Exceptional The search is on . . . Sinclair Pickens-Smythe : Where's Sinclair by damommy

Synopsis of Chapter Two:  Sinclair has made his plans, and put them into action. A massive manhunt was launched for the county’s most prominent citizen.  The local constabulary, the estate staff, and local volunteers spread out in the search with no idea of where to look.  The village people loved the pudgy little guy and secretly hoped he’d simply run away.  Not a single soul would blame him.   They searched the house from rooftop to cellar, the outbuildings, and combed the woods by moving in grids, calling as they went.  They dragged the lake and looked down the well.  No sign of Sinclair.  They hadn’t searched as far as the river.  Arabella called off the search before they could.  Hopefully the little gremlin has floated out to sea.   Everyone was exhausted after four days of hard searching, and interest had waned somewhat.  It was decided that Sinclair was nowhere to be found.   “It’s been five days,” grumbled Arabella, “and I have no idea what to do next.  I wonder if the shrimp had a will.  Probably left everything to his goldfish.”   The following day, she stomped unannounced into Littleman’s office, and demanded to know how the present circumstances had left her.  She could hardly believe her ears when it all came out.    Until a body was found or Sinclair came home, nothing could be done.  There was only enough money left in the bank account to run the estate for two years, and little left over.  Arabella was outraged!  What could the twerp have done with all the money?  The hairless wonder had hidden it!  How will I survive?  No new clothes, no parties, no trips to the hairdresser? What will all my friends think?  Who would have thought he’d have the gumption to pull this off!  Littleman thought he’d have to have her forcefully removed if she didn’t calm down.    It was time to hire a private investigator.  It was obvious to her that he had planned all this out and left her high and dry.   “I’ll find him,” she hissed.  “He can’t hide forever.”  She hired Gideon O’Malley, a retired policeman turned private detective.  O’Malley could see right off she was going to be difficult.    As weeks turned into months, there was no sign of Sinclair.  Now and then, someone mentioned his disappearance, but eventually that fizzled out.   Arabella hardly left the estate these days.  She couldn’t bear the thought of society learning of her dire situation.  Her posh friends could never know how limited her funds were or they would pity her while laughing behind their hands.   At first, everyone rallied around “poor Arabella” in her time of grief with condolences that fed her tremendous ego.  “Oh, you poor dear!”  “How brave you are.”  “You’re such a strong woman.”  All the while hoping she wouldn’t ask anything of them.  What most were thinking, but didn’t say, was good for Sinclair. The men all said if it were them, it would have meant escaping or murder.  How old Sinclair stuck it this long was a mystery to them.    As months passed and her temper flared without Sinclair to buffer her tantrums, most of the staff were gone, leaving only Buggles and Mrs. Kittle, the cook, two very cunning individuals.   “I say, Buggles, it’s been a fair bit of fun watching that stick in a dress trying to cope without the Master’s millions.  Not much fun in buying the cheap cuts of meat, though. It’s hard to make a decent meal these days.”   “You do an admirable job, Mrs. Kittle.  No one could do better.”   “Oh, I have my tricks of the trade, but there’s no pleasure in cooking these days, with just her shoving her food around the plate.  Can’t gain an ounce, you know.  She already looks like an escapee from a prison camp.  Between you and me, Buggles, I save the best for us.”   “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Mrs. Kittle, and it has not gone unappreciated.”   In the conservatory, Arabella drummed her claw-like fingers on the glass-top table as she listened to what O’Malley had found.  He knew she wasn’t going to be happy with his news and prepared himself for the tirade.   “I haven’t found much, Mrs. Pickens-Smythe.  There were some footprints along the riverbank, and I found tire prints coming out of the woods.  After that, I’ve come up empty-handed, but I have a couple of hunches I’d like to explore.”    Arabella sniffed. “I’ll give you two weeks and no more.  I expected more from you, but this job may be beyond your capabilities.  I know how you people operate.  You sit in your car for days on end and hope the ‘subject’ happens by, but when he doesn’t, you’re quick to hold out your hand for money.  Get out, and don’t come back until you have something!”   O’Malley gathered his coat and hat from Buggles and left as quickly as possible.  He’d seen her kind before, women who married some poor sap for their money, but he’d never seen one quite like this one. How had that man stood living with this woman?  If I find out he’s just done a runner, I’ll not say a word and wish the poor man good luck.    To be continued . . .

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