Gregory
was a boy no longer. In fact, he
was not even an adolescent anymore.
Or a mature adult. Truth be
told, Gregory was old. Yet he
remained, as he probably would for eternity, a bellboy.
“Get
out of my way,” bellowed the crotchety bellboy. His back was hunched, strained under the weight of an
over-stuffed, maroon suitcase. Not
wanting to feel Gregory’s wrath, the younger, spryer bellboys darted out of his
path. Once you’ve been crushed by
an oncoming, baggage-laden bellboy, you never want to befall the same fate
again, especially when it befell on you courtesy of Gregory.
Gregory
was tailed by a woman wearing a matching maroon dress, jacket, and silly little
hat. She could only be described
as “big boned.” Her arms were easily
four feet long, and her legs had a width of two feet. Big bones, indeed.
Other than this peculiar physicality, she seemed to be in decent shape,
of average height, and of normal disposition. For now.
The
woman—who you’ll later learn was named “Mrs. Edwardson,” but for now let’s just
call her “woman”—was talking Gregory’s wrinkled ears off. As if making him carry her bag was not
enough, although it was his job, she decided she would grace his temporal lobes
with her stories of lavishness.
“—And
that’s why my fifth racehorse had to be put down. After it won the Preakness for the third time, of
course. I keep the trophy right
next to my Olympic medals. I
didn’t win, or even participate, heavens no. But when I saw the spectacular way the gold glints in the
light, I knew that I must have some to adorn my mantelpiece. My Olympic medal collection is almost
as renowned as my collection of elephant tusks. Did you know that poaching elephants is only illegal in two
continents? Not that the law
applies to me, but—”
“Here’s
your room. Ma’am,” huffed Gregory,
not out of rudeness, but certainly out of breath. “And here is your suitcase, missus…”
“Mrs.
Edwardson,” she answered. On
second thought, let’s still call her “woman.” And with that pronouncement of her name, she took the bag
inside her hotel room and shut the door.
Gregory
remained standing outside her door, still holding out for a largess in the form
of the expected tip (she was rich, after all). After ten minutes of standing outside her door, five of
which were spent spontaneously napping on his feet (he was old, after all),
Gregory gave up and returned to the hotel lobby to await the next guest.
That
was when it happened. The
scream. The ear-piercing,
high-pitched yelp that could have only emanated from the vocal chords of the
woman (you know which woman).
“My
luggage! It’s goooooone!” went the
yell.
All
the younger bellboys glared at Gregory.
They knew she was his problem, and they would not be offering their
youthful assistance. Anyway, most
of them believed that Gregory misplaced the suitcase somewhere. He tended to lose track of a lot of
things these days, including his memory (he was old, after all).
With
a huff and a sigh, the oldest bellhop trekked back up the grand staircase to
see what the fuss was about. Well,
he knew that her complaint was missing baggage, but that could not be the
truth. He had hand-delivered her
maroon suitcase personally, and without a tip to boot. How could he forget that crime? Whatever was awaiting Gregory on the
other side of that hotel door, he was prepared. He had been a bellboy for quite a number of years, and
experience does (eventually, usually, hopefully) pay off.
He
opened the door. The yelping continued. Finally, after a hearing-loss-inducing
moment, the woman noticed that someone had heeded her unwarranted call. She closed her mouth as the final peals
bounced around the room’s high ceiling.
“You
came,” she said breathlessly.
“I
did,” he replied flatly.
“Someone
stole my suitcase,” she said desperately.
“They
did?” he replied inquisitively.
“Yes. That’s why I called,” she said
exasperatedly.
“Oh. Who took it?” he replied cautiously.
“If
I knew the culprit, then I wouldn’t have called for help,” she said brashly.
“Right,”
he replied without an adverb.
There were both tiresome and tiring. “So if I may venture to an initial conclusion, in the single
minute after I departed from your room, a person swooped in and robbed your
luggage.”
“That
is correct, Sherlock.” There was
definitely a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
“My
name’s Gregory.” He didn’t catch
it. Obviously. Though the bellboy was starting to not
mind the miniature mystery that had begun. It was certainly better than hauling other people’s baggage
on top of his own. And it was
leagues superior to herding the younger bellboys, the ones for whom “boy” was
an apt descriptor. “Have you any
enemies, ma’am?”
“As
a matter of fact I do.”
Gregory grinned at the thought that
he had stumbled upon detective gold, which is approximately equivalent in worth
to aluminum. The woman
continued. “I have started several
international wars, between countries someone like yourself has never heard of,
and am wanted by seventeen separate national security agencies. So saying I have enemies is an
understatement. But none of those
enemies would simply steal my carry-on without assassinating me in the
process.”
“And
it seems to me that you are very much alive.”
“Very
astute.”
“Thank
you.” Nothing could get past
Gregory. “Did your suitcase
contain anything of value?”
