An Amos Mac Abrey Mystery Adventure
Snail Mail
Once upon a crime in the quaint town of Shady Grove, I, Amos Mac Abrey, found myself embroiled in a sinister mystery. There I was, lounging on my porch, the morning brew warming my hands, the local paper's headlines dancing before my eyes, when old Luke, the postman, shuffled up my path. The man was as much a part of this town as the cobblestone streets, his frame bent like the willows by the creek, his uniform a shade duller than my memories of yesteryear.
"Good morning, Mr. Mac Abrey," he called out, his voice as familiar as the creak of my gate. I'd long since given up on persuading him to forgo the formalities and call me by my first name. But Luke was a stickler for tradition, the postmaster and one of the trio of carriers who knew every soul in town by their mailbox.
"Expecting more flyers and catalogs, Luke? You know my life's gone digital," I quipped, half-hoping for a break in the usual routine.
"Not today," he replied, a twinkle in his eye betraying the monotony of his rounds. "Today, you've got something special." And with that, he handed me a package, its brown paper wrapping rough against my fingers, my name penned in a flourish across the front. It had the heft of a book, and I mused that perhaps a fan had sleuthed out my address, seeking an autograph on one of my mystery novels.
Setting the parcel on the table beside me, I beckoned Luke to join me for a cup of joe. My home marked the end of his daily journey, and he never passed up the chance for a homemade muffin and a brief respite on my porch.
We chatted about Shady Grove's changing face, the city dwellers now calling it home, commuting to their distant jobs, altering the rhythm of our small town. "Might need to hire another carrier or install those impersonal post boxes," Luke mused, a hint of concern in his voice. "But I hope not. These walks keep me going." With a nod and a promise of good tidings from the mysterious package, he bid me farewell, already planning his Saturday delivery to lighten Monday's load.
Alone again, I unwrapped the package to discover a diary, its leather cover worn, the word 'Diary' embossed in gold. Flipping past the initial blank page, an envelope fell into my lap. Inside, a pre-loaded credit card bearing my name, a strip of tape declaring a sum of $50,000, and a folded note that sent shivers down my spine: "The Wolf Lives and Grandma is missing. Please help. Ruby Wood."
The message was clear as the morning sky - I was to delve into the diary, to unravel the enigma wrapped in this cryptic plea. With a fresh pour of coffee, I settled in, the diary's pages revealing a twisted tale, a modern-day Red Riding Hood reimagined with gangsters, secrets, and a monstrous villain. And there I was, unwittingly cast as the huntsman in this eerie amusement.
I read the whole thing in an hour.
This is the digested version of what I read
**Monday, March 3rd**
The city's underbelly was a far cry from the fairy tales of old, but here I was, a modern-day huntsman, tracking beasts of a different breed. The diary began with a dame named Ruby, a red-hooded enigma in a world of concrete forests and steel wolves. She spoke of her Grandma, a reclusive figure with ties to the city's shadowy past.
**Tuesday, March 4th**
Ruby's entries grew more frantic; the Wolf was more than a mere metaphor. It was a moniker for the city's most elusive gangster, whose fangs sunk deep into the heart of our urban jungle. Grandma had crossed him, and now she was gone, vanished into the smog.
**Wednesday, March 5th**
I followed Ruby's cryptic clues through the diary, each page a breadcrumb leading me deeper into the labyrinth of lies and deceit. The Wolf's pack prowled the night, their howls echoing off the skyscrapers, a symphony of danger and dread.
**Thursday, March 6th**
In a twist of fate, Ruby revealed her hand. She wasn't just a damsel in distress; she was bait, a trap set by the Wolf to lure out his enemies. But who was the real prey in this concrete forest?
**Friday, March 7th**
The final entry was a showdown at the docks, the full moon a spotlight on the stage of our final act. Ruby, the Wolf, and I, caught in a tangle of truth and treachery. In the end, it was a flash of silver - a huntsman's blade - that cut through the night, and the Wolf's reign was no more.
The diary closed with a warning: in the city every shadow could conceal a wolf, and every tale had its teeth. As for me, Amos Mac Abrey, The last entry was Ruby Wood telling me I was her only hope to save her and her grandmother.
After tidying up the remnants of my morning meal, I grabbed my ever-prepared travel bag, ignited the engine of my trusty Studebaker Bulletnose - a relic from a bygone era - and set a course for the city. My mission was clear: locate Ruby Wood, whose name I prayed was less enigmatic than the tale she had spun. As Amos Mac Abrey, amateur sleuth with a penchant for the peculiar, I couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement at the prospect of this Once Upon a Crime mystery that lay before me.
Into The Murky Night
The city, with its towering edifices and shadowed alleys, was a labyrinth of secrets, and I was its willing minotaur. I had found a rooming house where Ruby and her supposed grandmother had taken refuge was nestled in a forgotten corner, its walls steeped in stories untold. The landlady, a hawk-eyed sentinel, was quick to cast aspersions, painting the pair as nocturnal nymphs seeking respite from their sordid affairs. But intuition, that silent partner of every sleuth, whispered of inaccuracies in her tale.
My search of their quarters was meticulous, a dance of curiosity and caution. Amidst the mundane - a hairpin here, a smudged letter there - it was the photograph that halted my pirouette. There, captured in sepia tones, was a young woman, her poise defiant, flanked by a gangster whose very stance oozed menace. In her delicate grip, a Thompson submachine gun - a prop in this staged tableau, no doubt, but a clue to the cryptic hint Ruby had left in her wake.
