CHAPTER 1 – PODCASTS AND PICKLEBALL
Since that pesky computer pandemonium has been cleared out of our system, literally, I can now focus on my next evolution in the investigative sciences.
I am starting my own true crime podcast called Madame’s Malicious Mayhem. I love the alliterative title. Sherlick Sparks managed to get me set up with all the requisite technology in my tiny office at our clubhouse before he left on vacation. I hope it will work. He said the small size would be great for the airwaves.
True crime podcasts provide a serious breakdown of the investigative idiosyncrasies detectives use to solve crimes. It is the natural evolution of my quest to educate the populus on the compelling calculation of crime-solving.
Because of my recent popular crime seminars in Peacock Perch, it was necessary to reveal my own crime-fighting identity and this unfortunately “outed” our sleuths’ society. We are no longer secret and quite frankly have become infamous. All the more reason to keep our quirky secret identity nicknames.
I personally enjoy being recognized and lauded as the great Madame Sleuth. So why not build my investigative pyramid and share my brilliant insights and techniques with the world?
There’s a lot more to these podcasts than people think. I’ve been boning up on other attempts, recording must dos and don’ts. At this point, I may illustrate our investigations using our older cases, but it can also chronicle new cases we have, as they unfold. How exciting!
It will be a masterclass in sleuthing. I intend to educate every one of my listeners on the mechanics of motive, opportunity, and means to find the clues and the suspects to solve cases, just like I do here in Peacock Perch. I can’t wait to get my first episode going… all I need is a fresh case.
But for now, I’m forced to ponder the possibility of using one of our past cases, though, that’s less than ideal. I want a powerful hook to attract an audience.
The Case of the Vanishing Vixen was one of my favorites… many twists and turns there. And, of course, the FBI was very impressed with our handiwork.
But I’m partial to the Case of the Puffing Pauper. That was a perilous one, very tricky, but we managed it in the end. A magnificent piece of detective work.
And in a future episode, I’ll highlight our most recent case, Pernicious Program Pandemonium. I’ve already outlined a spectacular synopsis. That had so many salacious schemes and unexpected angles that it would certainly be sensational for radio.
Oh, that’s right, it’s called a podcast. I keep thinking of it as radio… like The Shadow and The Twilight Zone. I remember watching them as a girl. It must have been my first bite of the suspense bug.
Those programs always seemed so much more mysterious because without video, I had to picture the story in my mind. Even as a small child, I mechanized so many clues and I always solved the crime. Perhaps that’s where I got my penchant for mysteries. It’s amusing how the rise of podcasts echoes the golden days of radio.
But I guess I’ll have to settle. For my premiere; I really had my heart set on starting off with a bang for my premiere… a menacing murder. I really wanted it to be a juicy homicide; something my audience can really sink their teeth into.
Then Mystery Minx pops her head in my office door in a tizzy. I am surprised to see her. She’s been cruise hopping all over the world, so I haven’t seen her in ages. Regrettably, we’ve been solving mysteries with fewer resources than usual.
“Good, you’re finally back in town,” I say facetiously.
“Great Dewey Decimal! Madame, come quick!” Mystery Minx urges, ignoring my tone. “There’s been a terrible accident on the pickleball courts!”
I jump up and follow her to the courts.
There, we find a group of residents dressed in shorts, sneakers, and hats, looking down at a body on the court.
“What happened here?” I ask.
“He ran into the pole and it knocked him out cold,” one onlooker says.
Another chimes in. “I took his pulse; thankfully, he’s alive. The ambulance is on its way.”
The man is lying there in a peculiarly awkward position with his limbs bent in a manner that substantiates the claim that he went headfirst into the steel pole.
Before I can ask more questions, Mystery Minx whisks me away from the instantly growing crowd toward a woman on the edge of the court. Her face is as white as a sheet.
“These ladies have information about this incident that you should hear,” she whispers.
One woman, dressed in a sparkly red visor and matching pickleball skirt, seems to be a typical perch resident, but the fear on her face is palpable. I introduce myself and ask her about what she witnessed.
“This was no accident, I tell you. That woman with the red hair in the green hat chased poor Jim into the pole. I watched the entire game and she was egging him on, forcing him into that position. I think she did it on purpose!”
The other tall woman is in her bathing suit and cover up.
“I was in water aerobics with his wife Daisy when someone came screaming into the indoor pool to tell her Jim was hurt. She went right in the ambulance with him, with her wet swimsuit and everything. With her small frame, she looked like a drowned rat.”
I probe for more details, but that’s all they knew. It’s early, but could be the case I’ve been waiting for… just in time for my first true crime podcast. There’s never a dull moment here in Peacock Perch.
The EMTs arrive in due course and I quickly return to the court to gather more clues. They do a brief assessment of the man and I hear one EMT say that he possibly has a concussion. They load him into the ambulance and take him away.
The crowd rapidly disperses as there’s nothing left to see, but to be certain, I instruct Mystery Minx to remain and collect any additional testimony or information. I need to alert the other sleuths.
But as I head toward my office, a man swiftly approaches me with an ominous message.
“You’re that mystery lady, right?” he whispers.
“Yes, I am,” I proudly answer.
“I’ve been to your mystery lectures. Let me tell you—what happened on that pickle ball court is not what it seems. There have been many odd incidents around here lately that have landed more than a few men in the hospital,” he says suspiciously and hurriedly turns and leaves.
Curious. I wonder if he doesn’t want to be spotted giving information to me.
