Before we begin, I’d just like to state: “Caveat Emptor”! I realize you didn’t buy this, but you bought into it. So Beware!
McGinnis kept his eyes directed toward his feet as he entered the precinct. He’d had a lousy night’s sleep and that Duncan King murder case had him chasing rabbits late into the morning. The last thing he needed was small talk or a gentle ribbing from his fellow boys and girls in blue. He was gonna make a perfunctory visit to his desk, check in as quietly as he could and take off to find a nice, quiet place to hole up, get some sleep for a few hours and maybe sober up a bit.
Unfortunately, a shadow darkened his path. “McGinnis! Sarge wanteth to seeth thee.”
McGinnis rolled his eyes, slouched even further down into his shirt and trudged forward. “Most wondrous.” He mumbled. “And th’re goeth mine own nap.”
Instead of heading right to his desk, McGinnis took a sluggish left and found himself just outside the Sarge’s door. Without wanting to, his hand shot up and knocked on the door.
“Cometh in,” came the gruff voice, beckoning him forward.
The sergeant didn’t even glance up as McGinnis entered and took a seat in front of the desk. Finally, after a spectacularly flourishing signature, Sarge glanced up from his paperwork.
Thee behold liketh hell. Didst thee receiveth any catch but a wink last night of all??”
McGinnis kept his eyes glued to the desk. “Naw. I’ll catch but a wink at which hour I’m dead. What doth thee wanteth, sarge? I’m a busy sir. This King case hast me running aft’r mine own owneth tail.”
Sarge’s look softened. “I knoweth and this is batty. Thee can’t keepeth doing this to thyself. Thee needeth holp on this one, McGinnis”
“Aw, behold chief…”
“It’s Sarge. And nay arguments. Behold, you’ve been chasing aft’r this killeth’r f’r a week with nay new clues. Thee needeth holp. So, I’m granting thee a partn’r”
McGinnis stood up. “Sarge, I don’t doth partn’rs. Didst thee f’rget about Macduff?”
“Thy partn’r who is’t kicked the bucket in the line of duty? Nay, of course I didn’t f’rget about that gent. I knoweth it’s did get to hurt…”
“I can’t beest responsible f’r anoth’r death, Sarge. I needeth to figure this one out on mine own owneth. I oweth t to Macduff!”
Sarge bounced to his feet and leveled an accusing finger at McGinnis. “What thee oweth thy ex-partn’r is to solveth the Duncan King murd’r case!”
“What doth thee bethink I’m doing?”
“Thou art killing thyself and not getting a stepeth clos’r to cracking this walnut of a case.”
McGinnis shook his head and turned toward the door. “I don’t needeth this. I’m out of h’re.”
Sarge’s voice froze him. “Stand ho right th’re, McGinnis. Thee taketh a stepeth out of this office and you’re handing in thy badge.”
McGinnis refused to turn around. “Thee wouldn’t.”
Sarge sat back down. “I has’t to doth what i’ve did get to doth. Anon, I already pick’d out a most wondrous partn’r f’r thee, McGinnis. So break thee off and sitteth down.”
McGinnis silently took his seat. “So, who is’t is this punk?”
Sarge motioned to the left of McGinnis. “Meeteth thy new partn’r.”
McGinnis turned to see a leprechaun sitting in the chair to his left, grinning at him. Quickly, he vaulted out of his chair. “Oh nay. Thee ain’t partn’ring me with nay leprechaun. I’d lief’r kicketh the bucket.”
“Sitteth down and break thee off! You’ll partn’r with a leprechaun and you’ll liketh t! Anon, meeteth thy new partn’r Paddy O’Furniture, green from Dublin.”
The leprechaun thrust out his hand. “Shore and begosh, tis fine to meet ya, lad. Name’s Paddy, but you can call me Pat, if ya have a care.”
McGinnis took a silent moment to examine the small, manicured hand before turning back to Sarge. “Art thee kidding me? What doth thee bethink a leprechaun can doth yond I can’t? He’ll just receiveth in the way. Ev’ryone knoweth yond leprechaun’s art drunks.”
“Ah. tis a common misconception, laddie. Why, I’ve nae drunk more than ye have today, by the looks.”
Sarge sighed. “He’s did get a pointeth, McGinnis. Anon, receiveth out of mine own office and wend findeth yond killeth’r!”
Scowling, McGinnis left the Sarge’s office, bypassed his own desk and headed to the front door with the leprechaun in tow. In the background, he could hear his fellow officers taunting him.
