Archive for October, 2011


This is Auntie Carol, and Lord me, It is such a distress to get out little detective agency going. One does just not simply say I am a detective and can solve the crime, one must convince the client and there’s the rub. Why can’t they just believe it: we do not lack in sincerity nor deign I say it, “talent”. A sharp mind, a crime unwinds. Oh, heavens, the rhyming, again. It must be the stress. Oh, Lord, the cupboard is bare and I’m living on chocolate cherries. I do not dare tell Lady Lynda of she’d just spend a fortune on me and never ask for repayment. I’d have truffles, and canembert and cognac, all my favorite things. I have my pride. Yes, Indeed, I do. I am no fallacious floozy living off the charity of my beloved friends. And The Black Orchid, would be all wroth that I did not reveal my desperate and ignoble position. She would be sure to stock my cabinets to the grandest extent. And Wanda Lust would be over here right now cooking us a mess of grits, greens, and ham. Now, my mouth is watering and I’m looking at my cat, named Black Bastard, with avaricious eyes. No, damnit, I shall not resort to cooking my pets. He is so named for his predilection of sneaking out of the house and impregnating all the female cats in this blessed neighborhood. Such a scoundrel! Just like a man. Herman is away in Europe on a book tour, for his book entitled , Who Am I, Really. It is a smash success. I don’t want him to know I am not a success as well.

Oh, what do I hear the silvery sound of sleigh bells ringing. Oh, Ye Gads, It’s just the phone. Well, my friends ‘Tis the Season To Be Jolly’ . I am beside myself with joy. We have a case. It was Inspector, SlimyGut, from the police station. I feel I should inform you there’s an umlaut over the “u”. It’s the notorious “Cereal Killer” case, and he feels we are ideal for the job for we are both elderly ladies, gentile, and educated with a strong and viable knowledge of the late Emily Post’s Rules of Proper Etiquette. He believes we could more readily get into the mind of this horrid ne’er do well as he believes her to be an elderly woman. She is called the “Cereal Killer” because at the scene of each crime she leaves a box of Raison Bran with a butcher knife plunged into the box. It’s apparent to me that she must be a lady, as she cleans the entire house and tucks them neatly into bed with a copy of Emily Dickinson’s poems by the bed side before she departs. At least, she’s not low class like that horrible demon, Freddie Kruger. One wonders why he doesn’t get his teeth fixed. Alors, and heavens, no.

I called Lady Lynda, and she was having a contretemps with Seymour Toze, and being a lady, I did not as the reason why. A lady never pries, my Dears. Lynda came right over so I could explain the facts of the case and we could develop a profile for the perpetrator, or more simply, the murderess. I explained she was an educated woman of quality except for that one regrettable character flaw. These were the facts as we understood them. She was the “Cereal Killer” AKA “Serial Killer” and all twenty of the victims were prosperous, distinguished titans of industry awash in luxury and wealth.

“Oh my, a Fortune 500 party,” quipped Lady Lynda.

“Funny, but in poor taste, My Girl. In case they didn’t get any respect when they were alive: they should be respected in their untimely deaths.”

“Oh, my yes,” intoned Lady Lynda. “We are not jackals at the site of a kill.”
“No, we are most certainly not,” I affirmed.

I told her the mode of death was poison of an unknown variety and under the newly changed sheets and comforters, they were all in flagrante delecto” or as they say in the South, “nude as Jaybirds.” I told her I thought that it was evident that the murderess knew and cared for the men. The question is why would she do it. They were all of an age to play cards with death a la “The Seventh Seal.” Why kill men at deaths door, for heavens sake! Just wait it out. That would be the sensible thing to do. Lynda evinced the theory that it was a “crime passionale” and that the murderess was certainly not a sensible woman but a woman enraged. Furthermore, Lynda, with her brilliant criminal mind, contended that we had no proof it was a woman. Well, I countered that the lingering scent of Tea Rose and the gentile selection of literature, and the cleaning of the house sort of portended a woman. And they were all widowers. So they could not be homosexual.

