(The names have been changed to protect the cognizant.)

Hi – I’m Trixie Midnight, Ph.D., P.I. I and my faithful sidekick and occasional friend, Fluffy LaRouge, hire out to solve almost anything. Given that I’ve chipped my way around the block a few times many of our cases bring us into the murky underbelly of the carving world.

It was a morning, just like the others. We were working in my studio/office when the red phone started to shrill. Fluff was all over it faster than epoxy sets on a hot day. See, she’s got this thing for red. I guess I need to introduce the Fluff to you before I go on. At one time Fluffy, short for Fluffinia, was a world-renowned proctologist. That is, until her ill-fated accident. One evening during a moment of post-operative jocularity, the Fluff attempted to match my oral, cherry stem tying record – a big mistake. Moments after she threw a two-stemmer in her mouth, a lewd comment by a hot resident caused her to giggle. Unfortunately she had forgotten to remove the cherries. Aspirating stem, cherries and pits she was without oxygen for 20 minutes (this was the proctology unit, after all) causing irreversible brain damage. She’s the same sweet gal she always was, just a little more space in the attic, if you get my drift. There are moments of lucidity when old Fluff harks back to the pre-pit days, but they’re few and far. At one time called Red because of her hair and surname, post-choke she has taken it to be her assigned color. Hair, red; car, red; watch, red; phone – you get it.

Getting back to the case, on the phone was the frantic owner of a well-known Seattle gallery. Word was out – Trixie Mid could crack the mystery of why her big-name sculptor wasn’t selling. We were down there faster than soapstone scratches. Swanky, that’s the word for it. Dark, uncomfortable and swanky. A perfect gallery. A perfect place for money to change hands and design crimes to fester.

I brushed past the Giacometti-style owner as the Fluff handed her my business card. (It needs work, but she was real proud of it, having designed it herself. She had a little trouble pulling up the word “Investigator”, but since she’s always the lady…)

 

I was slightly disoriented wandering around in the opulent ambience, stumbling from tasteful darkness to blinding, misplaced spotlights, when I realized this case was going to be about as easy to crack as a piece of basalt using a tongue depressor. The artist was well known, the art was big, hard and glossy, the way Seattle likes it. Sensual with lots of curves, thinking optional. Besides the fact they were stone and not glass, why weren’t they selling?

I looked over at the Fluff and as usual she was staring at the biggest sculpture there. She had what I call her high-gloss gaze going, but instead of following the lines of the carving she was riveted to one spot. This wasn’t right – a person’s eyes, even the Fluff’s, should want to examine the whole piece. Go with the flow. I took my peepers over and gave it the old once over myself, and there it was. Bad curves. They weren’t true. They were full of subtle bumps and jags, but not intentionally placed. The design was supposed to move and flow, but the bumps in the curves held your attention like a Mel Gibson wink.

I told the Giacometti queen to “get the artist to clean up those curves and remove the unintentional bumps. There’s no room for laziness in sculpture. A curve should be as true as your first love. Many a good shape is ruined by bad curves. Make those babies flow like the Nile and ka-ching ka-ching.”

I headed back to the studio, the Fluff on my heels like granite dust – another design crime…solved.

Trixie Midnight Ph.D., Private (insert a common nickname for Richard)

“As multi-faceted as a marquise-cut cubic zirconium.”

206-555-5555

No Design Crime Too Small