“I
always wear all my jewelry while traveling, so no.” The woman was, in fact, decked out in glittering diamonds,
sapphires, rubies, and emeralds.
“All I had in that suitcase was my prized bowling ball, exercise
dumbbells, a square foot of lead, and a photo album.”
Gregory
rubbed his curved spine. Just
hearing about the bag’s contents brought back the physical memories of carrying
the blasted thing. But past the
weighty objects, one article did catch his attention. “This photo album.
Was it of family?”
“Yes. It contains a collection of photos of
my late parents. I always carry it
around with me to bring back the fond memories of the time I once spent with
them.” The woman wiped a sparkling
tear from her eye. It looked as if
she had internalized the glittery gems she wore. That can’t be healthy.
“Were
you an only child?” Gregory was
really getting in the swing of this detective thing.
“Yes. Well, no.”
“Not
to be rude, but I believe those two options are mutually exclusive when it
comes to determining if another person existed.”
“I
had a brother, but he wasn’t much of one.
So I hardly count him as a sibling.”
“Did
the family disown him?”
The
woman glared at the bellboy.
“Don’t you think you’re getting into personal matters? Now, are you going to help me find that
suitcase, or will you continue this unceasing quiz?”
“I
am merely taking the intellectual route toward solving your mystery,” replied
Gregory coolly, though he was beginning to doubt if this was in fact the best
method of uncovering the hidden bag.
“I
think it would be more effective if you went out and found him,” snapped the
rich lady.
“So
the robber was a he? You must’ve
caught a glimpse of the perpetrator, did you not?”
“If
I had the glimpse in my clutches, it has escaped now. Slippery little devil, that glimpse.”
“Maybe
we should search for the glimpse,” suggested the bellboy, though as he spoke he
realized the preposterousness of the proposition.
“Yes,
let’s. And while we’re at it, find
your wits,” the woman said bluntly.
“Will
do.” He just wasn’t getting the
hang of her sarcasm.
Surprisingly,
after only a moment’s glance around the hotel room, Gregory spotted two of the
three things he was looking for.
Now with the glimpse in hand and his wits about him, the mystery could
finally be solved.
“Did
this man look familiar?” questioned Gregory.
“Yes. Come to think of it, I think it was—”
“Your
brother!” exclaimed the bellboy with gusto. “Let me explain.”
“Oh,
really, there’s no need to—”
“You
seemed to be hesitant about your relationship with your male sibling. That led me to believe that your
parents did not support him either.
He likely has been holding a grudge against your dear parents for
years. The only way he saw to get
back at you for being the apple of their eyes was by stealing your album of
nostalgic memories. Without those
photos to remind you of your relationship, you would forget about the good
times you shared. A lack of
remembrance would mean, in effect, those events never occurred.” Gregory wiped a tear from his
eyes. There was a sad truth to his
correct conjectures.
Before
the woman could respond, there was a knock on the door. In walked two of the younger bellboys,
one grasping a man in black by the arm, the other holding a maroon suitcase.
“Roger!”
gasped the woman.
“I am,” replied the man in black.
“I am,” replied the man in black.
“He
is,” agreed the bellboy pinning his arm.
“Why
did you steal my luggage, brother?” asked the probable billionaire.
Gregory
glared at her. “I think I already
explained everything fairly—”
“Jealousy. Jealousy and revenge. Jealousy and revenge and a lack of
creative outlets,” interrupted Roger.
“Ah
yes, that’ll do it,” said the oldest bellboy, mostly to himself. That seemed to be how he often talked
these days.
“I
was never included in those photos.
And if I couldn’t be in them, then neither could you. This was the only way to erase all
memories of our unloving parents.”
“But
they did love you. You just would
never smile in the photos, so they excluded you,” she sighed. “And then they ousted you from the
family.”
Sensing
that things were going to become increasingly personal, Gregory tried
extracting himself. “Well, case
closed. Your suitcase is
returned. Jolly good. Carry on. Good day.” The
trite phrases continued as he sidestepped his way toward the door. When he reached the portal, he paused
in thought.
“Yes?”
asked the siblings simultaneously, obviously quite tired of the bellboy’s
nosiness.
“Out
of curiosity, sir, do you happen to be currently employed as a butler?”
“As
a matter of fact, yes,” the brother confirmed. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh,
no reason.”
Gregory
departed from the room, leaving the wealthy woman and her butler brother to
sort out their untold feelings and familial issues. He descended the stairs, taking the steps painfully slowly.
“The
stories are right,” Gregory mused out loud, once again to himself. “The butler always did it. Which only confirms why bellboys and
butlers have such a long history of distrust and strife. You can never trust those devils.”
Upon
reaching his perch near the hotel’s entrance, where he would wait for the next
luggage (and its connected owner) to arrive, Gregory sighed and smiled. He had solved the mystery without even
leaving the room, thus avoiding unnecessary walking. Now that’s something to be admired.
No comments:
Post a Comment