Chapter 2: Before the Boom

“You think it’s ****?” Kody asked.

“Of course it is! Jake said so,” Wally pointed out, continuing their discussion from the truck.

“I said it’s probably ****. What do you think, Phinn?” Jake asked.

After the photograph’s discovery, Jake slid the potential evidence under his shirt to avoid Mrs. Capshaw noticing while they left her house. Immediately, the boys drove around the block to Jake’s house, where they currently sat, huddled around his patio table.

“Very high probability. I’d say upper ninety percentile,” the brainy detective estimated. Turning the photograph over, he studied the writing on the back. “Of course, the demand might have been added later as a joke.”

“A joke? C’mon, Farris. People didn’t take sex pictures in the 1980s for no reason. I imagine it had to be a bitch setting up a camera on a timer back then,” Andre speculated.

“I mean, she looks pretty fucking hot. That alone is reason to have proof you banged her,” Wally commented.

“She does look fantastic. Too bad you can’t see any of her good parts,” Kody added.

“Dude, that might be the grandma of somebody we know,” Jake pointed out.

“Eww!” Kody squealed with a disgusted expression.

“Hey, we already figured out that Weaver is a GILF-lover,” Andre reminded.

The comment caused Kody to turn toward his friend in disbelief, while Phinn wore a mixture of amusement and mostly annoyance. He waited about halfway through Wally’s denials about Mrs. Annable before cutting him off.

“Why did you say the 1980s?” the lead investigator inquired of Andre.

“That was my guess. Maybe older,” Jake responded. “Do you think it’s older?”

“I’d say the 1970s. While there aren’t many details in the photo, you can pick out several that stand out,” Phinn stated. “First, the woman’s hair, while mussed from the sex, fits the style of the decade. Second, the painting on the wall and armchair in the corner are examples of that decade’s tastes. Finally, the color and picture quality match the earlier decade more appropriately.”

“Damn, Detective Boy did it again,” Andre chuckled.

"Isn't it possible that the man or woman just has an old chair or painting in their bedroom?" the class clown queried. "Or that she's wearing a dated hairstyle?"

“That’s why I’m not stating the era definitively,” Phinn replied to his old grade school classmate. “Now, tell me where you precisely found the picture.”

“Uh, under some of the furniture for the rummage sale,” Kody revealed, far too vaguely for Phinn’s liking.

“Don’t worry. I got you,” Jake hurriedly told his partner. “I had everyone take pictures of the area.”

“Excellent,” the prickly sleuth praised. He waited as the other teens pulled up the photos on their phones.

“I’d guess that it slipped out from one of the items dropped off today. That’s mostly what’s around that area, and the jostling likely loosened the picture,” Jake theorized.

“Ah, we shall see,” Phinn nodded before asking if they knew which pieces came from where.

“I think that spot filled up yesterday,” Jake recalled. “We put the McDermitts’ dresser to the left of it this afternoon.”

“No, there was a little room there when we did that,” Andre remembered.

“Not there! That was full,” Wally stated, shaking his head. “The Rieses put a few items in that central section yesterday. Same for the Nooks.”

“C’mon, Wally! The Nooks are not into ****,” Jake scoffed about the family who lived across the street from him.

“Nor are they old enough,” Phinn noted. “And while I have my issues with the Rieses–”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Jake muttered about the family who lived on the other side of the Farrises.

“They also don’t fit the correct age. If this photograph was taken roughly a half century ago, the participants should be in their seventies,” Phinn explained before recalling his elderly aunt’s wishes. “Of course, it’s possible that man or woman could be the parent of one of our older neighbors. Furniture does get passed down from one generation to the next.”

“Hey, when I was helping Mr. Shepley, I saw Lance drop off some items he picked up for Mr. Gordon and the Bethunes,” Kody recalled. “That was yesterday, and they fit the age.”

“Whoa! Mr. Gordon is one of the nicest people out there,” Jake defended.

“Yet, he also worked as a mail carrier for over forty years,” Phinn countered. “That job brought him into contact with many different people in various neighborhoods. Also, he'd have been a young mailman in the 1970s.”

“I thought you liked him,” Jake challenged.

“I do, but personal feelings can not eliminate suspects. I’ve stressed this for years to you,” Phinn reminded.

