A Dentist, A Murder, and a Devilishly Handsome P.I.

A Dentist, A Murder, and a Devilishly Handsome P.I.

T h e l at e s t f r om b e s t s e l l i n g Au t h o r , S hau n B u c k

By Shaun Buck

Ron Shuck, PI in …

A DENTIST A MURDER Devilishly handsome P.i. and a

By Shaun Buck

A Dentist, A Murder, and a Devilishly Handsome P.I.

It was a dark and stormy night, and I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t troubled. You see, some gal was staring me down from the end of my desk, and I knew one thing: She meant business. “I’ve gotta tell you, Shuck, I’m not happy about this racket Sally Shoemaker’s got going on right at the end of my block. Her dental office is eating up my customers — and fast. I never hear from them again after she’s gotten her dirty claws into them…” Her green eyes sparkled like something green you might see on the side of the highway. Her hair was brown, like a brown dog. Overall, her look was plain, but the ruby-red bite marks on her hands — now those really stood out. Dr. Polly Pumpernickel had been a client of mine for a little over a year, and she was always riding my case. Every Thursday night after she closed up her dental practice, she’d come to see me, and I was never too pleased to see her. She was a disagreeable woman, and with good reason. Her patients — and patience — were being snatched right out from underneath her. “I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid …” I started, and I could see her stiffen like a cat when a big bulldog walks down the alley — a bulldog named Dr. Sally Shoemaker. “What’s that, then?” She asked, and I sighed, adjusting my gray fedora and matching trench coat before pulling the photos out of my desk and laying them on the table. Dr. Pumpernickel squinted at them suspiciously. In the photos, you could see a tall woman in a red feather boa with thick sunglasses and bright blonde hair walking into Dr. Shoemaker’s office. “Who’s that? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that gal before in my life,” she said, but she was mistaken. I almost didn’t have the heart to tell her. “Look a little closer, ma’am,” I said, pushing the photo closer to her on the desk. She pulled a pair of spectacles out of her pocket and brought the image closer to her face. After a moment, she gasped. “Why, that’s Leslie Lawson! My own assistant, a traitor!” Her face turned red, like a red balloon, and I braced myself for impact. “The

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A Dentist, A Murder, and a Devilishly Handsome P.I.

absolute nerve! And that disguise, all that effort just to get cozy with my competition?” She was tapping her foot impatiently, but offbeat, like freestyle jazz. I didn’t care for it. The next part was strictly confidential, and I won’t lie, I’ve got a lot of enemies. So I got up and shut the blinds before turning back around to look her squarely in the eye, illuminated by the light of a single flickering bulb in my desk lamp. She eyed the lamp suspiciously, “You might want to get an electrician to come to look at that before a fire–” but I cut her off. “Word on the street is she’s got a secret weapon,” I said in a low voice, and she leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s that?” I opened my trenchcoat and pulled something out of my pocket: a little neat set of papers all bound together. She raised her eyebrows when I handed it to her. “What’s this?” she asked. “ 10 Ways to Whiten Your Teeth Naturally? Grandma Shoemaker’s Birthday Shindig? A crossword puzzle? What’s the meaning of this?” She looked flummoxed, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. “It’s a newsletter, ma’am. People are talking about how she’s got herself a ghostwriter to help make a personal connection with her audience. Some fat cats out of Boise are helping her with everything — right down to the design and production. She doesn’t even have to lift a finger to steal your clients right out from under you.” Dr. Pumpernickel rose in a huff, her doctor’s coat fluttering around. The light from the hallway cast an angular yellow glow across her face as she went to open the door, and she turned to me. “Figure out who these ghostwriters are, Shuck. I want to know what I’m up against.” Just like that, she was gone, out into the cold dark world in nothing more than a thin white coat. I watched her scuttle to her black Toyota and speed off, water spraying off the wheels like it often does when it rains.

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A Dentist, A Murder, and a Devilishly Handsome P.I.

Once she was gone, I sat back down at my desk with a sigh and reached into my pocket to produce a business card. A little paper airplane logo with the bolded name “Newsletter Pro” above it stared back at me. “What are you hiding, Newsletter Pro? I’m gonna find out how you’re capturing customer attention, one way or another. You’ll see,” I said to myself. I have to admit, back then, I thought that cracking that case would be a breeze. But really that was just the beginning of the story for Ron Shuck, PI.

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