This is a story for terribleminds.com FridayFlashfiction, the challenge, to pick a song title randomly and use it for the title of your story. I asked people on twitter for random song titles and then picked one via eeny, meeny. The winner was CarsonPeaty with Armchair Detective, so I named the protagonist after her. ShinyBaby also contributed, so I named a character after her. Word limit 500. Mine 498. shortlink http://wp.me/p1BAlV-1Q
Armchair Detective Louise Sorensen January 6, 2012
Carson White released his striped beast. Then stepping from his kitchenette, a cup of Darjeeling in his hand, he beheld the sight of his watch tiger, Snowball, leaping onto his armchair in a frenzy of amour. This was the third time in as many days that Snowball, normally a pearl of decorum, had engaged in the behaviour that necessitated the removal and replacement of Carson’s chair.
Contemplating conspiracy, Carson phoned ArmChairs Inc. for an identical replacement. Unwilling to rekennel Snowball, who was both ecstatic and unapproachable at the moment, and unable to sit in the armchair that was his one and only vehicle of cerebration, he was stumped.
ArmChairs Inc. being always open, he set his teacup on the end table, plucked a hat from the rack, and set out. His cozy bed sitter in Mrs. Shiney’s rooming house was close to downtown, and he quickly hailed a cab.
The armchair emporium greeted him like a returning king. Marcel, the Maitre d’, bowed deeply as he strode in and directed him to the Tall and Big Man Department, where he espied his Taj MaChair, and sank blissfully into its enfolding arms. Craving a cup of Darjeeling, but honoring the no food or drink rule of this sanctum sanctorum, he dug into his pocket for a stick of Darjeeling gum and popped it into his mouth.
Finally he was able to cogitate upon the mystery of the thrice destroyed armchairs. One, he needed his armchair to solve mysteries. Two, something was making his devoted watch tiger shred his beloved armchair to bits upon his release at nine o’clock every morning. Three, oh fiddle. He rummaged in his pockets for pen and paper, and found only a pen. Studying his surroundings he observed that he still held in his left hand the hat that he had taken upon his rush out the door. Strangely, it was a white Stetson. He was fairly certain he owned no white Stetsons. The last one he recalled seeing had sat upon the head of the singing cowboy Audie Starbuck three days earlier, when he had visited Carson’s abode to protest his innocence regarding the Case of the Missing Lady Tiger.
Having no other writing material, Carson made notes on the white felt cowboy hat and then hurried home. He was just in time for the delivery of the new armchair. But instead of replacing its ruined twin, he had the new one installed nearer the kitchenette. As Snowball was safely sleeping it off on the armoire, Carson was able to peer under the destroyed armchair. A good whiff of the rug beneath confirmed that the Singing Cowboy, the only visitor in three days, had dosed the area liberally with fragrance of lady tiger.
He retrieved Snowball’s leash, confident that once introduced, Snowball would convince the Cowboy to reveal the whereabouts of his lady love. Carson smiled contentedly at another case solved from the comfort of an armchair.