“Have you never seen “Madame Butterfly” with Jeremy Irons. He didn’t even know his lover, Madame, was really a man. Let’s go through the credit card bills and see what they spent their money on and find out who their friends were and if all of them knew just one person. We’ll get all that from the police. That’s what we need from them,” replied Lady Lynda.

“We have all that, dear. And the police have pointed out that at various times throughout the men’s career’s they had all drawn out the sum of $5000 cash particularly around the holiday season, yet, at other times also, at one and three month intervals throughout their lives. This seems like visits from one very expensive call girl, to me,” I said.

“One woman shared by all of them. Hmmm. How about a selective, exclusive men’s club, and all of them were members. How about a brothel of high class call girls.?” posited Lynda.

“I’m feeling that all this is the work of one woman. You know, Dear, I’m psychic,” I replied. “And the police are dropping off all the photos this afternoon.”

“Someday our prints will come. A little witticism for you, Dear,” replied Lynda drily. “What type of health were these men in?”

“Poor to horrible,” said the police. “The richest, Baron Von Schiele had a wasting disease of the spine, while others had emphesema, cancer, and Alzheimers, “ I answered. “They were in their late seventies and eighties, mostly confined to their beds with round the clock nurses,” I remarked.

“Life is a banquet and most poor bastards are starving,” replied Lynda wryly.

“Are you going to start with the quotes, damnit, Lynda. This is serious business. You make me ‘mad, but north, northwest,”.

“Oh, you,” said Lynda flipping her hand at which point the police arrived with all the photos.
We noticed one rather statuesque, striking woman with raven colored hair in all the photos. Yet her face was always in the dark or otherwise obscured and she was never photographed being actually with any of the men. Very clever. Devious, even. And sometimes she was even talking with the wives with her back to the camera, naturally. Surely, the nurses knew who this mysterious woman was. But as we later came to find out none had ever seen her face as she was always veiled or had a mask on. But they were all sure she was a ravishing beauty, and a real “lady”. They did say she was a good forty years younger than the men and very devoted to them in their old age. She always wore long black gloves with diamond tennis bracelets. In fact, she practically dripped with diamonds and always wore black velvet in the winter, and crisp sundresses in the summer and the highest of boots and stillettos. She stood a full six feet tall in her stockings, and she smelled of Tea Rose or Shalimar. It lingered in the still air when she departed. That we learned from the maids.

With no DNA evidence and no photo of her face and no clue as to which poison she used we were quite stumped and somewhat depressed. It’s hard to be a failure. Then we caught a break. One of the maids, aged and ill, named Esmeralda, called us and said,

“I know what you’re doing. And I wish to tell you it’s my daughter, Pantera, you seek. She did it but she’s not guilty. At first, when she was just fourteen, they took her and set her up in a palace. They educated her, made her a lady, paid for her lovers, paid for all her expenses. At first, I thought they were using her because of her youth and beauty, but it was more than that. They loved her and she took to whoredom like a fish to water. There was no other thing she could have been nor wanted to be. Come quick, for I shall not last the night. She did it to save them from their suffering and they requested she do it as a last favor.”

We got there and pleaded with her to call an ambulance but she refused saying she was waiting for Pantera. Then the room became clear and light and warm and Pantera stood before us and then moved to her mother’s bedside putting a cool ivory hand to her mother’s forehead. Her eyes, cornflower, blue took us in and she understood all immediately. Obsidian hair tumbled down her back and she was so ethereal she could have been one of Degas’s ballerinas. Her face, like a calla lily under glass, looked tenderly down at her dying mother, and her full pouty mouth trembled as she bit back the sobs. Her scent of Tea Rose infused the room. Botticelli’s Venus would have paled next to her.

We turned her in but it was a heresay statement which we had heard, and we asked her not to tell the poison she used. We knew The Black Orchid could get her off with her barrage of high priced lawyers. Sometimes it’s tough to be on the side of Might and Right. Pantera’s blue eyes drift over me now like a fresh summer sky.
Written By CAROL ANN, Author of Poems of Thunder @Amazon & BN.com

Read Full Post »

Contact us.

