Shortcuts: Clint Faraday Mysteries, #4

By C. D. Moulton

A collection of shorts featuring Clint Faraday, retired PI from Florida who has moved to Panamá. He works with the Policía Nacionál, in many cases. He is learning the differences in the laws and methods, and is gaining a very good reputation. He is starting to learn a bit of pragmatism about life and situations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jun 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201108458

Book preview

Clint Faraday Mysteries # 4

Shortcuts

10 shorts

© 2009 & 2011 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any other information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/ publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

Contents

About the author

Breakfast Call

Bah! Humbug!

Oye!

Dead Wrong

Hmm....

Exactly!

Killer Show

Deadly Serious

Footnote

Doormat

About the author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida. His education is in genetics and botany. He has traveled over much of the world, particularly when he was in music as a rock rhythm guitarist with some well-known bands in the late sixties and early seventies. He has worked as a high steel worker and as a longshoreman, clerk, orchidist, bar owner, salvage yard manager and landscaper – among other things.

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 115 books published as of this time in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides in Bocas del Toro and David, Panama’, where he continues research into epiphytic plants. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group.

CD loves Panama’ and the people. He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panama’. 

Estrelita Suarez V. 

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It has proven effective in all cases, so far. It is based on a plant that has been in use for thousands of years, is safe, available, and cheap. He has studied botany, and was cured of a serious lymphoma with use of the plant, Ambrosia peruviana.

Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook page, Ambrosia peruviana for cancer. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Breakfast Call

Clint Faraday took his coffee out onto the deck of his home near Saigon Bay and waved at Judi Lum, his nextdoor neighbor. She waved back and wagged a finger at him in their regular ritual. He didn’t often bother to wear anything when he first got up in the mornings until he decided what he was going to do.

Judi was a very attractive woman, originally from Taiwan. They had been close friends ever since he moved to Panama’. She helped him with his cases, at times. He had retired from the PI business in Florida when he moved to Panama’, where he was now involved with a number of cases. He worked with the local police on murders of the types they never had before the tourist influx of the past several years. He worked most often with Cpt. Sergio Valdez of the violent crimes division.

Panamanians are generally not violent people. It’s the tourists and residents from other places that tend to get into such situations.

Jorge Sanchez went by in his cayuga. No passengers, so he would be out for lobster today. He waved and called, Co coin dega! (It’s a great day!) to Clint and Judi, who returned the greeting.

Clint was learning the local Indio dialect, and was teaching them English, in return. His Spanish is what he calls, Practical, not grammatical. He is conversational, but not grammatically correct.

He would go fishing. It really was a beautiful day. He might even find Jorge and dive for a lobster or two for the freezer.

His cellular buzzed. He debated answering until he read the ID on the screen, then answered, Yo, Serg-io! Wa-aping? (Wadi-wadi for que pasa?)

Clint, I hate to call you this early, but can you come to the Hotel Crawnshaw? There’s been a murder – I think. It looks contrived.

Where in hell is the Hotel Crawnshaw? Clint asked.

It’s a block or two before Mondo Taitu. One of those big houses that were converted into what we used to call a rooming house.

Oh. Canary-shit yellow place?

Uh-huh.

Be there in ten.

Thanks, Clint.

Name’s Walter Wycoff. Holycalm, Missouri. Booked in day before yesterday with a bunch of family and a couple of friends. Have the whole hotel for the entire week, Sergio explained. "Marilyn Crawnshaw owns the place. He left a breakfast call for six thirty, she knocked on the door, got no answer, tried again, no answer, tried the passkey, but the deadbolt was on, went around to the porch side and tried that door, deadbolted.

She got Mauricio, the Indio kid there, to go in the window. He had to break a pane to unlock it. This is what he found. All he did was unlock the door, then got out of there. Marilyn didn’t let anyone go in until Doc and I got here.

Doc is Dr. Astrades, the local ME.

They went into the room. Doc was working over a very large man on the bed. He said the guy was smothered, but there were signs he had a bad heart. That may be the actual cause of death, but the attack was brought on by someone trying to smother him.

He was smothered in a locked room? Clint said. "Shades of John Dickson Carr! This one might be weird!

Who are the suspects? He was inspecting the room, carefully. He noted the heavy deadbolts, the small self-locking windows either side of the door to the porch, the way the bed sat against the wall, the writing desk, the small lamp on the end table was on, the room airconditioner in the second window, the armoire, that the fan was running. Everything. And is anything changed? Lights, AC, etc.?

Anyone here between, say, two thirty and three thirty? Doc answered. I can get more exact, but that’ll be when it was done. We didn’t change anything. AC wasn’t on, the fan was.

Security gates locked, at the time? Clint asked.

They’re locked at dark every day, Marilyn said. The tenants have a key, but it rings a bell inside my room. I know no one came or went from about nine until we found him.

Clint took a few minutes to go around the entire property. There was no way anyone could have come in from outside. The place was secure.

