The Story

  “I was never a rich man, Mr. Rights, never a rich man. I am still not a rich man. I have always been well off, but never rich. I grew up with a family that many would consider rich, however, I was never happy. My parents were of the influence that instead of parenting they could just pelt us children with gifts and money. Granted, I liked it, but only for a small time. I soon wanted to spend time with them, have them prove they cared.

As you can imagine this didn't work out so well. When I was eighteen years old, I moved out. My parents payed for my college, and they sent me gifts on Easter, Valentines Day, my birthday, Christmas, etc. I guess they were trying to make it up to me. They wanted to bring me back to the family. I would have none of it.

I graduated here at the city university. I set up shop as a business manager, opening up a small shop. It was a hit. I no longer accepted gifts from my family. I pushed them all away from me. Eventually they just let go. They let me be. I was incredibly happy at this, feeling for the first time in my life like a free man, one who people cared for. I opened up a few more shops throughout town, and was doing decently well.

Then I met my wife, God rest her soul. We fell for each other straight away. We first met at a company party I was holding, for the holidays. She had just been hired at one of the new downtown stores, and we were about the same age. I was maybe 1 or 2 years older. I have a hard time remembering things now, guess that comes with getting old.

We started dating shortly after she became manager of that store. Now I want you to know, completely on record, that I had no part in her promotion. Like I said, we didn't date until after her promotion. Soon after that we were married. My parents, perhaps feeling remorse, sent a wedding gift, which took the form of a new car. Of course I didn't want it, but my wife told me that we would need a car and that this was a rather nice one.

Anyway, my parents and I have never been on the same page. I have one sister, who died rather recently, and one brother. He and I never saw eye-to-eye. He liked not having to work, having anything he wanted given to him. I was more of a working man, and he resented how I would act about my gifts, often getting rid of them. We had quiet a few fights over this, more than one might think. Recently I received a letter from him, warning me of my fathers ill health.

I had heard nothing of my father since he sent me a gift on the funeral day of my wife's death. Of course I did still care for him, he was still my father and I still his son. I drove up to our family estate, which was but a few miles from town. I get there, and find my father had died but a few minutes before I arrived. I arranged for funeral proceedings, along with my brother. I say we get along rather fine now, strange how death can do that to people. Anyway, we went to the funeral, and when we returned, the house had been emptied. Everything of value had been taken, and quiet a few non-valuable things were taken as well. We quickly got communications to our banks, and they said that our father had closed the accounts today, an hour ago, to be exact. An hour ago from that phone call was when we lowered the full casket into the grave.” he finished his narrative, wiping his brow with a handkerchief as he did so. John had shifted position to placing his elbows on the desk and resting his head on his hands, paying close attention. He nodded when the narrative was finished.

“I take it then that both you and your brother are much interested in where the fortune has gone, as well as your mother?” John asked.

“My mother died a few months ago, the doctors said the grief played a huge role in my fathers death.”

“How old was your father when he died?”

“He was 99 years old, in but three months he would have been 100, he was an old dog.”

“Yes I see. What was the name of your wife?”

“Her name was Sandra.”

“Did she die from sickness? Or just old age?”

“My wife died from what you young ones call 'old' age, but she had the flu, and I'm sure that didn't help anything.”

“And how did your mother and sister die?”

“My sister died in a car accident, apparently some drunk thought he could drive that night. My mother had a brain tumor, one that all the money in the world couldn't cure, as my father found out, I'm sure.”

“Brothers name and age, please.”

“My brother is Timothy, and he is 60, two years my senior.”

“OK, and I need your exact age, and your address and means of communication. Then I need you to sign my contract that says I'll work until the case is solved, you fire me, I quit, or the case is turned over to authorities. I will be payed according to the work I do and the difficulty and time it takes to do them. I hope to be able to help you.”

“Well Mr. Rights, I'm 58, though I look much older due to this turn of events. My address is 63a Holmes Street. I have a home phone, (222)555-7893. I would appreciate it if you kept this from the police and media. Our family doesn't need that attention right now.”

“Of course. I will have to contact the doctors who worked on your father, and I'll have to meet your brother and the help. Also, was any autopsy done on your father's body?”

“No, now that you mention it, there wasn't.”

“Well we should get that set up, then I'll meet with the doctors while we wait for results.”

“Well your are the detective.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

The End

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