Signs Of Struggle

by on February 02, 2019 under , ,

The front door was ajar when Jaffar arrived. When it was pushed wider, a powerful stench made him cover his nose and mouth. Like piss with a sweet undertone.

“Someone had abducted Grandma” was his conclusion upon entering. Clothes scattered. Broken drawers. An overturned stool. Signs of struggle, no, wait. A hammer on the floor. Blood on its handle?

“Um, hello?”

Jaffar turned. An unfamiliar red face peeked from outside. But it turned pale upon seeing the hammer. The stranger fled.

Jaffar was faster, jumping onto the man’s back. Both fell hard down the corridor.

“Where is she?”

“I didn’t do it.” Such cowardly response.

“Tell me!”

On the hospital bed, with an I.V. unit threading to her arm, was his grandmother, small, frail and smiling when she saw him.

“You found me, Jaffar. Took you awhile.”

“You brought this upon yourself.”

Her smile vanished. “Explain.”

“Nenek, your flat has always been messy. I visit you every weekends to help you tidy up. The door wasn’t forced open. You were letting someone in. Someone with a red face who delivered several huge bags of D24. I still smell them on you.”

He bent to sniff. She covered her mouth instantly.

“The hammer? You couldn’t find a knife so you tried the next best thing. It was used earlier to fix your drawers. The blood? Your foul fruit pricked you good.”

“Why did I end up in the hospital then?“

“Bad heartburn. You’d been told to stay away from those smelly durians many, many times, Grandma!”

“Yes, smelly but its golden flesh is candy to me. Good work, my boy. You can take over my business soon.”

“I’m only twelve, Grandma.” He shook his head in frustration.

“Never too young to be a private eye, Jaffar.”

You May Also Like

0 comments