“The Bethunes are an odd couple. He’s friendly; she’s not,” Wally opined. Then, a light bulb exploded in his head. “I got it! I saw Mr. Donnelly moving some of Ms. Infusino’s furniture into the garage yesterday.”

“Our old third-grade teacher?” Jake asked, his mouth dropping down.

“Yeah! She’s old enough, and she's getting a bit forgetful. That’s why she’s selling her house and moving into one of those assisted living places,” Wally relayed.

“Naughty school teacher? I like it,” Andre declared, grinning.

“And didn’t they have morals clauses or some crap back then for teachers? That could’ve been what the blackmailer threatened her over,” Kody speculated.

“Wait a moment,” Phinn said, raising a hand. “What color is Ms. Infusino’s hair?”

“Uh, gray,” Wally replied.

“Right!” Jake agreed.

Although he didn’t take off his eyeglasses, Phinn sighed deeply at his partner’s reply. Picking up the photograph, he held it out to his two former classmates from Marshall Elementary School.

“This woman has blonde hair. Ms. Infusino was a brunette in her younger days,” Phinn revealed.

"How do you know–"

“Oh, right! The school used to hang up old pictures of teachers in the library for different holidays,” Jake recalled, cutting off Wally.

“Also, while not exactly overweight, Ms. Infusino is more curvier than this woman ever could be,” Phinn proclaimed, jabbing his finger down on the still image of the petite blonde. “Not to mention that, as of Italian descent, our former teacher has a darker complexion.”

“I don’t know the woman, but I know women’s bodies,” Andre cracked. “Farris is probably onto something.”

“So, is there a finder’s fee for your cases?”

"Kody!"

"Dude!"

"What? I'm just curious," the perennially broke teenager defended himself.

“Maybe if we get a reward. I don’t know,” Jake offered, shrugging. “It depends on the case. We usually don’t get paid.”

“What case?” Phinn questioned. “I don’t see a case here.”

“You don’t think this is a potential case?” Jake asked, gesturing at the photo.

“We’ve had past cases spring up from almost nothing. However, I can’t see the next step here. We have no idea who either person is, nor do we have any likely way of searching for them. A possible fifty-year gap will limit any investigative routes,” Phinn noted.

“Aw, man! I thought I found something good,” Kody whined.

“Hey, you did get to check out somebody’s grandma from her hot years,” Andre consoled, slapping the dejected kicker’s shoulder.

“Couldn’t you do some facial recognition scan?” Kody suggested, causing Wally to roll his eyes.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It really doesn’t,” Jake agreed. “The best we could do is show the photo around, but that brings a whole bunch of other problems.”

“No shit,” Andre chuckled. “Some of your old neighbors might get more than offended by a picture of people fucking.”

“Still, I think we should hold on to this,” Phinn said, lifting the picture. “One never knows.”

“Damn, there goes O’Keefe’s final chance at a payday,” Wally joked.

“The hell? I wouldn’t sell it!”

“Sure, you wouldn’t,” Jake agreed, grinning. “Now, who’s going to the parade tomorrow?”

The parade filled several major streets in downtown Edgewater under a bright sun. Floats, adorned in red, white, and blue, glided gracefully along the roads, each one a miniature stage bursting with smiling faces and waving hands. The local high school and junior high bands strutted or shuffled down the streets based on their experience levels or enthusiasm under the hot sun.

Every float, performance, local celebrity, and food vendor caught the eye. Yet, for three male teens, the sights strolling past on the sidewalk were often the most tantalizing. Andre jabbed a stiff elbow into Jake's side.

“Look, it’s Layla!”

Jake spotted the recent news hire in Anchor Rock across from them on the other sidewalk. Cursing their luck, the horny teens watched the sports reporter gain some badly needed field experience as she interviewed parade watchers in a cute sundress.

“Damn, that family has solid genes,” Andre commented.

“They do,” Jake muttered, envisioning Abigail LeClaire.

“What’s this about an old **** picture?” Luke Ridley asked, causing Jake to give Andre a look.

“What? It’s just Luke. He ain’t going to tell anyone,” the defensive end responded. “Wally’s more likely to crack a joke about it to people.”

Having met Busybody, Inc., in seventh grade, the two friends probably knew more about their cases than most people in Edgewater. If anything, Luke might hold the record for providing the most assistance with cases.

