Norrit and Hale: Private Eyes: Norrit and Hale, #2

By R.S. Kellogg

            Join Norrit and Hale for tales of mystery as they take on work as private eyes.

            Norrit and Hale, Patron Saints of Grandparents, enjoy their hard-earned vacation at a little rented cabin in the forest town of Vataroma, where nobody knows them. Time to take a break, kick back, and enjoy jig-saw puzzles and painting in a private yard near the woods.

            Perfect and peaceful.

            Until a boy detective races into their yard, chasing a cat named Fish and hot in pursuit of clues for his latest case.

Now, Norrit and Hale face a much different afternoon than what they expected. Definitely a more exciting one.

            This collection of five original fantasy stories—first published here—explore the further adventures of Norrit and Hale:

            In Norrit and Hale and the Missing Necklace, the two old friends meet a young private eye, and agree to help him on a case.

            In Norrit and Hale and the Haunted Bridge, the two old friends help Farrin with a case troubled by an eerie issue.

            In Norrit and Hale and the Vanishing Cat, the men help Farrin solve a small-town mystery . . . with help from an unexpected source.

            In Norrit and Hale and the Case of the Market Mix-Up, the team gets a strange case with head-scratching factors.

            In Norrit and Hale and the Case of Farrin's Father, Norrit and Hale help out when Farrin's family experiences unexpected trouble.

            Buy this collection and receive all five of the above stories, published for the first time in this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.S. Kellogg
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781956123609

R.S. Kellogg

 R.S. Kellogg writes in the fantasy Breadcove Bay series, as well as exploring other story worlds and non-fiction topics.

Book preview

Introduction

Norrit and Hale have been Patron Saints of Grandparents around Breadcove Bay and Tinsleberry for so long and working so hard that it’s probably high time they got a month-long vacation.

In their everyday lives, the two immortal old men dwell in the night sky above the area of Breadcove Bay. where by night they travel in a big red hot-air balloon to gather moondust and stardust which fuels the wish-granting machinery they invented at Starry-Eyed Station to help them care for the grandparents and grandchildren on the earth below.

But recently, after the addition of Desilla Bell to the team as the Patron Saint of Grandmothers, Norrit and Hale agreed to her suggestion that the two men go and treat themselves to a nice long break while she fixed up living accomodations for herself at the station.

Norrit, especially, felt a little bit of trepedition over handing over the management of their clubhouse in the sky to Desilla Bell for a month, but even he could see the value of taking a good, long change of scenery.

The two men have rented a cabin in the forest town of Vataroma, out of the area where they usually work, so they are unlikely to be recognized.

With an agenda to mainly relax and take it easy, the two old men are soon to find out that often things don’t go to plan.

This book is the sequel to The Adventures of Norrit and Hale, but it can also be read as a stand-alone volume. You do not need to have read the previous book before reading this one.

It can be a delight to have adventures with grandparents.

When I was a child, I loved getting to know my Great-Grandfather Clark, an old farmer who had retired at the tender age of 80 and eventually moved in to a small apartment attached to the home of his daughter (my great-aunt). By the time I knew him he was in his nineties, and was fond of his small descendents even when we did things like jump on his furniture. He was still helping to care for his wife, who was younger than he was.

I remember my mother being concerned at my great-grandfather climbing a ladder to get fruit down from one of his trees for us. He would guide us around his garden and harvest fresh food for us to enjoy, still hot from the sun.

On once occasion, he fell over as we walked beneath his trees, making a soft landing on the grass. He was so small and light that my Kindergarten-age self was able to successfully help him up.

He graciously accepted my hand for support to stand, and my mother reflected later that he took help from me but he may not have been as happy to take help from her.

There is something magical that can emerge in relationships that skip a generation or two. I was always grateful to hear the stories of my grandparents and great-grandparents, and have relished the time I’ve spent with them as a great honor, enjoying our time together.

Norrit and Hale are unique characters in their own right, but some of their personality is doubtless drawn from small ways I have seen the loving older people of my life be present with the younger people they care about.

Cheers,

R.S. Kellogg

P.S. Enjoy the stories!

List of Stories

Norrit and Hale and the Case of the Missing Necklace

Norrit and Hale and the Haunted Bridge

Norrit and Hale and the Vanishing Cat

Norrit and Hale and the Case of the Market Mix Up

Norrit and Hale and the Case of Farrin’s Father

Norrit and Hale and the Missing Necklace

by R.S. Kellogg

Norrit and Hale, the Patron Saints of Grandparents, were taking a well-earned month-long vacation from their work.

