gertrude was most forthcoming when I called her on the phone that afternoon. She had a normal house phone. I wondered if she even had a mobile phone. After all, she was 80. It could be an interesting detail.
It took time, but at last somebody picked up and a cheerful voice greeted me. "Hello, you are talking to Molly Gertrude Grey from the Cozy Bridal Agency. How may I help you?"
Her voice reminded me of Aunt Abigail, a favorite relative of mine from my mother's side, who seemed to possess a gentle warmth that was lacking in the rest of my family.
I cleared my throat. "This is Virgil Shepherd, from the Calmhaven Sentinel, Ma'am. Our newspaper wants to do an exclusive interview with you about your work as a wedding planner."
It was silent for a few moments, but then her voice returned. "What was your name again, dear?" she chirped.
"Virgil, Ma'am," I answered, feeling like a little boy. "Virgil Shepherd. My editor has reserved space for your work in the newspaper. That's a good advertisement for your business."
300 Words on page 26 or 27. Not the best way to advertise. I hope she won't ask me about that.
"What a lovely surprise," the old lady bubbled. "When?"
"When would you have time?"
It was silent for a moment on the other end, and I could almost hear her think. At last she said with a chuckle, "Any time, young man. Would tomorrow suit you?"
"That would be lovely, Miss Grey. Will I come to your place, then?"
I could hear her discuss it with somebody else. "How about we meet in the C
rystal Grill? Tomorrow, we will be in that part of Calmhaven already, and then we can have a friendly chat while eating a Chef's Salad and drinking a cup of Raspberry tea."
It sounded good. I knew the Crystal Grill. A small, cozy restaurant on the outskirts of town that was overlooking Hanbrook Lake, not too far from Calmhaven's marine.
Perfect. "Shall we say at one o'clock, Miss Grey?"
"One o'clock it shall be," she chirped. "Goodbye Mr. Virgil."
That was it. Done. The conversation was over, and she hung up the phone.
I closed my smart phone as well and leaned against the doorpost of my kitchen. This was almost a sacred moment. I was about to take my first wobbly steps as a journalist, although I could not see how I could write an interesting article in 300 words about an old lady arranging weddings.
But I should not despise the day of small things, and the rest of the afternoon I spent in front of my laptop, churning out questions that could interest the readers of the Sentinel.
Thus, when I arrived the following day at the Crystal Grill, I came prepared.
I was early, something I had done on purpose, so I could choose the best spot and be in control of the interview.
"A table for one?" the waiter, a tall, balding man with huge shoulders and a hawk like nose, asked as soon as I had entered. I stared at the name tag fastened to the lapel of his black jacket. It read Jean-Pierre. The man did not look French at all. Rather, he looked like a lumberjack, but he could be Canadian.
"No, I am expecting somebody," I answered while I overlooked the dining area. The place was busy, but at the end, and overlooking the lake, was the perfect spot. "I'll take that one," I said and pointed towards the table.
"Sorry, Sir, that's reserved," the waiter said, forcing a sad grin on his face. "How about here?" He motioned to a table near where we were standing.
Not my idea of a great spot, as it was close by the entrance, but there was not much of an alternative so I nodded, pulled out the chair and sat down. "Just get me a coffee for now," I told the waiter with the French name, and took out my laptop.
At that moment the door opened again, causing a wave of cold air to wash over my back, and a young lady passed by, followed by… an old lady leaning on her walking cane. Jean Pierre seemed to know them as he gave them both a broad smile while he escorted them to the table I had wanted to sit at.
Once there, he pulled out the chair for the old woman and took her coat. The younger lady said something to Jean Pierre that caused him to snort.
Could it be that the older lady was Miss Grey?
Her wavy hair with the short curls, was not grey at all, but snowy white. But, she did in fact fit the profile I was expecting: stiff, bent over, leaning on a cane, and her wrinkled face was as least as ancient as Noah's wife must have looked when she walked out of the Arc after the biblical flood.
But who was that lady that accompanied her?
She was about my age, and dressed in fashionable slacks with a fitting, brown jacket and smiled a bubbly smile as she made another remark to Jean Pierre while she pushed her brown pony tail back over her shoulders. An attractive young lady she was, although I didn't care much for the enormous pink glasses perched on her nose.
Then again, my horn-rimmed glasses weren't exactly stylish either.
I studied both women, trying not to stare too obviously, but the more I looked, the more convinced I became the old lady was indeed Miss Grey.
Jean Pierre finished taking their order, and I motioned for him to come.
He arched his brows. "Yes, Sir? Anything else besides coffee?"
"I wanted to ask if you know those two ladies that just came in."
He smiled. "I do. That's Miss Molly Gertrude Grey, and the other woman is her assistant Dora Brightside. They run a dating service slash wedding planner's office here in Calmhaven."
Bingo. I knew it! It's them.