The picture was a riddle wrapped in a riddle, a staged studio shot that spoke of a past both wild and whimsical. It was then I knew the landlady's words were a tapestry of misconceptions. Ruby and her elder were not the harlots of twilight hours but players in a narrative far richer, entwined with secrets that stretched back to an era when gangsters ruled and the night was young.
As the murky night drew its curtains tighter, I felt the thrill of the chase surge within me. This was no ordinary case; it was a journey into the shadows of history, where truth and fiction danced cheek to cheek. And I, Amos Mac Abrey, was all too eager to lead.
Whispers Of Ruby Wood
Anybody who even remotely knows me, especially the cops, knows that a lot of my success as a mystery writer come amateur sleuth is the result of some really uncanny luck. Most people stumble and fall and scrape their shins. When I stumble I land in pile of evidence and information that seemed to have been just waiting to trip me. It was that luck that guided me to The Silhouette Lounge with a door that opened into a blind alley reminiscent of an old speak easy joint.
It was a jazz club, just like the old days and as soon as I went inside I saw promos of Ruby Wood hung on the walls. I little sign over the small stage read, Ruby Wood, house singer and over the bar was a sign that read, Grandma's Place.
I went to the bar and blurted everything out to the bar tender who said unexpectedly, "Been waiting for you. Come in the back. I hope you didn't get here to late. Granny and the kid might of got hit on already. I mean dead hit on. Neither of' em has called in three days."
His name was Slick.
" I just got the diary this morning and tracked Ruby to a rooming house over in the west end. There was a lot of stuff there but the only thing I took was this."
I showed him the picture of the gangster and the girl with the tommy gun.
Slick grinned. "That's Granny from her gangster days but now she's clean. She did her twenty and out went straight and opened this place. Thing is the grand son of her old gangster boy friend knew she had the goods on the family business and has been trying to put her and Ruby out of his misery."
"And that's why they are hiding out. Because some creep wants them toe tagged." I said
"You. You nailed it and get this, the cops won't help so Ruby who is mad in love with Zip Ripper, you famous hardboiled detective figured you were, are their only hope. Are you Zip? Can you save' em?"
"I'll give it my best shot Slick but tell me where they are or were the last time you heard from them."
"Little motel called The Shade Tree north west of town."
I laughed. They were in Shady Grove or just out side of it in a motel built into a hookback of the Shade Grove Brook.
I drew my cell phone and called Alice Mot the motel owner. "Hey Al. You got an old woman and someone who looks like a granddaughter staying there?" I asked when she answered.
"Sure do Amos, and they mentioned your name. Said you were going to help them out."
"I am doing that now Al. Tell them to stay put and move them clandestinely to that back room. Make sure no one sees."
"Done Amos but it'll cost you. At least a morning coffee."
"Sure Al." She meant more than just a coffee but that's between she and me and dust under the bed.
"Ok Slick. Where did Granny and Ruby come up with fifty grand?"
"Granny mortgaged the place." Slick answered.
"When this is done she can take the money back and unmortgage the place."
"You're a nice guy Mr. Mac Abrey."
"Call me Amos and give me a drink then tell me all about the gangster Grandson."
"Wolf Del Marriono the third. Nasty piece of work. He figures he's invincible. You'll find him at his club. It's called the Dockside Shanty Club. It's pretty exclusive too."
I knocked back my drink and headed for the Dockside Shanty Club. It felt like that place in Morocco that got made famous in a movie.
Wolfy And The Hunter Man
The city's underbelly was no stranger to me, Amos Mac Abrey, the amateur sleuth with a knack for stumbling upon the most peculiar of mysteries. This time, my adventure began with a cryptic plea from Ruby Wood, whose grandmother had vanished, leaving behind a diary filled with ominous whispers of a gangster known only as the Wolf.
I had just left the Silhouette Lounge, a jazz club from another era, where I learned that Granny and Ruby were in hiding from the Wolf, a gangster with a vendetta. Slick, the bartender, had filled me in on the details, and now I was on my way to the Dockside Shanty Club, the Wolf's lair, to set a trap for the predator himself.
But first, I needed backup. I called my old friend, Detective Sergeant Wally Bratt, and laid out the situation. "He's a modern-day Capone, Amos," Wally warned. "We can't touch him without getting stung for entrapment."
I chuckled. "Then we'll have to be clever, Wally. I've got a plan."
The trap was simple yet ingenious. We'd use the diary as bait, claiming it held evidence of the Wolf's illegal activities. I'd invite him to the Shade Tree Motel for a private auction of the diary, knowing his greed and paranoia wouldn't allow him to resist. Wally and his team would be waiting, not to arrest the Wolf, but to catch him red-handed with a cache of illegal firearms he'd surely bring to intimidate me.
The night of the sting was tense. The Wolf arrived at the motel with his gang, all bristling with concealed weapons. As they stepped out of their cars, Wally's team, disguised as motel staff, moved in, feigning a routine check for contraband. The Wolf, caught off guard, could only watch as his men were disarmed and detained, the illegal firearms now in police custody.
With the Wolf neutralized, Granny and Ruby were free to return to the Silhouette Lounge, their lives no longer overshadowed by fear. Peace had returned to their world, and as for me, I was back on my front porch in Shady Grove, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, waiting for the mail and the next mysterious adventure to find its way to me.