Archive for March, 2009



March 27th, 2009 Posted 6:54 am

Bernie sat at the table this morning, reading the paper. “Hey, Chet. Here’s a story about some poor cop who got fired because he lost his sense of smell.” I was lying by the door, on my belly, one front leg tucked back under – an extremely comfortable position, as you might imagine – but my ears went up a bit. I waited. Sometimes you just kind of know something is coming next, even if you don’t know what. 

Bernie shook his head. “I feel sorry for the guy, but what can you do? I really don’t think I could do the job without my sense of smell.” This was a joke, right? Bernie can be a funny guy. But maybe not, because at that very moment, the toast was burning. Bernie turned the page and sipped his coffee. Soon there’d be smoke.


Sneak Peek


March 26th, 2009 Posted 7:11 am

Want to see the beginning of Thereby Hangs A Tail, #2 in the Chet and Bernie series? Yes? No?

The perp looked around – what nasty little eyes he had! – and saw there was nowhere to go. We were in some kind of warehouse, big and shadowy, with a few grimy high-up windows and tall stacks of machine parts. I couldn’t remember how the warehouse fit in, exactly, or even what the whole case was all about; only knew beyond a doubt, from those nasty eyes and that sour end-of-the-line smell, a bit like those kosher pickles Bernie had with his BLT’s – I’d tried one; once was enough for the kosher pickles, although I always had time for a BLT – that this guy was the perp. I lunged forward and grabbed him by the pantleg. Case closed.

The perp cried out in pain, a horrible, high-pitched sound that made me want to cover my ears. Too bad I can’t do that, but no complaints – I’m happy the way I am (even if my ears don’t match, something I found out about a while back but can’t get into right now). The perp’s noises went on and on and finally it hit me that maybe I had more than just his pantleg. That happened sometimes: my teeth are probably longer than yours and sharper, too. What was that? Yes, the taste of blood. My mistake, but a very exciting one all the same.

“Call him off!” the perp screamed. “I give up.”

Bernie came running up from behind. “Good work, Chet,” he said, huffing and puffing. Poor Bernie – he was trying to give up smoking again, but not having much luck.

“Get him off! He’s biting me!”

“Chet wouldn’t bite,” Bernie said. “Not deliberately.”

“Not deliberately? What are you – “

“On the other hand, round about now he usually likes to hear a confession.”


Bob Dylan


March 25th, 2009 Posted 7:15 am

Today’s Wednesday. I know because Bernie just said, “Wednesday, Chet. You know what that means.” No clue but then he said, “Bob Dylan’s Theme Time Radio Hour.” Got it. Bernie always tries to catch this show. He’s a big Bob Dylan fan, and I actually don’t mind the show myself, on account of the fact that Bob Dylan doesn’t sing, just talks, and lets other humans sing, the kind of humans with nice voices. Bernie actually likes Bob Dylan’s singing! Human ears are very strange. Bernie’s, for example, aren’t that small – so why can’t he hear better?

“The theme of today’s show is Noah’s Ark, Chet. So I’m hoping all the songs will be about animals.” Noah’s Ark? Not clear on that. I had vague memories of a counterfeiter we once brought in, name of Noah Feldman. He offered Bernie a million of his homemade bucks to let him go. “For pretend money,” Bernie said, “we’ll pretend to let you go.” Lieutenant Stine laughed a lot when he heard that, but at the time Noah Feldman didn’t even crack a smile, so maybe it wasn’t funny after all. Now Noah’s in an orange jumpsuit, breaking rocks in the hot sun. I never saw his ark, whatever that is.


A Mystery


March 24th, 2009 Posted 6:59 am

Uh-oh. Bernie thinks someone was in the house while we were gone. Working on the tuna case – did I post about that already? We cleared the tuna case no problem, got home and Bernie went right to sleep. Me, too, and I didn’t smell anything strange. But in the morning when he sat down at the computer he saw a book on the desk. “What’s this doing here?” he said. “Fowler’s Modern English Usage? We don’t have a copy of that.” Meaning what? “Meaning someone was here, Chet.” That was bad. We run a detective agency, me and Bernie. Security is number one. “Got to secure the base.” Bernie says that all the time. He was in the Army long ago. That was where he got his wound, a story for another time – in fact I think it’s in Thereby Hangs A Tail.

Bernie tapped away at the computer. After a while – a pretty long while, I was getting hungry – Bernie said, “Ah ha,” and turned to me. “We’re looking for some lowlife who calls himself Admin.”

Admin – a strange name, but easy to remember. This whole business with Fowler’s Modern English Usage was confusing, but I knew one thing – Admin, and maybe this Fowler dude, too – would soon be wearing orange jump suits and breaking rocks in the hot sun.


The Books

powered by wordpress | site by michael baker digital