The Detroit Chronicles.

Hello, tap tap. Is this thing on? Ok, from my mouth to God's ears, I hope this thing works, you know what I'm sayin'.

Uh, hello, Dear Internet. I'm Lefty Detroit, private eye, and it has been brought to my attention that a certain person that is the writer of this here blog has gone missing, but I'm here to tell you never fear. I'm on the job, and Lefty Detroit always finds his man. Or woman, as the case may be, huh huh. But enough with the funny stuff. Let me fill you in on the details, right, 'cause sometimes people have clues they didn't know was clues and that can help me solve this case, you know what I'm sayin'.

So the other day I'm sittin' in my office over at the Get It Done Detective Agency, and it's kind of a slow day, if you know what I'm sayin'. So I'm sittin' there with my feet propped up on the desk when all of a sudden, bam! In walks this real classy dame. And wowza, this was one hot broad, a real diamonds and pearls kind of class act what doesn't walk through my door every day, right? Big brown eyes and this floaty cloud of hair under this cute little hat that peeked down over one eye. Man, she looked like Chanel Number 5. So I'm all ears and eyes, and I drop my feet and take off my hat, and she opens her mouth and says in this breathy voice, "Hello, I'm Cookie von Countryclub. Are you Lefty Detroit, the private investigator?" And from my mouth to God's ears, I could hardly speak. I mean this dame had a voice like one of them Frenchie actresses what talks all sexy, you know what I'm sayin'? So I says to myself, 'Holy Mary Mother of God, pull yourself together, Lefty, don't let this dame walk out your door!" And let me tell you what. Hey, Ma, if you're out there listening? I done you proud, Ma. I tucked in my shirt, straightened my hair real quick like, and said, "Yes, lady, that's me. What can I do for you today?"

"Well," she said, all breathy and distressed like. "It's just that my dear dear friend has gone suddenly missing, and we are most distraught! Oh, please, good sir, I can tell by your rumpled trench coat, battered fedora, and nicotine-stained index finger that you are a most adept private investigator, and I'm terribly, terribly frightened that somebody has abducted our sweet Amazing Cheastypants. Oh, do say you can help, I beg of you."

"Lady," I told her, puffing out my chest to make her notice me like a man, if you know what I'm sayin', "Lefty Detroit always finds his man. If your friend is missing, we'll get her back, and that's my promise to you. Why don't you take a seat and let's get down to business." So while she got all fluttery and thankful, and kept saying how "terribly, terribly grateful" she was, I cleared a stack of files off the other chair in my office and took her coat. A mink stole, I don't mind sayin', and just by accident I happened to notice she ain't got no ring on that there left finger, if you know what I'm sayin', and Lefty Detroit always gets his, er, well, woman, huh huh. Anyways, I think I've got a good a shot as any, you know what I mean?

So once she was sittin' down all comfortable like, I got out a yellow legal pad and looked around for a pencil stub. It took me a while to find it, what with all the files and newspapers, coffee cups and cigarette butts, but I finally did. So I licked the end, and said, "Ok, lady, tell me what you know," and commenced to writin' down what she said.

"Well," Miss von Countryclub began, "last we heard from Bunny - oh, that's what we call Amazing Cheastypants over at our club - well, the last we heard from Bunny she'd been terribly, terribly busy with out of town guests. As I understand it, her sister and a very dear friend from her days at university were both in town at the same time. She'd sworn to us that she'd still be on for our bridge game on Wednesday night, but Mitzi, Ludmilla and I never saw her that evening. In fact, we couldn't even play bridge, what with the uneven numbers. But it's all right, of course, we can always entertain ourselves with the cabana boys in such an eventuality. They are terribly, terribly adorable, you know."

Well I don't mind sayin,' that bit about the cabana boys sort of took me by surprise, and when I looked up, that Miss Cookie had quite a different sort of look in her eye, if you know what I'm sayin'. But she snapped out of it, and got right back to lookin' confused and upset, so I figured, hell, any person's got a right to a little fun, but from my mouth to God's ears, I'd give a million dollars to be a cabana boy at Cookie von Countryclub's club. Looks like Lefty Detroit picked the wrong line of work, huh huh! So, back to the story.

Turns out that the next mornin,' Cookie went over to Amazing Cheastypants' (a.k.a. "Bunny's") house and found some pretty fishy lookin' stuff. First off, she says how one of Bunny's coats was gone missing, and second, how all of her stuff was in a suitcase. Pretty fishy, if you ask me. On top of it all, she showed me how Bunny (a.k.a. "Amazing Cheastypants") had changed her voice mail message and now it was the theme song from "Where In the World Is Carmen Sandiego." Last, and this was a real kicker, she showed me this note written in elegant scrawl on some fancy perfumed paper like what you'd buy in Paris or somethin', and it said, "Buy insurance, call credit card company, yogurt, cereal, fruit, tires half off at Sears." Then Cookie looked up at me with her big brown eyes and those cute little lips all aquiver. She laid her hand on my sleeve (I flexed my muscle just a little bit to impress her, you know what I'm sayin'?), and said, "Oh, Lefty, whatever can it mean? Do you think it terribly, terribly, sinister?"

Well I hardly knew what to think, feelin' all like I'd been poleaxed when she looked at me like that, so I don't know what I said, but I must have muttered something sensible, cause the next thing I know she's holding my hand and sayin' hows she knew she could trust me and I would do a terribly, terribly good job finding her dear, dear Bunny. She looked so cute and sad that I practically shed a tear myself, but if you tell anybody I said that I'll break your fingers, so just forget about it, if you know what's good for you, chump.

So that's the story so far, folks, and I don't mind sayin' that I might need a little help so's I can get this case closed in an expeditious manner, especially since I've got an eye toward making Miss Cookie von Countryclub the next Mrs. Lefty Detroit. Have any'a youse guys seen this Amazing Bunnypants person around? Do you know where she might be hidin' out? Here's the physical descriptors Cookie von Countryclub passed along:

Eyes: of deepest blue.
Hair: acres and acres of gorgeous bouncy curls.
Height: practically a midget.
Weight: lighter than air.
Smile: thousand kilowatt.
Other: inexplicable tendency to sparkle as she moves through the air.

If you have any information as to the whereabouts of the abovementioned individual, please report any and all relevant details to: Lefty Detroit, Get It Done Detective Agency, Office 555A, 7th floor of the Banshee Building.

Sincerely,
Lefty Detroit, Private Eye