I resume my walk and contemplate everything I’ve seen and heard. Accidents at the pickleball courts are nearly a daily occurrence here at the Perch. Twisted ankles, hurt wrists and knees, and sometimes even broken bones are as popular as the sport itself. Almost like a rite of passage.
I don’t understand the game, but it’s easy to see it’s aggressive and highly competitive. And with testosterone-fueled men playing it with high school brains and addled advanced age bodies, it’s a wonder the ambulance does not visit regularly. Such silly nonsense.
Still, there’s an insistence in his voice. I have heard nothing previously about a rash of men getting hurt, and my radar for anomalies is impeccable. He could be an idle conspiracy theorist, bored with life and prone to fancy. But this is too much of a coincidence and prompts more than one question.
When I reach my desk, I grab my detective notebook and write down my queries to get them straight. Why are only men getting hurt? Was this accident premeditated? This could be no accident! Definitely worth some investigation.
***
Mystery Minx pops in again an hour later.
“Daring Detective is volunteering at the hospital today and called to report that our pickleball accident victim was admitted to the ICU. He’s nonresponsive and appears to be in a coma. She said his wife Daisy is with him.”
“Excellent! I mean, it’s good she can give us regular reports. And I just received some interesting intelligence that indicates attempted murder! I suspect there’s either a serial killer or a crime syndicate behind this in our own neighborhood,” I assert.
She looks at me with a raised eyebrow and a curious expression.
“Really? A serial killer or crime syndicate here? Why would anyone pick Peacock Perch for crime on that scale?”
Before I can make a sound in rebuttal, my phone rings. It’s Sir Red Herring.
“Madame, I heard sirens and followed two police cars speeding down Peacock Boulevard to this house on Partridge Chase. A bit of a crowd has gathered, and someone says it’s a domestic dispute.”
“Stay there! We’re on our way.” I hang up the phone, and Mystery Minx and I rush to the scene in my golf cart.
As we arrive, we see Sir Red Herring and about a half-dozen other residents waiting for the police to come out. I hand her my notebook.
“Mystery Minx, I bet you take excellent notes, just like a good librarian.”
She quickly nods her head and takes the pad.
“Wonderful, stick to me like glue,” I instruct her. “If you play your cards right, you can be my sidekick for my true crime podcast. Write down everything I say and don’t miss one salient speck of speech. Follow me. This could be my greatest triumph!”
Minx and I make our way over to Red Herring, who is dutifully standing at the ready, in front of the remaining police car.
“Red Herring, I thought you said there’s a crowd here,” I say curtly.
“There was, Madame, but they scattered after the first police car left without incident. I think they were hoping for an arrest. But I had a chance to talk to the cop before he left. It turns out the husband was accusing the wife of poisoning him, but it was all a big mistake.”
“So, no one’s hurt?” I ask.
He sighs. “No, it was all a misunderstanding. He thought she poisoned his coffee, but she really put a fiber supplement into it, which gave it a strange taste. Apparently, his doctor wants him to eat more fiber and he refuses, so she tried to slip it into his coffee without him noticing. The police officer told me they’ve been here in the Perch a lot lately.”
“I commend your quick reactions, but with no crime, that’s another false alarm on your record, Red Herring. Pity, I thought it may be related to the other male maladies.”
Sir Red Herring looks at me with confusion.
“Male maladies? What’s going on?”
Excited, Mystery Minx can’t help but interject. “We have a new case. There’s a man in a coma.”
We debrief him on the day’s events and we agree to keep him abreast of any developments. As Mystery Minx and I work our way back to my office, many thoughts swirl around in my brain.
Domestic disputes are not that unusual, but then men are not mysteriously maimed every day either.
Even though this was a false alarm, it raises a few interesting points. Why did the husband think his wife was poisoning him, just because his coffee tasted terrible? And why did the police indicate that they have been in the Perch a lot lately?
The man at the pickleball court referred to other incidents here in Peacock Perch. I wonder if they were all perpetrated against men.
We must investigate them. If there is a serial killer or a crime syndicate at work, we need to reveal them immediately. Something’s rotten in Peacock Perch alright.
This is no coincidence. It is indeed a pickle. Maybe this time we’ll prevent a murder or multiple murders.
Resolved, as I park my golf cart, I issue orders to Mystery Minx.
“We urgently need to ascertain if there are other instances of men meeting with peril under suspicious circumstances. Please contact Daring Detective and ask her to visit the management office and obtain the incident reports in the Perch for the last six months. If she tells them I asked for them, she will get what we need right away. I make it a point to be nice to all the admin people. I bring them treats every once in a while. They love me.
And Minx, get a list of all the pickleball players and interview them. We need to find out the impetus behind this most recent accident. The lady at the scene pointed to an unknown woman on the court, but didn’t know who she was. Interview all the pickleball players and find out if anyone knows who she is. We need to find her now and interrogate her.”
She stares at me inquisitively.
“All the pickleball players, Madame? There must be dozens, maybe hundreds. It’s very popular.”
“Yes. Right now, our victim Jim is in a coma and obviously can’t talk to us, so this potential suspect is our only lead. Have Red Herring help, if you want. Despite this latest faux pax, now that he’s back from his European villa, he can be of some help for a change.”
Mystery Minx quickly scatters to her assignments.
For now, I will find out which of our sleuths are available to assist. If I’m right and this is a multiple incident situation, we are going to need all hands-on deck. And I need to start on a web right away. I need to list all the clues, suspects and victim on my board so we can connect the dots. How wonderfully lucky.
With this mystery at hand and the game firmly afoot, my first podcast is going to be a roaring success!
Copyright 2024, Suzanne Rudd Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.
SUZANNE RUDD HAMILTON 