Contact us

First and Last Name:

E-Mail Address:


Read Full Post »

Auntie Carol loved her girl’s Las Cabronas, but they had reached graduation age and were going out to find jobs, further education, and, in some cases, husbands, (men of valor). Some chose to tread the path of career girls, while other planned to follow the path of stay at home, wives and mothers. Auntie Carol prided herself on her guidance skills in the realm of wedded bliss.

“Dearest ones, a man is king of the household and ruler of the realm. Always put his needs before your own yet, darlings, be not a door mat. A man likes a little spice in his life. Be a good bed mate and do not develop “headaches” at inopportune times. Be a James Bond woman in the boudoir, and Betty Crocker in the kitchen. A woman who can make good crepes is a treasure indeed to a valiant steed. A little witticism for you girls.”

“Oh, very funny, Miz Carol. Ha. Ha. Who is this Betty Crocker, chick, anyway?” quipped LaLa.

“Just about the most successful homemaker of all time, Dear, “ she replied.

“Well, we don’t know who she is, hyde nor hair of her. A little witticism for you, Miz Carol,” retorted LaLa.

“Well, perhaps you girls know Rachel Ray, I deign to say,” replied Auntie Carol.

“You’re rhyming again, Mz. Carol. Francisco says only psychos go around rhyming,” intoned LaLa.

“I chose to ignore that little bit of misinformation, a faulty formation at my behest as you suggest.”

“Miz Carol, no offence, but sometimes we think you’re ‘phone ringing and nobody home’ or a bit looney. That’s not to say you aren’t right most of the time,” interjected Chiquita, holding her baby.

“Genius is always misunderstood, darlings,” said Auntie Carol, as she swiped one gloved hand across her forehead for emphasis. And she thought of the theme song of the movie “To Sir, With Love.” “He took me from crayons to perfume” and fancied her life story playing out on the silver screen. The title of the movie could be “Tramps Are Oft Misunderstood”.

“Oh, girls, we all have come so far. I, too, made the journey with you, every step of the way, from dejection and rebellion, being little hellions to optimism and self respect. Your souls I did not neglect. You are now ready to be wives and mothers, and career girls if it bemuses you. I say the role of mother and wife should still be the penultimate achievement of a woman’s life even if there’s strife. As in the song, ‘Nature Boy’, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love, and be loved in return.”

“Did Snoop Dog do that song, Miz Carol. Psych,” laughed LaLa. “We know you love us and only want the best for us, even more than our own mothers, most times. We love you, as well, Miz Carol, and Miz Lynda, too, ”said LaLa. “This is our last week with, and we’ll sure miss you, Miz Carol.”

“And I shall miss all your beauteous faces and I know you’re going places. Be daring and creative: be joyous and give. Never lack the courage to boldly live. Let life flow through you like a sieve. Oh, my precious girls. The days I have spent with were the finest in my life,” said Auntie Carol as her eyes filled with tears. The girls surrounded her and gave her hugs and tears fell like rain from the heavens.

In the month that followed Auntie Carol and Lady Lynda prepared for their next great adventure, The Primrose Agency specializing in “Murder, most foul” to quote Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and diamond thievery. Well, that and other precious jewels, and of course, they’d investigate “art theft”. They wanted to deal with a certain class of criminal, and not petty crimes like robbing convenience stores. That would just be too “mundane”. Basically, they wanted to study the minds of brilliant criminals and try to figure out where they went wrong, in the womb or in the crib. It was Nature vs. Nurture. They were not averse to studying, serial killers, though they kind of considered them, “low class” and closely related to pillaging insects like roaches, Neanderthals who had never developed a conscience.

“Do you think Heidnick would have become a serial killer if he had received a proper religious instruction or had ever been a boy scout?” queried Lady Lynda.

“That, I don’t know, Dear. He was certainly quite queer. But, I’m sworn to find out. That’s what I’m all about. He may have just been a rotten apple. With that I grapple,” replied Auntie Carol.

“You remember the movie, “The Bad Seed” with Patty Mccormick? It was a case of Nature not Nurture. She was a little murderess and she came from a lovely family. Just astounding. And please, stop rhyming, Dearest, it gives me the vapors,” said Lady Lynda, fanning herself with an Oriental fan.

