“I’m not great with military time.”
“But it’s the best form of time.”
“In what way?”
“You’d understand if you’d lived through the Great War.”
“Which war was that?” I asked.
“The First World War.”
“Well why didn’t you just say World War I then?”
“Because it was the Great War!” Nigel stopped walking. “It’s not important. What’s important is this new player I think. And it was at 10 pm peasant time.” He handed me the sheet of paper with his write up about what he saw. Apparently he’d been sitting in some bushes outside of Mr. Pruitt’s apartment complex for two hours last night. And I had no idea why.
I didn’t follow Nigel to the docks and enter a creepy warehouse to be called a peasant or to hear about stuff that didn’t involve Poppy. “Nigel, I asked you to look into Poppy. Not Mr. Pruitt.”
“One and the same, one and the same.” He pulled out another sheet of paper. “Do you know what Poppy and Richard were doing this afternoon?”
I sighed. “No. What?”
He handed me a photo of the two of them arguing outside of some diner.
“Okay? So they’re fighting about something. Did you happen to hear what about?”
“The new player,” Nigel said. “It’s all about the new player. I didn’t get a name, but it got heated. Very heated.”
That shouldn’t have sounded sexual. Poppy was Mr. Pruitt’s niece. “Nigel, did you find any dirt on Poppy specifically?”
He waved his thick folder in the air. “Oh, I’m just getting started, Master Matthew.” He cleared his throat. “I mean Mr. Caldwell.” He pulled out another sheet as he pushed through a creaky old wooden door.
Why were we going farther into this warehouse?
“Poppy likes pancakes over waffles.” He handed me her grocery list from last week.
How was that helpful?
“And her daughter loves chickie nuggies.”
Great. That was not useful at all. Each step into the warehouse grew darker and darker. I grabbed my sunglasses to pull them off.
“Keep the disguise on,” Nigel said. “It’s of the utmost importance to our covert operation. We should have a name for it, don’t you think?”
“Operation grocery list?”
“I don’t think that’s what this is about,” he said.
“Then why do you keep handing me grocery lists?”
“Patience, young one.”
Well, now he was just talking like Tanner. I was older than Tanner and I was definitely older than Nigel. “I can’t see anything with my sunglasses,” I said.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”
“Where?”
He pulled out another sheet of paper and had no trouble reading it in the dark. “Poppy is a bad tipper. Sometimes only 5% at upscale restaurants.” He handed me the paper even though I couldn’t see it in the dark.
