In Port Royal there were some normal size homes, some cottages really. They were located around Lantern Lake, off Galleon Drive. Half Moon Drive was there. Though the homes were small they weren't indicative of the size of the owner's wallet.
I was working a larceny there. The new owner, Mr Bell, had just moved his furniture into the cottage. When he tired of unpacking, and decided to make himself a drink, he noticed several bottles of scotch were missing.
I asked who moved him and he gave me the name of a nationwide mover. He was confident they were not responsible, because of their name. Said he'd been in the house several days before the movers arrived and the scotch had probably been missing beforehand and he hadn't noticed it. To the contrary, the movers were my first suspects.
Mr. Bell, didn't know that the highly skilled movers were picked up at the local labor shed when the driver got to his destination. In Naples these experts hung out under a shade tree near River Park Apartments. Anyone who wanted a day worker could go by there and pick one up.
I asked Mr. Bell if his milk was missing. He checked his refrigerator and came back with a confused look on his face. "Yes," he said, "it's gone. How'd you know that?"
"No problem," I said, "be back shortly."
Within an hour I had returned most of his scotch and had two moving experts in jail. Amazing detective work? I wish. Just knowing folk's habits.
All the experts at the labor shed were black. Black folks like to drink scotch and, you guessed it, milk. I simply went to the labor shed, found out who'd gone with the mover that morning, found them--drunk on liquid stupid--and sacked up them and the remainder of the scotch.
Mr. Bell thought I was Sherlock Holmes. I neglected to tell him what I've just told you. I did ask him, "All that Scotch was Bell's Scotch. And your name is Bell. You don't own it do you?"
Mr. Bell laughed. "Lord no, wish I did. I just own Bell Aircraft."
I was working a larceny there. The new owner, Mr Bell, had just moved his furniture into the cottage. When he tired of unpacking, and decided to make himself a drink, he noticed several bottles of scotch were missing.
I asked who moved him and he gave me the name of a nationwide mover. He was confident they were not responsible, because of their name. Said he'd been in the house several days before the movers arrived and the scotch had probably been missing beforehand and he hadn't noticed it. To the contrary, the movers were my first suspects.
Mr. Bell, didn't know that the highly skilled movers were picked up at the local labor shed when the driver got to his destination. In Naples these experts hung out under a shade tree near River Park Apartments. Anyone who wanted a day worker could go by there and pick one up.
I asked Mr. Bell if his milk was missing. He checked his refrigerator and came back with a confused look on his face. "Yes," he said, "it's gone. How'd you know that?"
"No problem," I said, "be back shortly."
Within an hour I had returned most of his scotch and had two moving experts in jail. Amazing detective work? I wish. Just knowing folk's habits.
All the experts at the labor shed were black. Black folks like to drink scotch and, you guessed it, milk. I simply went to the labor shed, found out who'd gone with the mover that morning, found them--drunk on liquid stupid--and sacked up them and the remainder of the scotch.
Mr. Bell thought I was Sherlock Holmes. I neglected to tell him what I've just told you. I did ask him, "All that Scotch was Bell's Scotch. And your name is Bell. You don't own it do you?"
Mr. Bell laughed. "Lord no, wish I did. I just own Bell Aircraft."
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