“Behold at McGinnis and his pet leprechaun!”
“What’s the matt’r, McGinnis? Couldn’t handleth a real partn’r, so those gents hadst to giveth thee an imaginary one instead?”
Paddy patted McGinnis on the calf. “Ah, don’t cha worry lad. Tis only a fair ribbing we be taking.”
“Break thee off, Lucky Charms,” McGinnis muttered as he hurried his steps.
Finally, as sunlight caressed his face and promised him a temporary escape, McGinnis turned to confront his new partner. “Let’s receiveth one thing straight. We aren’t ev’r gonna beest pals. It’s lacking valor enow I has’t to taketh thee as a partn’r. We’re nev’r gonna beest cater-cousins. Th’re’s not gonna beest any human/leprechaun bonding. We’re h’re to catcheth a killeth’r and that’s t! Anon, receiveth out of mine own visage.”
“Ah, you cut me to the quick, lad. To be catching the killer of Duncan King…why, tis me only goal.”
“Valorous. Alloweth’s wend.”
Paddy took a moment to look around, dumb-founded. “Ah, but where’s your carriage, laddie? Goll’n’begorah, surely we’re not gonna hoof it the seven miles to get to the old MacBeth place?”
McGinnis paused. “And what maketh thee bethink we’re going to the fusty MacBeth lodging?”
“Why, tis only making of the sense, lad. If last anyone ever heard of Duncan King was that he’d spent the night over at the MacBeth’s, then t’would only make sense that Lord and Lady MacBeth might be the first we’d want to question. Tis got the truth of the Blarney written all o’er it. Plus, as Lord MacBeth were right hand man to Duncan King, the lad stands with the most to gain. Or me name’s not Paddy O’Furniture, sure tis true.”
“Yond maketh too much senseth. Wherefore didn’t I bethink of yond?”
“Cause, lad, you’re too heavy in the cups. Tis a raging sot ye are and there’s no doubt.”
“Thee couldst has’t something th’re. Well enow, alloweth me seeth if ‘t be true I can wrestleth us up some transp’rtation.”
One short, rented mule ride later, McGinnis and O’Furniture pulled up into the circle drive of the MacBeth’s castle proper. Outside, Lady MacBeth, sitting by a fountain in the center of the main bailey, was rubbing vigorously at her hands, which, McGinnis noted, were stained a deep crimson. She glanced up, alarmed at the sudden approach.
“Valorous m’rning to thee gentlemen. How can I assisteth thee the present day?”
“Valorous m’rning, mistress Macbeth.” McGinnis said. “Is thy husband at home?”
“The l’rd? nay. I’m afraid the l’rd is currently out hunting with his fellow employee Banquo. Those gents hath left early this m’rning with desires of capturing some wild game f’r tonight’s feast.”
Paddy stepped forward. “And what event might ye be feeling eager enough about to garner a feast, I might add?”
Lady MacBeth stared at the three-foot-tall sprite. “What the heck is yond?”
McGinnis nodded his head. “This is patrolman Paddy O’Furniture. Anon, if ‘t be true you’ll beest joyous enow to answ’r the patrolman’s questioneth.”
“Wherefore c’rtainly, offic’r. The joyous nonce which we’ll beest celebrating tonight is yond mine own husband, the l’rd macbeth hast suddenly and myst’riously hath taken a promotion.”
McGinnis nodded. “Due, unf’rtunately to the untimely death of the owneth’r, one Duncan King.”
Lady MacBeth dutifully lowered her head. “It’s true. Duncan King, l’rd MacBeth’s manag’r, didst suddenly and myst’riously kicketh the bucket a few nights ago. While sleeping at this v’ry house. We w’re extremely depress’d to discov’r that gent dead in our guest sleep chamber.”
“I’m sure thee w’re, mistress macbeth. I und’rstand thee hath found that gent yerked fifteen times.”
“Aye, practically ruin’d mine own sheets. The only possible explanation is yond that gent hath fallen asleep with his fav’rite bodkin and might not but has’t did roll ’round a few times during the night. T wast t’rrible. Just t’rrible.”
“Aye, murders often are,” added Paddy.
“Murd’r?” Lady MacBeth gasped.
“Aye. Often when a fancy gent is found stabbed, we at the police often classify it as a murder. Simply a formality, I can attest.”
“Oh.”