“In me you instill the will to stop. I don’t know what comes over me: what in the world is this. I am remiss! I bite my tongue: I am undone. “

“You can’t really help it, can you, love. I guess I’ll just “have to screw my courage to the sticking post”, as Lady MacBeth said. “What courage you give me ancient star”. A little bon mot for you, Dear.”
“Oh, I love that quote Dear: though to hear you say it is surpassingly queer,” said Auntie Carol. And she quoted Invictus by A.E. Henley which, of course, rhymed.
“Dark is the night which falls upon me/ Black as the pit from pole to pole/ I thank whatever Gods there may be/ For my inconquerable soul.”

“I think that Gypsy, Tekla, cursed you. Do you think that Dearest Carol?”

“Hob knobbing with goblins and ghosts, you’re certainly the most. I’d have to be tipsy to believe in a gypsy!’ exclaimed Auntie Carol.

“Well, I’m not the one who told her to stick it wherein the sun doth not shineth. I swear I’ll start talking in Elizabethan English is you don’t stop, Carol. Just nod you dad gum head if you’ll see a therapist about this?” She put her gentle gloved hand over Auntie Carol’s Piquant mouth and stared her hard in the eyes. And that was how Auntie Carol acquired her therapist. And they went Boldly Forth Where No Dames Had Gone Before.


Read Full Post »

Lady Lynda relaxed in her boudoir. The fairly newly married self proclaimed female etiquette exert wore her her long sleeved flannel carnation pink night gown. The one with the jaunty lace trim. Seymour Toze’s spouse purposely languidly laid upon the divan celebrating the Diva that become since being married to her gentleman friend of quite a few decades. She deemed herself the height of fortune to be of wedded bliss to her limit of patience , shoe salesman, fashion photographer. Lady Lynda loved the sound of her complete name Mrs Lynda Mae Hoffenfetter Toze She felt so radiant. The once dowdy woman sighed as she reminesced Her goosebumps she felt when Toze finally placed that wedding ring on her third finger, right hand.

It was such a genteel occasion at the Temple Enoch Synagogue. Lady Lynda quipped she certainly knew who was knocking at her heart. She was definitely beyond the years she could be knocked up. She delicately giggled at her humor.He looked so chivalrous in his black tuxedo, starched white shirt and stylish black tie. Rabbi and motivational speaker Hugh R. Good said wedding vows.

It seemed rather eloquent how he so offered his hand in hers in holy matrimony. What felicity she felt. At last they were legal. Now he could do with her much more than play with her ten pretties. He could be ravenous with her and she’d love every moment. Of course she would reciprocate too. Fair is fair she demurely chuckled.

Yes she sweetly laid on the divan waiting for her man. Lady Lynda needed not to wait very long. She liked that phrase very long. It conjured up delightful images of her man, Seymour Toze. Being that he was merely 5’7 she mused she wasn’t referring to his height. She could hardly wait. She emphasized hard…ly .

Seymour was coming any moment from his free lance fashion photography. As she pictured his debonair handsome form entering the bedroom she blushed ever so expectently as she eagerly waited for his entrance. Yes it would be so very hard to be patient. She was an Aries and that is the most impatient Star Sign. But she must be the essence of patience.

At last her husband Seymour Toze sauntered in into with a savoir faire that being married to the lady he loved could muster. Lady Lynda was more than ready for him. She was eager and comely. Waiting for him to come to her. At last her wish came true. The prepping for her etiquette tour was now put on hold.

Read Full Post »

Wanda Lust Done Expound

This be Wanda Lust and I tell ya we all done went out on the town this past Friday. There was me and Fat Harold, Seymour and Lady Lynda, and Auntie Carol and Herman. We done eat I-talian with the spaghetti lookin’ like white worms we be slurpin’ up. Then I notice Auntie Carol and Herman both disappear into the same restroom and come back grinnin’ like a fox in the hen house. It aint seemly that high fallutin’ people gone act all freaky deaky. When I gits people all figured out, I likes it if they stays that way and not go all change up on me. A lady should stay a lady and a “Ho”, A “Ho”. And Lady Lynda stimulatin’ Seynour under that table with her bare toes on his damn crotch. Ya git me or is I bitchin’ fo’ nothin’?

