A Story of Emily Post, Part V

Map of Coney Island in 1879

Map of Coney Island in 1879 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Emily Post Part V

Detective Spells was as good as his word:  He escorted her to the police station downtown and back home after she had formally filed a complaint and given her statement, Spells had driven her back home, even though he was off duty (his shift ended 45 minutes before Emily had completed all of the necessary paperwork and talked to another detective simply recited everything she had told Spells.  All of the presents were photographed and examined with an assurance she would get them back.  (Emily wasn’t sure she wanted them back.)  That had been two days ago.  Emily was keeping herself busy by writing in her diary at the kitchen table with Friskers and Benny on either side.

Benny’s head snapped up and he was barking as he jumped from his chair and went sliding and skittering to the living room just as the doorbell sounded.  It was a cooler day today so Emily had made sure the front door was closed (and locked).  It was because she didn’t want to turn on the heat just yet is what she was telling herself.  Emily held up her index finger and Benny sat down and quieted immediately.

As Emily put her eye to the peep hole she was expecting to see Detective Clay Spells.  Maybe she was just secretly hoping it?  There was an immediate let down when Emily saw two men whom she had never seen before standing on her front porch.  One man was over six feet in height, muscular broad shoulders and defined muscles by the way the light sweater was hugging his torso.  The other man was shorter with short dark brown hair.  This one was handsome in a “young man” sort of way; he was almost too clean cut.

The first man rang the doorbell again, causing Emily to jump back several inches and squeak.  She clamped her hand tightly against her mouth.  Had they heard her?  Emily held her breath as a knock came to the door.  Slowly, carefully, Emily eased back up to the door.

“Yes,” she said.  Emily was surprised at how steady her voice was.

“Ms. Emily Post?”  The bald headed guy had a deep, gravelly voice created for the bedroom and action movies.

“Y-yes?” she said again.

“My name is Vincenzo Shields and this is Richard Azz.  We’re private investigators from Coney Island, New York.”

“May I help you?”  Emily tensed as she quickly scanned for the portable phone.  The cradle was on the end table but the phone was out not there.  Great.

“Yes, ma’am, we hope so.  We are working a missing person’s case from New York.  A friend of ours knows someone in your police department and we found out your case and our missing persons case might be related.”

“How?” Emily said, her eye practically sealing around the peep hole.

“May we come in?  This is not something I am comfortable talking about to a door,” the shorter man said.  His voice was higher in pitch and tone.  It was a nice voice.  It fit the looks of this non-descript man quite well.  His was a generic voice.

“Do you have any identification?”

“Call the police department and ask for Joe Davidson, he is a desk sergeant at the station.”  Baldy’s voice seemed to ooze through the door.  The man did have a very nice body to match the voice, at least through the peep hole.

“Wait a moment, please.”

“Of course,” the two men said in unison.  That was kind of creepy.

The cordless phone was in the bathroom of all places.  Emily retrieved the card Spells had given her when he had left her at her door.  She called the office number first.  Emily was surprised when Spells answered the phone on the second ring.  Emily gave Spells all the information she had about the two men outside her door.

“Are they still there?”  Det. Clay Spells’ voice was tight, all business.  Emily hurried to peep out once more.


“What were their names again?”

“Vincenzo Shields and Richard Azz – Vincenzo is bald and looks big.”  Real big, and in good shape, Emily added to herself.

“Hang on and don’t let them into the house until I am back on the phone with you.”  Spells’ voice was dangerously calm, cool, and adamant.

“I won’t,” she said.  There was no way in heck she was opening that door without some sort of information about them.  The line went silent.  There wasn’t any hold music.  The silence on the other end seemed to gain weight and just pull out and down like a damning weight.  Benny began pacing with her as Emily waited.  A couple of times she made it to the peep hole and looked out.  They were still there.  Just when Emily was convinced Spells had forgotten about her or had been sidetracked with something or someone else and she was ready to hang up, Spells came back on the line.

“Emily, are you still there?”

“Yes, I am here.”

“Good – I am sorry it took me so long but we do have an officer who works front desk named Joe Davidson.  He was injured in the line of duty and has that as his almost full-time position.  He said he had notified a friend of his in New York who had been working on a similar case, but it also involves a missing person.  The guy in New York was a detective like me, but is now a private investigator.”

“Is the missing person related to the detective from New York?”

“No, not from what I am seeing on my screen.”

“So it is OK to let them in?”

There was a slight pause before Spells answered, “If you don’t sense anything strange from them.  Why don’t I send you their pictures?  What is your cell number?”  Emily gave Spells her cell phone and trotted into the kitchen to retrieve where she had left it beside her diary.

A few more seconds passed and then two SMS messages arrived.  The first was of a sterner Baldy with Vincenzo Samuel Shields beneath.  The second was of Nice Guy, his name was Richard Dwayne Azz.

“I heard a beep, did you get the messages?  Is it them?”

“Yes, it is, thank you for looking for me, detective.”

“I see no reason for you to be so formal.”  Detective Spells voice had lightened considerably.   “Just call me Clay.  Saving pretty damsels in distress is my calling.”  Emily smiled into the phone.

“Thank you, Clay.”

“You’re welcome, Emily.  If you need anything else just give me a call.  I think I put my cell number on the back of the card.  If it isn’t there I’ll give it to you.”  Emily juggled the cell phone and the card before she could look on the back, but there it was in neat big numbers with “cell” written over it and “call me” under it.

“No, it’s there.  Thanks again, Clay.”  They said their good-byes and Emily felt ten times better than what she had.  Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Emily marched to the front door to unlock and unbolt her door to let her guests inside.  Both men looked up as Emily opened the door wider and gestured them to come in.


About Henrietta Handy

I have returned home to the mountains. No more am I "a mountain-girl far from home." Diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis at 2 1/2, I understand pain, fatigue, laughter, joy, and love all while on crutches and in wheelchairs. This blog is just about me, mostly the writing side, but there are forays into so many different topics. I am married to a wonderful husband who puts up with my writing, knitting, yarn, with the love of a saint. We have fur babies, and one cat who rules us all.
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2 Responses to A Story of Emily Post, Part V

  1. Pingback: A Story of Emily Post, Part VII | Kentucky Mountain Girl's Blog

  2. Pingback: A Story of Emily Post, Part VI | Kentucky Mountain Girl's Blog

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