“Excuse me Ma’am,” asked Alf, “but did you see Mr. White-not-Black in here earlier?”
“I am not the Captain of a star ship, call me Miss Fyffes.”
“Don’t tell me, you’re fyffe times better than normal.”
“I am sorry, I don’t know who Mr. White-not-Black is.”
Biggs thought for a moment, “Did he bring any books back or take any out?”
“That is personal information I cannot divulge.”
Biggs looked at the librarian’s name badge, “Miss Fyffes, I am a private investigator investigating the murder of Mr. White-not-Black.”
“You would have to be a policeman to get that information.”
“You don’t have to tell me if he got any books in or out only if he was here?”
“I’m sorry.” She stamped a book then closed it.
“Fat lot of good that was,” grumped Biggs to Alf, “I might as well have tried to get information out of a clam.”
“Or blood out of a stone.”
“Which one?”
“Mick Jagger.”
“You could have had Ian Brown out of the Stone Roses.”
“That joke is going to be well past its sell date in a hundred years.”
Biggs went into the central part of the library, “Any ideas Alf?”
“What about asking the janitor?” he said as the janitor appeared as if by magic.
“That’s a line from Mr. Benn isn’t it?”
“Mr. Benn?”
“A children’s cartoon.”
“I didn’t watch it.”
YOU ARE READING
The Detective One
Science FictionThe Fifth book in the Arth Series. Arthur and the rest are cooped up in the cowboy/detective dimension. Mr. White-not-Black has been murdered and they must find the culprit. Yes it is supposed to be funny.
