The Casebook of Doakes and Haig

"If you wish. Let me introduce you to the family." I was treated to a whirlwind of grieving names and faces, mostly family and neighbors. The men were drinking, the women weeping; I participated in a few toasts and sobs, then made a break for the kitchen and a spot of tea.

I broke in on a conversation between Colleen and a very well-dressed gentleman. He frowned when he saw me. I apologized immediately.

Colleen was clearly relieved at my intrusion. "Sean, Mr. Doakes, please meet Barrister Weems."

Reluctantly we approached and shook hands. With one glance at my worn trousers and frayed collar he dismissed me as someone worth forgetting immediately. "You have my offer," he returned his attention to Colleen. "It is more than fair. Considering the circumstances, I'm not sure how long my client will maintain his interest." With that he nodded to us both and left the room.

I apologized again. "I was just looking for a spot of tea."

"Delighted." She managed a smile but I could see the tension in her lips. "I think she keeps her supplies here." She opened a cupboard door, but instead of tea there was jar after jar of Doakes and Haig Recipe Sweetener. At least three years' worth. I let out a low whistle; Colleen looked at me, then the jars, then smiled. "She did love your product so, poor dear. But the last few years, her health. The doctors insisted she watch her diet. Let's try another cabinet, shall we?"

While she continued opening doors I stared at the larder. Every month she had made that long, painful carriage ride to my store. Just to buy something she couldn't enjoy, couldn't really afford. I wiped a tear from my eye; it took Colleen three tries before she got my attention. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Yes. Both." The hot tea brought my ruminations back to the here and now. "What was that all about? If I may be so bold?"

"Barrister Weems represents Malcolm Crosley. He has been trying to buy my grandmother's property for the past year or so. There was no reason to sell before. Now?" She shrugged. "I suppose there's no reason not to."

"Yes." We finished our drinks in silence. The distress I had felt over the news of her death was now trebled by my discovery in dear Mrs. McLeary's kitchen. And, not being family, I did not want to wear out my welcome. So less than ten minutes later I was returning home in a carriage.

I was lost in reminiscing when I felt a kick. Haig was demanding my attention so I unclasped my satchel and looked inside. "What is it? Can't we wait until we get back?"

"I like this naught," he said, then climbed out and sat on my knee.

"Like what? The satchel? There was really no need ..."

"Not that. That Weems fellow. Something is not right here. This smells like Liverpool on a hot summer's day."

He had heard everything, which didn't surprise me since leprechauns have extraordinary hearing. He was right; something didn't smell right to me, either. And it was much stronger than rotting fish. "So what do we do about it?"

He told me. That afternoon I made an appointment to meet with Barrister Weems.

The barrister didn't recognize my name, but when I told him I had some property to sell he reluctantly agreed. Promptly at 10 the next morning I was sitting in his well-appointed office. In the satchel next to me were the deed to my property, relevant tax and income information ...and Haig.

Weems greeted me perfunctorily when I was admitted to his inner chamber and gave no indication he remembered me from the McLeary wake. "You say you have some property you might be interested in disposing of, Mr.," he glanced down at the calendar on his desk, "Doakes?"

"Yes." I casually reached into my satchel and pulled out some papers. I also made sure to knock it over on its side. "Been in the family for generations. But my business is not what it used to be. I am considering relocating to the Colonies."

He accepted the paperwork and glanced at it quickly. "Doakes and Haig. I believe I have heard of the name."

"Our product has been enjoyed by royalty for generations."

"Indeed. I may have a client who would be interested," he offered after five minutes of silence. "But I will have to contact him."

"Of course." I rose and offered my hand. "I will leave the papers with you. Will a day be sufficient? I would hate to have them out of my possession any longer."

"A bit rushed, perhaps, but we can make a preliminary estimate of property value at least. Tomorrow at 10 then?"

"Yes. And thank you." I was whistling as I left. Haig had had ample time to escape and hide; tomorrow morning I would retrieve him.