The day started with the usual routine. The light, filtering through the brown shutters, shined onto the face of Alistair Stratford Oxley. His nose, sensing that his body was now awake, twitched slightly. He opened one eye, than two. He stood up. Brushing the dust off of his nightgown, he wandered upstairs to the interior of “Jack’s Jems”. Jack’s Jems is the only antique shop worth mentioning in this town and Oxley, being it’s proud owner, does not hesitate to mention it to anyone. Walking slowly around his shop, the middle aged man looked down at his hands, weathered with use from refurnishing pieces from the fifteen hundreds, sighed, and walked to the front door.

As he left the shop for his morning walk, the heat and smell hit Alistair at the same time. Although he could not decide exactly what the smell was, it combined perfectly with the dense heat to make even his short time outside close to unbearable. He looked over and saw the WTF radio headquarters. He wondered what crappy music they were playing at the moment. “No matter,” he said to himself, as he moved quickly towards a shelter from the weather. As he reached the arch marking the entrance to the park, he thought about his recent business. Not his antique sales, no, his side business. As his surroundings changed from the dull, intense heat of the city to the cool, natural greens and browns of wildlife, Alistair thought of his work as a private investigator.

He thought of his first case in town, how he had successfully deciphered the mysterious symbols plaguing Ms. Sarah Jade’s texts. He had helped locate her harasser, whom she quickly married. But that was back then. Apparently these days the only people who need the services of a fully operational private eye were grandma’s who thought their cats were stolen, and people who had misplaced their shoes. He paused, and looked down at his pocket watch. It was 10:30. Time to get back to the shop.

Back at the antique shop, Alistair picked up the welcome sign and, putting it in the window, took his place at his favorite stool, all the while mumbling his ritual welcome rhyme:

Come one, come all

To the shop that you call

When you need something

That has been

If you should ever

Need someone clever

Enter, why not?

The detective is in.