“Well, Kody told me about it too,” Luke revealed, causing Jake to groan.

“It’s probably too old to turn into a case,” the teen detective explained, shrugging.

“Here she comes!” Luke Ridley’s mother screamed, spotting the Timlin Junior High School band approaching. A small gathering of extended family and friends started clapping and hollering.

“Yay, Lori!” Luke screamed, cheering on his thirteen-year-old sister’s first time marching in a parade. The popular wide receiver let loose with an ear-piercing whistle.

“Lori Ridley!” Andre screamed before launching into a “Lori” chant.

“Is she blushing, or is that hat way too big and hot?” Jake asked, waving at his friend’s embarrassed and sweaty little sister.

Jake spent the next fifteen minutes with his friends’ families. A mixture of cheers and boos greeted the South High Seawolves marching band. Jake, Andre, and Luke helped lead the boos for their crosstown rivals. However, they quieted down as a sequence of cheers and claps heralded the arrival of incoming cheer captain Norah Davenport. One of the sexiest girls in all of Edgewater, the North High students begrudgingly gave props to the show that the newly assembled varsity cheer squad put on while accompanying their band.

“The hell?” Luke questioned.

“No way!” Andre exclaimed.

“Coach Turnbull would never let us…” Luke trailed off as Jake and Andre nodded.

A small float featuring several South High football players followed the school’s marching band and cheerleaders. Star quarterback Colt Crockett waved to the crowd like a future politician while running back Jamal Jette pumped up the crowd.

“Seriously, why do they always get to do stuff like this?” Andre complained. “North High is older.”

“That’s why,” Luke declared.

Following their rivals, Mayor Roger Broome grinned and waved from the backseat of a Lincoln Continental convertible. With his wife involved in one of the city’s civic floats, that left his daughter, Ryleigh, to sit next to him on the raised back seat. An uptight, prim, and proper incoming senior at South High, the town princess had run afoul of Jake and Phinn several times, as part of Paisley Ellison’s clique.

“I can’t believe you helped get him re-elected,” Andre said, shaking his head.

“Phinn can’t believe he still drives in these events in a brand of convertible known for assassinations,” Jake relayed.

“They didn’t help Broome get re-elected as much as put his opponent behind bars,” Luke corrected his best friend.

“It’s not like we wanted to help Broome. Vernon Farlow was way worse and a straight-up criminal. Guy would’ve been corrupt as hell,” Jake pointed out about a past mayoral candidate.

“Didn’t he run a chop shop out of his used car lot?” Luke asked.

“Oh, right! I sorta forgot about that part,” Andre admitted sheepishly.

Suddenly, a roar rose from the North High supporters. A pickup truck carrying a half dozen members of the upcoming fiftieth anniversary state champions slowly rolled into view. The three football players cheered on their school legends, who waved over in recognition at members of the current squad.

Watching Deke Deason, Gomer Gibson, Rudolph Kozak, Herman Starr, and others wave to their adoring fans, Jake realized all the men fit the age range of the photograph. Damn, what if I know the man, woman, and blackmailer?

With that troubling thought, Jake left his close friends to walk approximately a hundred and fifty yards to the north. The trek took longer than expected as multiple parade watchers took a brief break to congratulate the well-known football player on his recent celebrity case. The praise felt strange to Jake, as they usually caught flak from people in Edgewater after solving cases. Oh, well, I'd better enjoy it while it lasts. Phinn’s likely to piss off the whole town on our next case.

Precisely on point, Eugene Gordon greeted Jake from the edge of the Monroe Park group.

“Why aren’t you out there in a car or on a float, Jake?” the retired mailman questioned. “You boys deserve it more than Broome or Amos Annable.”

Jake followed his friendly neighbor’s thumb to see Charlotte Annable and her husband riding past in a classic Rambler. Leaning out the window, the local alderwoman beamed at her constituents. Even though the windows, Jake could make out her husband’s horrible black dye job. His hair looked so bad that many people assumed it to be a toupee, but Dusty’s accidental attempt to reveal so had backfired almost five years ago.

“I don’t need the attention. I’m okay with being a spectator, “ Jake replied, earning a harrumph from a nearby Ruth Bethune. The teen didn’t take it personally. The elderly woman never seemed to like Jake and his friends. It had something to do with Dusty’s grandmother in the past.

