Crime

"Oh ... there it goes, down the hatch!" Iris observed. "L'Chaim!" Ada said joyously, raising her orange juice high as a toast. "What's going on?" Francis asked, confused. Iris and Ada exchanged a look and nodded at each other. "One of the best kept secrets here at Astoria Gardens," Ada began, lowering her voice, "is that Maribel Dupree was never a grade school teacher; she was a chemical engineer." "Worked in lithium power and storage technology for over 40 years." "We keep that a secret because she's our resident crime-fighter," Iris added. "That person over there ... (and here they all turned to stare at a little man from the front office) ... likes to help himself to our stuff. Figures we don't need it or won't miss it and are unlikely to speak up about the theft." Francis' mouth fell open. "You HAVE to tell someone!" "We do, dear," Ada explained. "We tell Maribel." "That ne'er-do-well just swallowed a micro-relay that Maribel made out of a bobby pin shard last night. She helps in the kitchen and volunteered to make his very berry smoothie. It's already lodged in his digestive tract somewhere." "Maribel gave the remote to Neil Parker, who just lost his retirement watch into the pocket of that piece of human poo. She instructed Neil to give it a good couple of hours and then press the button at will." "What does the button do?" Francis asked, fascinated. "Well, honey," Iris whispered directly into her ear. "He'll convulse and then wet his pants. The receiver has a 15-mile radius." "Covering his drive to and from work," Ada added, "most restaurants, and the local shops." "Have fun at the Walmart," Francis said, her eyes sparkling.