I sure D likin’ the Lady shit they usta’ lay on me and the presence of God playin’ peekaboo wid’ me, smilin’ from behind a damn cloud. They done convince me that I be Hell bound and this make me be real kind to all the beggars in the hope I gone git’ into heaven in some kinda way. Now they don’ bitch me out cuz I sells my ass fo’ profit no more and I misses all that shit. I guess they thinks I be some kinda poor unfortunate whut can’t help they lot in life. It called “The Great Unwashed.” Funny thing, Ho’s always be washin’ they things all the time as it git’ real stinky if ya don’t’. They always lets me know they be a cut above me but still love me like hellfire. Then I thinks maybe all womins be “Hos” some kind of way. Otherwise the man aint gone love and support ya.

I charges fifty fo’ a blow job and a hunnert for a slam bang unless it be some kinda freaky: then they gots to shell out more. I can’t count the times I dressed up like a Nazi matron and whup they asses wid’ a cat o’ nine tails. The money’s in fuckin’ the ones wid’ head problems. My specialty. I done been they moms, they teachers, even they own sisters. In short, I be a therapist of sorts and make just as much as they do. Fat Harold and me got a stone palace in Chestnut Hill, and all the neighbors think I be an Avon sales lady. What the fuck, I goes along wid’ all that horse shit. I always had my own money: don’t like to rely on no man. Then he be tellin’ me whut to do and I aint like that, not one little bit.

Auntie Carol still workin’ wid’ them rough girls, Las Cabronas. Got ‘em all wearin’ pearls and navy blue suits and crossin’ they legs at all times, college bound ya know. Lady Lynda tourin’ the country teachin’ Proper Ettiquit. Such as quit be’in a Ho, ya damn strumpet, but not in them words. But ya git it. Close yer damn legs ‘til ya sees a diamond ring dangling from a man’s hands, and wear a girdle so yer ass don’t jiggle like a mouNd of jello. Ya know the drill, and close yer mouth when ya chews, you aint no damn cow wid’ a cud. I says it different’ than them but ya see where I go’in wid’ it. I know all they beliefs and I respec’ ‘em. Now something revolutionary, Auntie Carol want to start a detective agency like that old lady in “Murder She Wrote” or the old Columbo series. She tell me that and I bust out laughin’. It so improbable. See I know some educated words. The sun aint go down on Ol’ Wanda, bitch. They gone call it the Primrose Agency and that be a whole ‘nother Joke on some level. Prim Rose, so fittin’ it would seem.

I sez, “Don’ do it. How ya know you aint get some damned serial killer on yer asses?” They both think this is powerful funny, and Lady Lynda give what she always call a “little witticism.” She say Raisen Bran never hurt nobody and laugh her ass off. Git it, cereal killer. Well, I aint give up so easy and I launches into a description of this real evil looney called Ed Gein, who used to skin womins and wear they skins around. Ya sho’ aint git’ that in Neiman Marcus! He also keep they body parts in his fridge to snack on. It give new meaning to the word, head cheese. And he got they lips dryin’ on his lampshades. When I gits to this part they all breakin’ up laughin’. I guess it funny in a kind of dark way. Then I tell ‘em how ya know you aint catch some I’talian mobster and his fambly’ aint gone execute ya, bullet in the head.
They say they gone specialize in cat burglars and diamond thieves, and I say, “Ya think this like college where ya chooses which course you gone take? Both of yal aint qualified fo’ this kind of work. You gone git injured or kilt!” And Auntie Carol pat me on the cheek and say, “There’s nothing in life that a good English degree can’t prepare you for, Dear.”
I decides I can’t fly in the face of logic and I orders ‘nother blackberry brandy. God love a hard livin’ woman.
By CAROL ANN bond writer of Catfish Joe & Double, Double, Toil & Trouble @ Amazon & BM.com

Read Full Post »