1945

Being a private eye isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I woke up early the other morning and knew instinctively that something was wrong. I glanced at my watch, a gift from an appreciative client (who couldn't pay cash) and one of those digital things that tells not only the time but the day of the week and the month. Then it dawned on me. I was six days overdue on my monthly report to my client in Hanover.

After a shave and a Bloody Mary, I put in a call to John Osborn's head secretary. She's no spring chicken any more, but that low, sensual voice is reminiscent of Winter Carnival 1941. She could only manage to steal a glance at one piece of info in John's files. It seems that Jim Andrew and Bob Stumm recently held a covert meeting in Florida. And after blackmailing Hyatt Hotels for use of his photo in their advertising, Bob paid his annual protection to '45.

I thanked my old flame, mixed another Bloody Mary, and called my best snitch to set up a meeting. At the bar I ordered a Bloody Mary and slipped the snitch a sawbuck. "Trudy Butler," he said, "had lunch with President Reagan on March 2." Ha! And what were they cooking up, I wondered. "That," the snitch said, "will cost you another ten." I checked my liquid assets: one dollar and thirty-four cents. "It'll have to wait for more bread," the snitch said and left. I had two more Bloody Marys (double) and told the bartender to put them on mv tab.

LU JL/Ul LllCliL Ull -Uiy IdU. On the way back to my office I broke into the Exeter Alumni Records Office. Sure enough, I located the name of Frank Hutch-ins, former '45 godfather. Ha! Still lives in Rochester, N.Y. Secret file reveals that he's chairman of Hutchins, Young and Rubicam Inc., that his four daughters are happily mar- ried, that he has seven grandchildren, and that his "principal extracurricular activity the past two years has been chairman of the board of trustees of Rochester Institute of Technology."

On the way out of the office I was hit on the back of the head by something, or someone, or maybe by the Bloody Marys. I think I said it before: being a private eye (or a class secretary) isn't all it's cracked up to be.

P.O. Box 39 Atkinson, NH 03811