Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, and other titles, are available as ebooks on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. His books are also available in print at most online retailers or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. The popular Wynn Garrett Series Books are now available on Barnes And Noble® at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/?series_id=867526 See Bruce’s Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders #MiscarriageOfJustice #BruceABorders
Borders Detective Agency
I once got this grand idea that I would be a detective. A private detective, since I didn’t want to waste time going to school. At the time I didn’t have a job and was convinced I could make money as a private eye. After all, how hard could it be? I’d read that most private detectives spend most of their time locating missing persons or simply following people around and figured I could handle that. So, I set up shop. I hung up a sign, Borders Detective Agency, and was open for business.
And nobody came. No one. I didn’t get a single person to hire me. Of course, it may have had something to do with the fact that I was eleven years old. However, at the time I didn’t think that was a good enough reason for people not taking me seriously. Didn’t they realize I was qualified and could do the job? I mean, I’d taken a correspondence course and received a license, and I’d ordered an “official” badge from a magazine. Everything was set. But after a month of waiting, still nothing. Out of all the people in my neighborhood who knew me, not one of them had a case for me to solve.
So, I gave up. I took down my sign and started selling a weekly newspaper called Grit. This turned out to be fairly profitable for an eleven-year-old and soon I had quite a few customers in the area – just under a hundred!
One day, one of my customers, an elderly lady, mentioned that she’d seen my Detective Agency sign a few months before. “How did that go?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said, not wanting to admit I’d had no cases.
“Great! Do you think you could find some stolen property for me?”
“I can try,” I hedged, not at all confident anymore, now that I might have to actually prove myself.
The stolen property, I soon learned, was her grandson’s bicycle. She gave me a good description and off I went searching for the bike. And found it too! A few houses down the street, there it was leaning against a shed in the back.
I gave myself access to the back yard and then helped myself to the bike. A few minutes later, I returned it to my “client” who paid me quite well for my successful investigation. I was pretty proud.
It was a few weeks later that I discovered the house where I’d found the bike was vacant. And, it had been empty for quite some time. Asking around at a few of the neighbors, I further learned the elderly lady who had hired me didn’t have a grandson. Even at eleven years of age, I could figure it out – I’d been set up. It was rather disappointing. And embarrassing. I thought surely everyone was laughing at how gullible I was.
But then, with the help of another of my customers, I looked at it from a different perspective. Evidently, the lady had felt bad that no one had hired me and had created a case for me to solve. She was trying to do a good thing, to bolster my confidence and pride. I didn’t feel quite so bad then.
In a way, since I did figure out the whole thing was staged; I guess it was still my first “case.” And my last case too, because that’s also when I figured out that being a private detective wasn’t such a grand idea after all.