Day 25
I should have suspected that the Smiths are also ne'er-do-wells. I was kneeling behind the Smiths' round and shapely boxwoods, attempting to ascertain the culprit's location. My green overcoat provided a clever camouflage and I was making notes in my notebook with my fountain pen. The small Smith girl came upon me and asked what I was doing. I informed her that she needed to clear out because this was grown-up business. I also informed her that there is a madman terrorizing this neighborhood and she should go inside and play with her binky because it wasn't safe outside for a baby. She told me she was nine and not a baby and doesn't even play with binkies. I notified her that I don't care about the interests of infants and that she should buzz off.
Apparently the crybaby whined to her mom because the next thing I knew, Mrs. Smith came roaring at me to get off her property. She made complaints about the way I had spoken at the toddler and threatened to telephone the police. I told her that she could go ahead and call them, as I could let the constabulary know my suspicion that she was in league with the culprit. She said she didn't know what I was talking about and that I was "crazy." I smartly retorted that we shall see who is crazy and neatly recorded her name in my suspect list. I then strolled off her precious property, my virtuous chin held high.
I grieve for Mr. Smith.
Day 26
My fountain pen leaked in my pocket and ruined my green overcoat. I have written a very strongly-worded missive to the manufacturer of the pen. Unfortunately this took most of the day, and my search for the culprit was postponed.
Day 27
The Anderson house has some very attractive yew bushes flanking its porch. I had noticed them on a previous patrol through the neighborhood. I thought I may be able to ensconce myself within those yews and hide well enough for some light surveillance. Just as I was making my way into the Anderson yard, I heard shouting. It was Mr. Anderson, sitting on his porch as if he had suspected I would be coming along.
"Don't you even think about getting in my bushes! Mrs. Wilby told me you've been trampling everyone's shrubs," he said.
I took a step back and put on my most conciliatory face (practiced many times in my mirror; I leave nothing to chance) and waved in a very convincingly friendly manner.
"Oh god! what is that look on your face? You look like a murderer!" he said.
I informed him not to worry and that upon my face was a very practiced expression, meant to mollify the most suspicious of my protectorate. I inquired how mollified he was on a scale from one to ten. He replied one. I altered the expression, increasing the soothing quality of my eyebrows by 10%.
"Stop that!" he said, flinching at my expression.
I knew I had him then. I upped the amity of my upper lip by 20% and mellowed the corners of my eyes by 15%, increasing the placation of my expression to around 75%. Mr. Anderson jumped up, apparently distressed by the newfound comfort my soothing expression was causing him. This happens most of the time with people who are not in touch with their emotions. They find such a strong comfort in my face that they recoil, unable to cope with the new tranquility I have unlocked for them.
He stumbled inside his home and slammed the door. I heard the locks click and saw him close all of the blinds. Even though I had not been able to continue my surveillance in the most effective manner, I did find some satisfaction that at least Mr. Anderson was taking the threat of the culprit seriously. I took one last look at the inviting yews, and left him to contemplate the newfound inner peace that I had given him.
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