“In other words, what you’re saying is that a lot of people would have easy access to rat poison.”
“It’s an easy-enough product to buy anywhere,” he noted, with a shrug. “So I can’t imagine anybody would have trouble getting rat poison, if they wanted it.” He looked over at her. “So is this your new case?” he asked, a curious twinkle in his eye.
She realized that he’d recognized her. “So, I’m Doreen, as you already know. What’s your name?”
“Milford.”
“Nice to meet you, Milford. And I’m so glad you stopped to speak with me.” She shrugged. “As to your question about this being a new case, let’s just say it’s an oddity that’s caught my curiosity.”
“It is, at that.” He frowned, as he thought about it. “An old guy sits here quite a bit. You should talk to him.”
“Yeah? What’s his name? How old is he?”
“Don’t know names out here, but he’s older than me,” he clarified, with a laugh. “And that’s saying something. I’m eighty-two. And this guy? Well, I think he’s like ninetysomething.”
“Wow. And does he come every day?”
Milford nodded at that. “He does. I often stop and say hi to him. However, he doesn’t talk a whole lot. I don’t know whether it’s because he doesn’t have any teeth or what, but he’s not the friendliest sort.”
“Are you thinking he might have dropped the box here?”
“No, I sure am not. He’s old-school like me. You don’t throw poison away. It’s not even so much about hurting other people, but you might need it one day.”
She winced at that. “I’ve seen that sentiment a time or two. Some of the older folks, whose parents and grandparents went through the Great Depression, are reluctant to let go of anything. Some come very close to becoming a hoarder.”
He snorted at that. “I don’t get those people.” He shook his head. “I mean, when you think about it, keeping stuff that you can use is one thing, but keeping stuff that’s garbage? Well, that’s a whole different thing.”
“And I think that’s where the problem is,” she agreed, sliding him a sideways glance. “I think the perspective is all about who owns it and what they actually think could be of value. What you think of value and what somebody else will think of value …”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s like my wife and me,” he stated, smirking. “She seems to think that everything I’ve kept all these years has no value. Always trying to throw away my stuff, before I can stop her. I have to check the garbage constantly to see what she has dumped lately.”
“Well, there you go.” Doreen laughed. “If you think about it, that’s exactly how hoarders feel. What they find in the garbage is gold, which is what other people throw away because they think it’s useless.”
He glared at her.
She just grinned. “Not saying that you’re a hoarder or that your things are useless. Just saying that theory applies.”
He shrugged. “Don’t matter none. Anyway, this old guy comes around on a regular basis. But, like I told you, he doesn’t talk much.”
“Well, maybe he would have some ideas to help me,” she added.
“And besides, what difference does it make if he does know who put the box there? What difference does it make about whoever put the box there?” he asked. “It could have been anybody’s box. He might have picked it up out of the nearest garbage can, wondering what to do with it, and then decided he didn’t want it around and tossed it.”
“All good points,” she noted cheerfully. “Just one of those things that I can’t really let go of in my head.”
He stared at her for a moment. “And that means, there’s something to it.”
“Not necessarily,” she cautioned. “I’m just looking at a few things.”
“Hmm,” he replied, followed with a heavy harrumph. “Sounds to me like an excuse. You just don’t want me interfering in your case.”
She smiled at him. “I technically don’t even have a case.”
“Well, that’s because you keep getting into the police’s way,” he noted, laughing at her. “You know what? If you would learn to be subtle, you wouldn’t be getting into trouble all the time.”
“Yeah, subtle has never exactly been something I’m very good at,” she admitted.
At that, he burst out laughing.
She could see that he was thoroughly enjoying the conversation. She flashed him a grin. “See? Now wouldn’t life be boring if I did nothing all the time and if I kept my nose out of things?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, still with that big laugh of his reverberating around them. “When you think about it, I’m sure the police work would be a whole lot more smooth sailing though.” She frowned at that. He nodded. “You and that big detective, whatever his name is, I’ve seen you two on the telly a couple times.”
She nodded. “A couple times I’ve been on there,” she admitted. “And not like anybody asked me though.”
“Nobody asks nothing in this world,” he spat, with a sage nod. “As soon as they got a story, they run with it.”
“Well, I’m not all about stories,” she added. “I’m trying to be about the truth.”
“Well, that’s the other side of the story, isn’t it?” he noted. “Your truth versus somebody else’s truth—they’re very different things.” And, with that, he looked around, checked his watch. “I think I’ve been gone long enough. I think I can go home and have a cup of tea and some biscuits.”
At that, she smiled. “By the way, this old guy who comes all the time, any idea what time of day he comes?”
Milford looked down at his watch. “You know what? He’ll probably be along pretty soon, if you just sit tight and wait for a few minutes. But remember, I get the credit, if I helped.” And, with that, still laughing, he turned and walked away.
She wandered to the nearby picnic table and sat down on the top of it, with her feet on the bench. The animals busied themselves, while Doreen waited. Mugs rolled around in the sand beside her. Thaddeus walked back and forth on the picnic table, and Goliath sprawled out beside her atop the table.
“Mugs, you can go in the water, if you want to swim.” She quickly unleashed him and then noted the posted warning sign, saying dogs must be on a leash only. But, by then, Mugs was already racing into the water. Doreen groaned, realizing that, hey, if somebody wanted to cause trouble for her, it would be right about now.
And, sure enough, somebody spoke up. “Hey, dogs have to be on a leash.”
She looked up to see an old guy yelling at her, and, yeah, as far as she was concerned, he was quite a bit older than Milford. She winced and nodded and tried calling Mugs back. He wasn’t very impressed, but eventually he returned to her, shaking tons of lake water off his coat. But he looked very happy. She apologized to the older man, who still glared at her. “You’re right,” she agreed. “I unclipped him, and then I saw the sign.”