“Jake, Jake!” a hyper five-year-old yelled, weaving around people’s legs to reach him. “Lift me up. I wanna see from high!”

“Only if your parents say it’s okay,” Jake replied, knowing the answer, but he wanted the little boy to get permission.

“He’s all yours,” Tess Plouffe laughed.

The neighbors on the Magnums’ other side, the Plouffes, lived in the corner house on Madison Avenue and 34th Street. With three children under the age of five, the twenty-nine-year-old mother had her hands full with her one and three-year-old daughters.

“Alright, Howie, it’s time to fly!” Jake teased, scooping his neighbor up.

“Hawk! I’m Hawk, not Howard!”

“We don’t know either. It started last week,” Tess revealed, sharing a laugh with Pamela Farris and Mrs. Nook.

Placing the newly named Hawk on his shoulders, they watched as a procession of fire trucks, vintage vehicles, and community organizations passed by. The classic cars garnered plenty of attention and comments from Jake’s older male neighbors. With their chrome gleaming under the bright sun and engines revving, each vehicle bore a signboard detailing its storied past.

“I could give a much better history of what went down in my old Chevy,” Eugene Gordon quipped. “Far more entertaining, I’ll add.”

“Especially that roomy backseat, eh, Gene?” Bill Shepley asked.

“Dad!” April LeClaire exclaimed, embarrassed at her retired father’s remark. “Mom!”

“No comment, dear,” May Shepley teased, grinning from ear to ear.

Mrs. Bethune made her displeasure known with another snort, but Gilbert, her husband, chuckled along with a remark about the stories he could tell.

With the extended LeClaire family around, Jake craned his neck to find Abby, but a slap at the back of his head from Hawk put an end to his movement.

“Howard! Don’t hit Jake,” Tess scolded.

“Won’t stay still!”

The hell? What’s with little kids hitting me all of a sudden? Jake wondered, recalling his meet and greet from last month.

“What’s that?” Jake’s young neighbor asked.

The junior sleuth rolled his eyes upon seeing a group of performers from Hilltop Academy. The private religious school always attempted to bring the town’s rich history to life through its narrow viewpoint. With a significantly larger budget than North or South High, Hilltop’s drama club at least provided quality costumes for the holiday. However, their skewed reenactment of the town's pioneers and local Native Americans left a lot to be desired in its whitewashing of history.

Damn, this is so cringeworthy. I'd rather see one of their purity wins over the sins of sexual desire morality tales.

“Boring!” Howard yelled, suddenly more interested in the food vendors approaching on the street sides.

With the sweet scent of popcorn and cotton candy wafting through the air, Jake’s stomach began to rumble. Passing on the warm popcorn and sticky cotton candy, the stocky teen listened to the calls and chimes from further down the street.

A middle-aged man with a fake handlebar mustache and a stained apron hawked sizzling hot dogs, their aroma overwhelming the scents of other treats. His cart, a patchwork of peeling paint, held a tray of perfectly browned franks, toppings galore, and a steaming pot of golden fries.

"Get 'em while they're hot, folks!" he bellowed, meeting Jake’s hungry eyes.

However, Jake had other ideas, hearing the musical chimes of an ice cream cart. Stepping slightly off the curb, Jake asked Howie what he wanted. Despite his neighbor wanting a popsicle, the teen bought them each a cup of ice cream. The assumption that Howie would be less likely to drip the melting treat down on him didn’t pan out as Jake hoped.

“Wow!” Howie, aka Hawk, cried, nearly dumping his ice cream over.

A float shaped like a majestic eagle with a wingspan almost as wide as the street took center stage, its feathers meticulously crafted from shimmering silver and blue fabric. The eagle's fiery eyes, made of dozens of tiny red and white lights, sparkled in the sun’s reflection. Riding on the float, Olivia Vantini waved to the crowds. The current and outgoing Miss Paddle, named after Paddle Bay despite the usual snickers, savored her final duty as the reigning pageant winner from Waterfest. The town festival would crown a new winner next month.

“She’s pretty,” Howie said in awe.

“Yes, she is,” Jake agreed, checking out the twenty-one-year-old brunette. Olivia had a body that made a guy fantasize. His mind also wandered toward this year’s pageant. Young women around twenty or twenty-one usually won, which meant his sister’s group of friends stood a strong chance of having the next Miss Paddle from their clique.