The cabin they’d rented for their time off had a lovely little yard out back, with a scattering of sun-bleached chairs and a table, and the two old men chose to relax there for the second afternoon of their stay, enjoying some quiet time before dinnertime came, and soaking in the sunshine.

The yard smelled of evergreens, and had just enough pollen from nearby purple-topped wildflowers that Hale found himself dabbing at his nose with his pocket handkerchief—a carefully ironed square of cotton fabric embroidered on the corner with a solid blue block-letter H.

The chair where Hale sat before his easel was worn and old, but had been tended to well enough to be serviceable. The arms of the chair had been sanded down and covered with a coat of a sealant, sparing him any splinters. He appreciated the thoughtfulness that the owner had taken with the cabin. Though the dwelling was not opulent, and everything about it was at least somewhat worn, everything was still functional and still in good-enough repair. Kind of like himself and Norrit, come to think of it. Though Norrit’s knees were worn and Hale’s own teeth were removable, the old men took care of themselves and each other. They got by.

It was lucky to find a cabin out of the way that felt both lived-in and cared for. It made Hale feel welcomed and at home. Rather like he was visiting the vacation home of a friend on invitation instead of spending a month at a cabin which he and Norrit had found on rent via the newspaper.

The cabin was outside of the range of where Norrit and Hale generally traveled. They had never before come to the little forest town of Vataroma, and so therefore their odds of being recognized were small. They had arrived by boat and then power sled instead of traveling in via their famous red hot air balloon, and they prided themselves in taking the necessary precautions to look as if they were any other regular tourists.

This vacation gave them the opportunity to visit a place they’d never gone before and get a break from being recognized. It felt like a load had lifted from Hale’s shoulders that he hadn’t even been aware that he’d been carrying to have this chance to take it easy for a while.

Despite the fact that the saintly position they had achieved as the Patron Saints of Grandparents rendered them ageless and immortal, in a responsible fashion they both wore hats with wide brims to cover their old heads as they enjoyed the peace of an afternoon next to a forest. Without hats, they wouldn’t get any new age spots or wrinkles, but they’d still squint in strong sunlight. Norrit’s hat shielded his eyes from the sun as he scowled over pieces of his jigsaw puzzle. Norrit had spread his puzzle out across a big baking sheet which he’d brought out from the kitchen of the cabin. The baking sheet gave him a level surface for puzzle-making and let him avoid the rough uncertainty of the aged wooden table beneath—Norrit had sniffed to see that there were gaps between the planks, not to mention a few knots in the wood which had aged away, leaving holes behind. It would be a disaster to attempt his puzzle on this table without a flat surface as an intermediary, and Hale had grinned at the work-around Norrit had arranged.

Hale had put his own hat on that afternoon with half a thought to setting a good example to any children who might stop by. Just out of the habit of things.

Not that he’d heard many young voices in these woods, and the cabin’s rear-facing yard dead-ended into thick evergreens, but you never knew.

Hale dabbed his paintbrush into one of the shades of green on his palate, and carefully applied brushstrokes to his canvas, appreciating the soothing light weight of the paintbrush in his hand as he carefully stroked up to make the bent shape of an ancient evergreen bough. He was painting the trees behind the cabin, which went up and up seemingly near forever toward the sky. He was a good-enough artist, and found painting therapeutic. When he painted it was easier to sort out his thoughts, he found. Busy thoughts tended to settle themselves. Scattered ones lined up into a workable order.

He’d had to angle his easel carefully to point it in a direction where the view was primarily of trees, because the neighboring cabins were close by.

Norrit had grumbled when they’d first shown up, luggage in hand, that this place looked less like a rural cabin in the woods as had been advertised, and more like a cabin in a town with the houses slightly further apart than a usual neighborhood, and the yards filled with trees that then gave way to more acres of trees.

Hale privately agreed with this, but he wasn’t one to fixate on the perplexing aspects of life.

So rather than dwell on the fact that the cabin they’d rented was not quite as rural as they had hoped, Hale was angling his easel to get a view that allowed him to fill his canvas full of trees, without catching the edge of the house next door in his view.

The scent of the paints was a nice complement to the aromas of forest floor and the mug of peppermint tea beside him on a flat bit of the table. A light breeze that spoke deeply of the great outdoors brushed his cheeks. Overall, the whiff of paints that