The leprechaun pointed a manicured finger at Lady MacBeth’s hands. “And, if I could perhaps be so curious to ask what might ye be working at removing from your hands, ma’am?”
“Removing?”
“Oh, aye. As we were pulling up, we couldn’t help but notice you scrubbing at your hands quite furiously, as if a band of banshees were dancing upon your skin and you were fighting vigorously to scrub them clean out of existence, on the soul of Killarney.”
Lady MacBeth held up her hands, revealing skin spotted red. “Oh, these fusty things. Wherefore, I did get these spots only yest’rday aft’r I hath happened to spilleth some cranb’rry juice all ov’r myself. What a clumsy wench I might not but appeareth to thee two, stout men.”
“Forsooth.” McGinnis commented.
Just then, Lord MacBeth came riding into the main bailey, sporting an enormous smile around a blood-flecked face. “Oh, mine own lief, you’ll nev’r guesseth what hath happened. A most unf’rtunate accident…hello, and who’s this? guests f’r the party?”
Lady MacBeth shoved her arms behind her back. “Oh, ladybird, these art two policeman from the Stratf’rd in Avon district, h’re to questioneth us about Duncan King. Those gents w’re just asking about these spots of cranb’rry juice on mine own hands.”
“Cranb’rry juice?” Lord MacBeth looked disgusted. “Nev’r toucheth the stuffeth. Hath heard t causes gout. Nay, just wine f’r me, grant you mercy. ”
“And what hath happened to thy fellow employee, one Banquo, who is’t thee hath happened to wend hunting with and who is’t, we noticeth is not accompanying thee at the moment?”
“Banquo?” A smile crossed his lips, quickly before departing. “Oh, a most unf’rtunate accident did occur. We hadst did part company and w’re hunting in two separateth areas of the f’rest at which hour I did notice a particularly plump turkey crosseth mine own path through the bushes ahead. I aim’d and fir’d mine own trusty boweth and fell’d the beast. Unf’rtunately, at which hour I arriv’d to haul the beast backeth f’r dinn’r, I cameth upon po’r Banquo. That gent hadst mine own arrow running through his death’s-head and hadst myst’riously did acquire three oth’rs as well.”
“How unf’rtunate,” remarked McGinnis.
“Forsooth,” replied Lady MacBeth.
Paddy suddenly stepped forward. “Well, bigosh and begorah, isn’t this a fine how do you do? Ans so you’re expecting us to believe that your boss, who was stabbed multiple times in his sleep only died because he tossed and turned in the depths of his own sleep on his very own knife? Is that the way of it?”
Lord Macbeth shrugged. “Yond’s the sooth of t.”
Lady MacBeth nodded. “As God is mine own witness, that’s belike what hath happened.”
“Well and sure as it might. And this feller employer of yours, Banquo, was he here the night that yer boss, Mr. King passed away so suddenly, God rest his soul?”
“Aye,” replied Lord MacBeth. “I believeth that gent wast sleeping in the cubiculo right next to Duncan King. I rememb’r the next m’rning yond that gent remark’d how Mr. King wilt has’t did sleep po’rly as he’d been up all night, screaming.”
Paddy suddenly turned and leapt onto the back of the mule. “Well, now, I guess that about wraps it up, doesn’t it now?”
McGinnis shrugged and began to walk toward the mule before he was stopped by Paddy’s voice.
“Well, now and me tortured soul refuses to give me peace if I don’t ask ye two more questions.”
Lord MacBeth, who had been slowly lowering himself from his horse’s saddle, shot up a quizzical eyebrow. “C’rtainly offic’r, what can I holp thee with?”
“Well, now, the right Lady MacBeth is rubbing at some spots on her hands which she states are cranberry juice but look a lot like blood, but Lord MacBeth states that he hates cranberry juice, so it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense why there’d be cranberry juice in the house in the first place.”
After a moment of puzzling, Lord MacBeth hazarded a reply. “Is yond thy two questions ‘r is yond coequal a questioneth?”
“Well and sure you have the rub of it, my Lord. My real question, if you must know and you do, is why we’re you, Lord MacBeth, smiling when you talked about the death of your fellow employee, one Banquo, God rest his soul? Whereas, if you were really sad, a frown would have been a more appropriate response, in the name of me great grandfather’s shillelagh.”
Lord MacBeth looked confused. “Well, I bethought that gent did look comical.”
“Fair enough.”
And off the two policeman rode, case solved or at least put to rest, like a long-forgotten corpse.