Another float, a tribute to the town's founding fathers, rolled by, with actors in colonial attire reenacting historic moments with a delightful touch of humor that had the spectators chuckling. Despite its humorous take, the scene was much more in line with history than Hilltop’s version. Jake noticed a mix of the North and South High drama club members up on the float. Seeing them reminded him that he should discuss the costumes for Waterfest with Violet Tipton about the Phantom Diver case. Howie cheered as he recognized Quinn Rusch, who often read stories in costume during the summer at Dillingday Library.

The self-titled Hawk nearly fell from his perch on Jake’s shoulder as the next roar sprang up from their assembled neighbors. Appearing in a flurry, the local gymnastics team cartwheeled and somersaulted down the street in a dazzling array of red, white, and blue, their agility and precision leaving onlookers in awe. The biggest cheer erupted for Allie LeClair, the petite gymnast, and Piper Alessi, her best friend.

Oddly, despite his crush on her older sister and lust for her cousin, Jake didn’t think of Allison the same way. While he’d absolutely call her beautiful, Allie had been his classmate since kindergarten, leaving her more of a friend than a potential bedmate. Phinn claimed her medium-sized breasts as the main factor. Jake didn’t believe so, but he admittedly found his eyes drawn to her auburn-haired best friend, Piper, who had medium-to-large breasts in a tight, compact, and competitive body.

Next came a group of cyclists zipping through the parade, each bike decked out in patriotic colors. Their tires emitted a symphony of pops and crackles from the bike-mounted fireworks, leaving trails of sparks in their wake.

“Cool!” Howie squealed. “Blow something up! Blow something up! Make a big boom!”

Shaking his head and chuckling, Jake wondered what the Plouffes told their children about his and Phinn’s cases. Howie might get the wrong idea, as Phinn and, especially, Dusty used to make things often blow up in the old days.

Over on the north side of Edgewater, Phinn examined the area where Kody found the photograph. He’s managed to catch Sydney Capshaw before she left for the parade. Opening the boat garage door, she made him promise to shut it when he finished.

Crawling on the floor, Phinn studied each of the pieces of furniture from which the picture might have fallen. Unsatisfied with what he saw, the teen detective expanded the potential drop zone to examine additional cabinets and furnishings. Nothing stood out as an obvious hiding place.

Another thirty minutes passed while Phinn used a flashlight and a small hammer. Peering inside narrow openings and hinges proved as useless as tapping on the wood. Frustrated, the stumped sleuth stood staring at nothing for another five minutes before admitting defeat.

Walking back home, a sense of unease nagged the experienced investigator. Something felt wrong, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on what or why.

Blackmailers rarely strike only once. If the photograph represented an extortion effort, then how often did this person operate in that fashion? Also, how long were they active? Could they still be active today? **** doesn’t require youthfulness to work. Of course, the person might have died or moved away in the intervening years.

Still, that uneasiness persisted after Phinn entered his empty house. Acting almost automatically, he went upstairs to his bedroom. Hooking up the scanner to his laptop, Phinn scanned both sides of the photo several times.

In a long list of cases, Phinn and his friend had encountered blackmailers multiple times. Often, this type of case proved to be both dangerous and complicated. People being blackmailed might lash out like cornered animals. This has already occurred in a pair of cases, where the person they were unknowingly helping saw them as additional enemies.

Who’s the true enemy? That’s often the tricky question with ****.

Besides the copies on his computer, Phinn sent them to his and Jake’s phones. Once finished, he searched for an appropriately sized manila envelope. After enclosing the photograph, he wrote a note on the outside of the envelope in black marker, asking that the evidence be kept safe for now.

After tossing the envelope in his backpack, Phinn walked down to 34th Street, taking a left. With the streets empty due to the parade, the teen took no time to travel four blocks before turning right.

Another half a block brought the teen to a familiar home in the 3300 block of Webster Avenue. Glancing around, Phinn traveled up the walkway, onto the porch, and to the front door. Although he knew the house was empty this weekend, Phinn slid the envelope through the mail slot and into Busybody, Incorporated’s unofficial safe deposit box.

With that off his mind for now, Phinn began dreading tonight. His mother and Jake insisted that he socialize and attend the 4th of July fireworks show down at the harbor.

“Hopefully, a crime happens.”