"I can recommend their services," Jean Pierre went on. "Two years ago they helped me to find my Winnie." His eyes got a dreamy look as he seemed to peer into happy recollections of the past. "If it wasn't for their help, I would most likely still be a bachelor, watching movies on my lonely couch at night, trying to chase away my despair by eating chips and drinking soda. And…" He lowered his voice and looked around as if to make sure nobody was listening in, "my boss, Alex Pierce, is about to get married and he's also using their services. He and his lovely fiancée are planning an enormous wedding, right here at the Crystal Grill." He raised himself up again and mumbled, "But you probably don't need their help, since you are expecting somebody…" He leaned closer once more, and whispered, "May I give you a suggestion, Sir? For a romantic meal I recommend our Skilled Cod with lemon and capers. Works every time."
"Thank you," I mumbled, not wanting to offend the man. "But I am here on business. In fact, it is Miss Grey I was expecting."
Jean Pierre gave me a knowing smile. "Ah, I see… In that case, I will wish you good luck, and…" he whispered barely audible, "Don't worry, you'll be married in a jiffy."
I had to fight off the temptation to give the man a shove, but instead I closed my laptop and blurted out a stony thank you while I pushed my chair away.
"I'll move over to their table," I told Jean Pierre. "You can serve me my coffee over there."
I was surprised by my own rudeness. I think my nerves were getting the better of me. Sheesh, it’s just an old lady from a Bridal shop. Virgil, pull yourself together , man!
As I neared Molly’s table, I felt a rising sense of dread. These were my first steps on my path to become a world famous investigative journalist.
"Miss Grey?" I said, feeling much like that time when, as a boy in first grade, I had been putting chewing gum in Margareta Dolores' hair, and had to explain to mean old Miss Williamson, our teacher, why I had performed that evil deed.
She looked up and our eyes met.
There were small, little lights in her dark blue eyes that, despite her age, sparkled with life and adventure. It was then I realized her wrinkles were not just caused by the years, but it was the smile on her face that had formed some of them. She too, was wearing glasses, although her glasses were at least twice as thick as mine.
"Irvin?" she said. "We've been expecting you."
"Virgil, Ma'am. Virgil Shepherd."
"Ah… of course," Miss Grey wrinkled her nose. "How silly of me. But, never mind. Please sit down young man, so we can have our interview."
No, this lady was not like Miss Williamson. She was as gentle as she was old, and I had nothing to fear. As I pulled out a chair, I knew this would not be very difficult.
3
Somebody get a medic
Miss Grey studied me as I sat down. She may not have gotten my name right, but she struck me as an observant woman. I felt her sharp eyes boring into me as if she could see right through me. But it wasn't unpleasant, and it did not make me feel uncomfortable. Around her there just was no need to pretend. She placed her hand on my arm and said, "Would you like something to eat? Dora and I ordered a Chef's Salad. The treat is on me. The Cozy Bridal will pay for it."
I shook my head, not wanting to abuse the old woman's hospitality. "Thank you, Ma'am, but I am not much of a salad eater. I gave her a weak smile as I opened my laptop again, hoping to start my questions right away. "I am what you call a meat and potatoes man."
"Are you now, dear?" Miss Grey said as she readjusted her glasses. "I heard the hamburgers are rather tasty here. A hamburger maybe?" She tilted her head to the side and looked me straight in the eyes. "And greens are important too, young man. Vegetables, fruits, nuts… that's the stuff that cleans your digestive system. If you don't want to keel over from a heart attack at an early age, you need to put balance in your diet."
There was the twinkle in her eye again as she continued. "Your health is one of the best things you've got, Irwin. Most people don't realize that, when they are your age."
I shrugged. "Virgil, Ma'am. My name is Virgil."
She's not just gentle and old, but a little irritating as well.
She frowned. "Forgive me, Virgil. Somehow you remind me of my little nephew Irvin, and…," she smiled, "…that's a good thing, for he's a real treasure."
I grinned and nodded politely. "It's nothing, Ma'am. Thank you for the offer, but I am not hungry. I ordered a coffee."
It was then that Miss Grey's assistant spoke up. "Hello," she said, and offered me her hand. "My name is Dora Brightside. I've been helping Miss Molly Gertrude for quite some years now." Her voice was fresh, almost youthful and had a melodious ring to it. Nice. I liked her. "Virgil Shepherd," I said.
At that moment, Jean Pierre showed up again, carrying a huge tray containing my coffee, two Chef's Salads and two cups of tea.
I closed my laptop again, not trusting the waiter with the tea and the coffee, but he did not spill a drop, and after he had made sure we were all set, he gave Miss Grey a satisfied nod and left again.
Miss Grey turned and asked, "Do you mind if we say a little prayer, Virgil. You know, just to thank God for His goodness. You may even join us if you'd like."
I blushed. "No, Ma'am… you go ahead." I respected religion…, somewhat. It was fine for those who found comfort in it, but I wasn't brought up that way, and had no time for it.
"No problem," she replied in a soft voice. Without further ado, both women bowed their heads, and Miss Brightside whispered a word of thanks to God.
After the prayer, Miss Grey peered at me and placed her hand once more on my arm. "Please call us by our first names. We are Molly Gertrude and Dora. There's no need to be so formal."