He went back in to tell Sergio. "Okay. I have to talk with everyone here. The killer is staying in this hotel.

How many?

Eight, besides him, he replied. Two friends, and six family. They’re down in the dining room, having coffee.

Clint nodded, and went down to the dining area to meet the suspects:

Bobby Wycoff, 28 years, five nine and maybe a hundred eighty pounds, sandy brownish hair, a little long, brooding personality.

Wilma Wycoff, 24 years, five six, 140 pounds, same type of sandy brownish hair, a bit too bubbly for Clint’s taste. She was immediately flirting with him.

Lily Wycoff, 22 years, five seven, 140 pounds, same hair, a bit snobbish.

John Wycoff, five eleven, 135 pounds, ditto, skinny computer nerd type.

Ellen Wycoff, 20 years, five ten, 145 pounds, ditto. A bit reserved, but not snobbish.

Arthur Wycoff, 18 years, six feet, 185 pounds, ditto. Sullen teenager at an age he should have outgrown it.

Bill Handley, 42 years, five nine, 180 pounds, somewhat ruddy complexion, dark nutbrown short hair, overly-curious, trying to be cool, computer nerd type. Friend of John.

Gladys Anne Fallsy, 25 years, 140 pounds, long bleached-blond hair, subdued, friend of Lily.

The hotel had eight rooms. Everyone except Lily and Gladys had a private room. There was a bath at either end of the hallway. The rooms were on the second floor, with the kitchen, laundry and so forth on the bottom floor. Marilyn’s rooms were in front on one side of the entrance, with a large lobby/sitting room on the other side.

Clint looked the set-up over, went through the neat clean kitchen, then returned to the murder room, where Sergio asked if he knew who did it yet. It was meant as a joke, but Clint said it was rather obvious. He only had to try to find the motive.

Sergio didn’t know if he was serious. He was.

"Bobby, I’m Clint Faraday. I assist the police in certain types of crimes. I have to know some background.

How did you get along with your father?

"Pretty good, most of the time. He could be strict and more than a little obstinate. When he got an idea in his head, there wasn’t anything known to man that would change it. It was mostly about morals and that kind of thing, so we all know how to stay away from anything that might set him off. He was generous and tight, at the same time. He paid for a vacation in a new place every year, but he wouldn’t spend anything over the basic rooms and food.

"None of us are hurting. It was still a pretty cheap vacation for all of us. We all get along Okay. If we invite friends, we have to pay for them.

He was a bit of a stickler about booze and sex. The rule was not much to drink and sex was out, if we didn’t keep it a secret from him. He was willing to see and hear no evil – from the men. The women, totally off-limits. Period. Next case. You WILL be a virgin when you marry.

He had the heart condition for how long?

"About four years, that we knew about. He had a minor attack, then. He knew about it before, but kept it from us.

Listen, Mr. Faraday. You’re asking me about his heart. We were told he was murdered?

He apparently suffered a massive coronary while someone was trying to kill him.

Bobby shuddered. I hope you catch whoever did it.

Clint went upstairs to ask Doc how he knew someone tried to smother Wycoff.

"Because of the slight bruising and the fact there are fibers in his teeth from the tear in the pillow when he bit it.

No, it couldn’t be because he bit the pillow when he had the heart attack. There would be no bruising on the cheekbones from that.

Clint thanked him and went back downstairs to repeat the introduction to Lily Wycoff. She had much the same to say about her father. She admitted she had a boyfriend, and that what they did would have had her cut out of the will. He didn’t know – or pretended that he didn’t. He wasn’t stupid, by any criteria. She was worried about a scandal from this.

John had much the same things to say about him, though he seemed to resent what he called The blind condemnation of anyone who didn’t think like he did and the way he held human nature against people.

Wilma was a little confused by it all. She didn’t have anything to add. Her father was a bit strict, but not as much as people seemed to think. He just overstressed his ideas, at times. Not really very often.

Bill Handley hadn’t known him, except in passing, when he was at the house. He seemed a very nice person and had a good mind, except for the religion bit. He could get tiresome with his pious moral tirades, if a public official got caught philandering – which they  tended to do far too often, anymore. All the outrage in the world wouldn’t change them one millimeter.

Gladys Anne had much the same story as Bill. She didn’t know him well. He seemed mostly very nice, but she wasn’t into the Jesus bit, so more-or-less avoided him in any situation where it might come up. Ellen Wycoff, same story.

Arthur Wycoff, resented his father for being such a total prude, but appreciated what he’d done for him.

None of them had anything particularly negative to say about any of the others. Lily was a little uppity, at times. John had a secret. Maybe he’d knocked a girl up or something and didn’t want anyone to know. He spent a lot of money they thought might be child support, but he made plenty, so it wasn’t a real problem. Ellen had the wrong kind of boyfriend. They had to agree with Dad, there. He was a motorcycle bum and up to no good. Wilma had a slight memory problem. Arthur was a pain in the ass with his morose outlook. It was all petty and typical of that kind of family. Clint did have one place to look.