Inspector Norman Goodenough descended the long, curved staircase that crossed over the narrow inlet and led to the garden patio on the lower side of the chasm. He stood on the flagstone terrace, facing the ocean, and contemplated the magnificence of his surroundings-- the cool green foliage of the trees, the shimmering blue water of the Pacific bay upon which the late afternoon sunbeams were creating thousands of golden crowns. The enthralling beauty did little to alleviate the inspector’s disgust with himself, and the brilliant day shed no light upon the most baffling mystery in his long, successful career.
Reluctantly he recrossed the stairs to the Huntington Château, stopping on the last step to regard what remained of the structure: the concrete foundation and the immense void which had been the basement. A robbery or a murder Goodenough knew he could solve. But this was impossible! Sometime during the preceding week the entire mansion had vanished, and he and his associates had not one single clue, not an inkling of how the feat had been accomplished.
Dejected, he pulled a small cell phone from his coat pocket and punched in a number. “Mr. Huntington? Inspector Goodenough here. I’m sorry, but we have been unable to find a trace of your château. I’m forced to admit that this case is beyond the talents of ordinary policemen.” He took a deep breath, then swallowed hard. “What you need is a good house detective.”
William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.
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