Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #345

Evelyn: “What on earth are you doing in my apartment? And why are you holding my diaphragm case?”

Inspector: “Is that what this is? I thought maybe you were collecting those little Jewish hats. But since we’re on the subject, why is this case encrusted with rhinestones?”

Evelyn: “If you must know, I truly value those things which can help keep brutish men from dominating my life. So if I get out a glue gun and some sparkly bits to show my appreciation, you really shouldn’t judge me.”

Inspector: “Oh, I’m not judging, at least not yet. I was merely looking for clues, and I couldn’t help but notice this thing, shining away on your coffee table. Is that where you normally keep it? Do you really need that kind of quick access to such a device? What happens in this apartment?”

Evelyn: “That is none of your business. And my apartment is none of your business. Why are you here? Who let you in? I’ve a mind to call the manager and have you thrown out.”

Inspector: “Oh, don’t bother with that. The manager gave me the key. After all, we’re investigating the murder of the occupant in Apartment 6C.”

Evelyn: “6C? Something has happened to Alfredo?”

Inspector: “Well, yes, if you consider murder to be something. And the deed was done with a glue gun. And there was a trail of rhinestones which led to Apartment 6D, which is where we now stand. Are you following the logic of why we might need to be in your apartment?”

Evelyn: “Oh. Well, I loaned my glue gun to Alfredo. He had something crafty that he needed to do.”

Inspector: “Did he have his own diaphragm that needed bedazzling?”

Evelyn: “Perhaps. I’m certainly not one to point fingers, but he’s in a chorus line on Broadway, and you know those people like to give things a certain jazz-hands panache. And it’s entirely possible that one of his trysting partners was a bit more surly than expected and things got out of hand.”

Inspector: “Duly noted. Also of note is the message that Alfredo managed to cross-stitch into his high-end duvet as he expired on his bed. Would you care to hear his parting words?”

Evelyn: “I can’t imagine how those words would apply to me, but proceed if you must.”

Inspector, whipping out a notebook: “The bitch next door did it.”

Evelyn: “Who could he possibly be referring to?”

Inspector: “Well, there’s not an apartment on the other side of him, so…”

Evelyn: “I demand to speak to my lawyer.”

Inspector: “Understandable. But we’ve already spoken to him, and he had some interesting things to say.”

Evelyn: “Such as?”

Inspector: “That he’s no longer your lawyer.”

 

Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 01/14/16 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 05/27/16. Slight modifications made for this post, just a whiff of grammatical correction. No diaphragms were harmed during the making of this production. But the high-end duvet is suing for damages and emotional distress. I’ll keep you posted…

 

24 replies »

  1. Hahaha. 😀

    But where’s the inspector’s badge??? Could he be a fake inspector? Did HE stitch the message? Or is it a fake message? Stay tuned for the answers on next week’s episode of No Collusion!! (Brought to you by Putin’s Soap Flakes, the company that knows a good flake when it sees one.)
    😉

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Where to begin… Okay. Man hands on plaid jacket lady…and I hope the ‘detective’ is watching them because it looks as if she’s doing something furtive with them…maybe searching for the gun she has concealed up one of those awful sleeves or in the blouse with the frills that look like more hands…Maybe I have hands on the brain today. And that diaphragm “case” looks oddly like a wallet I once owned when I was young and thought such trashy looking items were ‘classy’. And the Inspector or detective or whomever the shifty dude in the hat really IS, was apparently caught, mid-lunch, because isn’t that a quesadilla perched atop the mound of crap in his left hand? The way Evelyn is eyeing it (or the diaphragm case) indicates to me that she’s ready to grab whatever that is and run far far away to a land where glue guns and rhinestones are acceptable and snotty neighbors don’t make judgments on a girl for using those to decorate her lonely life. No wonder he was glued and stoned to death.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I sense a lot of anger in your response. I’m not sure why you’re reacting in this way but… wait a minute. How do you know so many details from the police report that were not released to the public? You seem to know a lot about quesadillas, cheap purses and bad couture. And you share a disdain for snotty neighbors.

      I have to ask: Melanie, do you have an alibi for the night of August 2nd, 1942?

      I understand if you’d like to retain a lawyer before you respond. I can wait…

      Liked by 1 person

      • *koff koff* (eyeing the exits in case there’s a need for a speedy escape)….Um well I suppose this will have to do: Mummy and Daddy hadn’t even met in 1942, mummy was 14, which made Pa 12 and even in his village, that was a tad young for fatherin’ chilluns to work your farm for no money and no respect. Besides in that horrid village, Pops was their idiot and was never expected to father kids.

        I didn’t make an appearance until eighteen years later, after mummy and daddy had met, courted (if you call sketchy hay rides, no liquor, and some rather aggressive “he’s MINE dammit” antics from mummy when a certain other lady caught his eye – courting. Daddy, in a rare burst of rebellion showed signs of wandering off with that ‘other woman’…Mummy was (if my math is good) 30 at that time; and in Utah, she was deemed a really OLD OLD maid and certain to be left on the shelf. Daddy was the solution and danged if she would give him up without a fight. Hard men are good to find…koff koff…um. GOOD men are hard to find. I’m betting some real money that copper there doesn’t have any evidence save some shifty looks from the women folk, and maybe a rhinestone or two stuck to his no doubt unpolished shoe. I bet he hasn’t seen his feet since 1920…. 😉 Was that a good alibi? If not refer to the hard men comment. Distraction is everything… besides. Isn’t this a snit over that rather unseemly and untimely yapping that Hunydog did with Lucy and Ricky? I know Scotch tried valiantly to calm her down, although she’s still grumpy about the whole thing. Scotch deserves a treat for his heroism.

        All of this is to mis-direct your attention while I throw the glue gun off a high cliff somewhere outside Tooele and get rid of the rhinestones…. No sir. It wasn’t ME.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m sure I’ve read this before, and yet it’s still as fresh as ever. That’s the sign of true art, it stands up to the test of time. It has everything, murder, intrigue, bedazzled diaphragms, clues in cross-stitch… Agatha Christie’s got nothing on you. 😉

    Liked by 2 people

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