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Chapter or Story
Chapter 3
When Sydney and Broots had been installed in rooms at the hotel, they set out in search of the barbershop, finding it right where the hotel manager said it would be. It had been Sydney’s idea to do some investigating while Miss Parker was locked up. She would not thank them, but at least she would not tear their heads off for a lack of initiative, either.
There was one man sitting in the barber chair with another waiting. The barber, a short man in his fifties with glasses, salt-and-pepper hair, and a somewhat foolish grin, gave them a smile as they entered.
“Oh, hi! Strangers in town? Ohh, that’s nice. Why don’t you have a seat? I won’t be but a minute.”
“Actually, we don’t require your tonsorial services,” Sydney answered.
“Ohh, really? Well, would you like a shave instead?”
Broots choked back a laugh. “No—we’re just looking for information.”
“Ohh, well, you’ll find it here. We always have information, don’t we, fellows?”
The other two men assented.
“Am I correct in believing you are Floyd, the barber of whom Sheriff Taylor spoke to us?” Sydney asked.
“Andy recommended me? How nice. Andy’s such a nice fellow, isn’t he, fellows?”
The other two men assented.
“Well, my name is Sydney, and this is my colleague Broots. We understand a man named Jarod worked for you recently.”
Floyd’s honest—but stupid—face beamed. “Jarod! Yes, he worked here. Ohh, was he a good barber! I wish he’d stayed on. I would have had people coming from Mount Pilot to get a shave! Ohh, yes, a fine man. People would come in here just to talk to him. He’d solve their problems just by talking to them while he worked. Like one of them—what do you call it? Psycho-trists?”
“Psychiatrists?” Sydney supplied, amused.
“Yes, psychy-atrists. He got little Laura Gerling’s cat out of a tree, you know.” “That’s not the normal task of a psychiatrist.”
“Ohh, but he was good at climbing things, wasn’t he, fellows?”
The other two men assented.
“Don’t we know it,” Broots muttered.
“And then he figured out that old Benson had a bad ticker by looking at how his skin was colored—kinda blue, you know—”
“Not enough oxygen,” Sydney said.
“Yes! Are you a psycho-atrist, too?”
“As a matter of fact, I am, but we don’t usually deal with heart patients. Did Jarod tell you anything about himself?”
“Oh, just that he liked to do things.”
They both stared at him. “That is true,” Sydney said slowly. He does like to do things.”
“Oh, sure, he was always doing things. Fishing with Andy and Opie, tinkering with Goober—”
“Goober?” Broots exclaimed.
“Yeah, you know Goober. Feller down to the mechanic shop with the funny hat. He even made Barney mad by helping old Emma to jaywalk when the dear old lady was trying to cross the street, didn’t he, fellows?”
The other two men assented.
“What about the business with the sheriff?” Sydney asked.
“Oh, well, yeah, he did buy that old guitar of Andy’s. fixed it right up, and he and Andy would sit on that porch of a night just a’playin’—”
“No, I mean the trouble with the sheriff.”
“He never got in any trouble with Andy,” Floyd said, eyes wide. “Oh, no, those two were thicker than thieves. Why, he even helped Andy out of a spot of trouble—ohh, that’s what you mean! Yes.”
“Yes?”
“He did it.”
“Did it?”
“Yes, he did. Nice of him, too, when he was so busy here. Didn’t seem like there was anything that Jarod wouldn’t do for you.”
Sydney sighed and gave up. “You’re completely right. Thank you for your time.”
“Glad to be of help. Y’all come back now, y’hear? We’ll be glad to see you, won’t we, fellows?”
The other two men assented.
As they left, Floyd called out the door after them, “Any time you want some of that tonsil servicing, I’ll be glad to fix you up!”
Broots snickered. “Let’s not tell Miss Parker about this. She’ll want to service his tonsils.”
