All Pete wanted was a quiet afternoon just like any other. A 70-something-year-old (you stop paying attention to the last digit after a while) retiree and peace loving by nature, he dug a leisurely walk in the park a couple of hours before the sun called it a day.

There was this park bench that Pete particularly liked to sit on. Nowadays he could not recall the reason for this distinct liking, but it seemed as if he had sat there for centuries now -- although decades would've been more like it.

On happier days he would have a long-time buddy with him, chatting away, celebrating the past and making fun of the present generation -- the way 70-something retirees did. On those not-so-happy he would have the same long-time buddy casting gloomy remarks on everything and nothing -- also the way 70-something retirees did.

Today was one of Pete's unlucky days.

"Would you believe kids these days?" was what this buddy had said by way of greeting.

"And howdy to you, too," Pete had replied.

"They vandalized my walls again! What do they think they are, graffiti artists?"

"I think they do."

The buddy snorted. "You can't even begin to call it art! Remember my uncle's fence? Now, that was art!"

Pete smiled at the memory. "I sure do. Boy, did we have fun or what!"

His buddy was not about to share the sentiment, however. "I haven't finished. Then this morning someone threw a piece of rotten meat onto my lawn. Flies were everywhere! I tell you, if I ever have my hands on whoever did it, they would be sorry long before they could spell out gerontophobia!"

"Gero-- what?" And hurriedly Pete raised his hands. "Never mind."

Too late. "Gerontophobia. An abnormal and persistent fear of old people or of growing old. It's a term people frequently confuse with ageism. They differ in the following ways..."

"Enough, enough."

The other man looked at Pete, who was covering his ears comically. "You know, Pete, you're the living proof against the notion 'the only constant is change.'"

"I am? What about you? Look at yourself! I bet the entire police department gave collective sighs of relief the day you announced your retirement."

His friend considered this for a moment. "I think you might be right."

For the first time that afternoon the two pals shared a hearty laugh. Then Pete turned serious. "But you know what, I think you should look into that stuff. Vandalizing a retired police chief's house is not your regular juvenile delinquency."

"I did. I hired them."

Two teenagers walked toward the two retirees. "Hi, Grand-Pete. Afternoon, Chief."

"What's up, kids?" Pete and his buddy, who hardly hid his delight at being called Chief still, made room on the bench for Pete's twin grandsons.

"Heard you kids got a job, huh?"

The twins beamed. One of them took out a much-used notebook and began flipping the pages. "Chief, we interviewed some people and here's what we found so far. The meat incident must've taken place between four and six this morning."

His brother chipped in, "Old Artie Dodger -- your neighbor across the street -- was up at midnight, couldn't sleep thereafter, so he sat smoking on his porch. He was pretty sure noone walked by until he went in at four."

"He was smoking for four hours? In the dark?" Pete asked. "Boy, if I didn't know better, I'd say that man is a suspect himself."

His grandsons shook their heads in unison. "Nope. We asked around. He does that every now and then. I mean, he's a retired old man. He's entitled to at least one weird habit. Oops, sorry, guys."

The two retired old men present simply grinned.

"Chief says, a good detective should not just buy a witness' account. Always counter-check."

Chief nodded approvingly, not without pride. "Nice."

Carson -- with the notebook -- continued, "Then at six, Justine -- the paper girl -- cycled by. She said it was a few minutes past six. She noticed the flies."

"Six is a bit too dark to see flies, Carson."

Clark nodded. "True. She only noticed because the paper nearly landed on the meat -- and the flies. They buzzed noisily."

The retired police chief pinched his lower lip. "Okay, good job so far, boys. What next?"

"Let's work on that list, Chief," Carson said. "I know you said it would be a long shot to try listing down all people with motives..."

His brother finished the sentence, "But you also said, a good detective isn't afraid of shooting long and missing. Because misses eliminate possibilities."

Pete laughed. "Brother! What was that again you said about kids these days being unbelievable?"

"Kids?" Carson frowned. "What makes you think kids did this, Chief?"

Clark added, "A good detective should not--"

Pete's long-time buddy waved a resigned hand, feigning annoyance. "All right, all right. Let's do the list, then. Actually, I just got an excellent idea. Let's do it over pizza. My treat."

"Awesome!"

The three of them rose. "You coming, Pete?"

"Nah. You guys go ahead. Maybe I'll join you later."

"Later, Grand-Pete."

"Later, kids."

"See you around, Pete."

"See you, Jupe."

Watching Chief (Ret.) Jupiter Jones and the Crenshaw twins walk away, Pete muttered to himself, "Kids these days. Nothing's really changed."

With that he fished out a paperback and relaxed. He got his quiet afternoon and he planned to enjoy every remaining minute of it.

[Inspired by the three question marks and this entry.]

Current music: Patsy Cline - Stupid Cupid -- a real mean guy, indeed
Current mood: happy