SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery Read Online Free Page A

hear crockery rattling in the kitchen down the hall, and then the sound of the front door opening, followed by voices.
    “That’ll be Charles and Connie.” Patricia took the note from Rex’s hand and hid it between the pages of the magazine.
    “Was the envelope sealed?” Rex asked.
    “No, it just had the flap tucked in.”
    “Have you shown this note to anyone?”
    “No one. I wanted to speak to you first.”
    “Keep it hidden for now. Who else is coming this afternoon?” Rex glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the mantelpiece. It was a quarter to four.
    “Roger Dalrymple, whom I mentioned when we were discussing my will. Rather a colourful character. I think you’ll enjoy him.”
    “He lives in Woodley?”
    “He does, and by some stroke of luck he became my illustrator. He’s a painter, you know. Was in advertising before. Well, when I got my idea for Claude, I asked if he’d be interested in coming up with a few cat drawings for my stories. He took some photos of Archie, and I told him what sort of attributes my fictional cat possessed, and he came up positively trumps. We sold the series almost right away. And it took off!” Patricia looked amazed, even after all these years.
    “So the series is a joint endeavour, and couldn’t survive without either partner, I assume?”
    “We’re not equal partners. It’s a sixty-forty split, which I think is fair. After all, the series was my idea. And it’s made Roger quite famous. Before, he was just selling a few pictures at art fairs and to friends.”
    “What aboot merchandising. Have you explored that angle?”
    “Oh, Reginald, you are so clever! My son suggested we did that years ago, but I didn’t like the idea of Claude being paraded around on school bags and tee-shirts.”
    Archie would have been none the wiser, Rex thought; even when he was alive. “How does Roger feel aboot it?” he asked.
    “He likes the idea of capitalizing on Claude, but can’t do anything without my say-so. I deplore the notion that an artist would sink so low, but he was in advertising, so I suppose he must have sacrificed some scruples along the way. Anyway, it’s a moot point now,” she said with a hopeless shrug of the shoulders.
    “Why so?”
    “Because Archie is dead!” she cried out. “There is no more Claude.”
    Rex patted her hand. “I think I understand how you feel. But give it time. You may change your mind.”
    “I shan’t. It’s over. It would be too painful to sit at my computer trying to conjure up stories without Archie there on the desk giving me inspiration. He did, you know. It’s as though he communicated them to me. Oh, I’m so lonely without him ! I miss his chunnering and chirruping. Just seeing him laze in the sun or chase after a butterfly, jumping up with his paws in the air, made me joyful. He never caught one though. One time he swiped at a Swallowtail and took off the tip of its wing. I saved it and it managed to fly away. But I got a story out of that.” Patricia expelled a shuddering breath. “My creative juices have dried up. There’s not much left to live for.”
    Rex was quite used to the morbid ramblings of elderly people, essentially living with two at home, and let her comment pass. “Could someone ghost write your stories until you’re ready to resume?” he suggested. “Perhaps someone who knew Archie?”
    “But it wouldn’t be authentic. I’m sure my readers would see right through it. Do you believe in ghosts, Reginald?”
    “Ehm, there might be a strong spirit presence that exists in the form of energy, I suppose,” he hedged. “Why do you ask?”
    “It’s Archie. He’s been trying to tell me something. I have a premonition of my own death.”
    *
    While Rex was contemplating this strange announcement, Dot poked her curl y head around the door. “Sorry to disturb you. Shall we set the table beneath the oak? There’s plenty of shade there.”
    “Are Charles and Connie lending a hand?” Patricia