Officer Gregory Musgrove yanked his bowler hat over his eyebrows, pulled his mustache into an imposing line, and knocked on the door. He was here to have a conversation with Jeff Sutton. To be exact, this would be his sixth conversation with Jeff Sutton.

The house at which Gregory Musgrove stopped was low and squalid. A painted board nailed to the door read:

“ART and SCULPTURES: FAIR PRICE or BEST OFFER”

Gregory Musgrove knocked again and then stood stock still, twiddling his thumbs. After another two minutes, during which Gregory attempted to peek through the grubby windows, it was clear that no one would be answering. Well, there was little need for ceremony anyway. He tried the handle and, finding the door open, walked in.

Gregory sneezed and then his eyes began adjusting to the dark room. It was fitted up as a small art shop. The gloom was so suffocating that it was hard to see past the initial reaction of grey sadness. A large round table filled the middle of the room, covered with unfinished busts and statues. Canvases and frames lined the dusty walls and paintings cluttered the shelves. Two voices could be heard from the back room, which was used as a studio.

“Harry, I swear peacocks don’t have six toes to each foot!”

“It don’t matter none.”

“It do, though. Jim Smalls thinks it matters.”

“Mister Jim won’t care as long as he buys it afore anyone else.”

“Harry, I’ll pound ya!”

“Don’t care much if ya should.”

“I’ll get the stick!”

“And I might just up and wring the ol’ peacock’s neck.”

“Ya wouldn’t dare. Stay put, ya scoundrel!”

The door opened and a scruffy, bearded man came puffing through.

“Good evening, Jeff,” said Gregory calmly.

Jeff Sutton jumped back a foot, and grabbed for the wall.

“Have a seat,” said Gregory. He motioned to a rickety rocking chair by the table. Jeff shifted nervously and unbuttoned his top collar button before shuffling to the chair. Gregory remained standing.

“I done wrung his neck!” shouted Harry from the studio.

Jeff turned a fiery red and roared at the top of his lungs, “Keep quiet, varmint! Gotta visitor!”

Gregory heard a violent hustle from the back and then Harry banged the door shut.

“You have a dead peacock on your hands?” asked Gregory, composed as a toothpick. He deliberately brushed some dust from a bust of King Henry the Eighth.

“Y-yes sir, horrid business. Peacocks do cause a heap o’ trouble,” stammered Jeff.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” said Gregory placidly, “where did you find a peacock?”

Jeff began drumming his fingers on his knees. “Shipped it in from, uh, Slovakia.”

“Slovakia? That’s quite a distance. How much did it cost to ship a live peacock from Slovakia?” asked Gregory, twirling his mustache.

“Oh, ‘bout, sixty to a hundred and sixty. Somewhere in there I betcha. Harry did all that.”

“Yes, Harry. Seems like a helpful son. What were you going to do with the bird?” the officer asked, twirling his mustache faster.

The artist clutched at the arms of his chair and rocked back and forth violently. “Thought maybe someone would like a bird. Ya know, an artistic, aristocratic type.”

“Oh, you were going to sell it?”

Jeff desperately scratched at his beard. “Always ready to make money, ya know me!”

“I see. Is Jim Smalls a very aristocratic type, by chance?” Gregory asked quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Not a bit of it. I mean, I don’t know no Jim Smalls. He’s never been round here. O’ course he never cause I don’t happen to know a Jim Smalls.” Jeff laughed weakly.

“Of course,” said Gregory. “May I take a look at this bird perhaps?”

“Blow me down, not now! Harry’s gone and strangled the poor thing. Ya heard him yourself!” said Jeff, picking all the buttons off his coat.

“Well, now to what I’ve come about. Our dear Queen seems to be missing something of value.”

Jeff Sutton distractedly pulled his hair with shaking fingers.  “Imagine that!” he squeaked.

“A fan.”

Jeff fainted off his chair in a heap.

Gregory yawned and stepped over him. He neared the door to the studio and put his ear to the lock. No sound. Without hesitation, the officer opened the door and poked his head inside.

Harry looked up and froze. There on the worktable in the center of the room sat a large sculpture. It had not been painted and wasn’t fully dry yet. It was a peacock with six toes on each foot. Its head lay on the table next to it, but really Gregory didn’t notice that it was decapitated. What Gregory did notice was the bird’s magnificent tail. The Queen’s fan, fully unfurled, had been fastened to the drying sculpture. The rim of the fan was set with a variety of gems, and it was streaked with slim golden veins. But the majority of it seemed to be multicolored silk. It certainly created an impressive effect.

Harry began hurriedly picking his teeth. “Um, c-can I help ya officer?”

Officer Gregory Musgrove was not amused.

 

Love,

Hannah Jo <3