 Prudence McCoy My Diary. Again The Plot Thickens: Nigel and I have taken matters into our own hands. Well, actually, I’ve done all the taking; Nigel is grudgingly coming along for the ride. He’s such a baby sometimes. I’m surprised I’m not having to change his nappies and feed him pabulum. This is the first time he’s ever been out of New York City and he acts like he’s completely lost. If I let him, he’d stay inside and be perfectly content to lay around and grouse about this and that. That’s not going to happen, is it? I mean, he is my assistant. And right now, I need him to assist me.Which he’s perfectly capable of doing – very well, actually – once he gets started. We visited J.R.’s cabin. In short order, Nigel found an envelope that J.R. had obviously gone to some trouble to hide. It contained some kind of French document. Since neither of us speak French – my French is limited to things more suitable for the boudoir (I’ve learned so many things from Francois, the deliciously strange artist I met at the health food store in Chelsea; he does things with a paint brush that is pure art… ) – we’ll have to get it translated. Nigel found a photograph taken in a room somewhere. I think that room is a secret office J.R. kept. And secret offices are always stuffed with secret, and important, things, aren’t they? Nigel says he’s going to find that room. When he does, we’ll going to have something to convince Detective Razor Burn that we’re on to something. If he doesn’t… well, that’s not possible, is it? He will find it. Because I want him to, that’s why! And, because he’s Nigel Forsythe III. He was born to do this sort of thing. Which is quite fortunate, really, because there’s not much of anything else the silly twit can do. Ah, but that’s why I adore him. He’s a bit of an ‘idiot savant’, but he’s my idiot, isn’t he? Nigel Does It!: Good news and bad news. The good news is that Nigel delivered, as promised! The map was tacked to the wall in a room at a funky old motel in the middle of nowhere. A perfect hideaway for J.R. We found the map, J.R.’s computer and an airline ticket. Not sure what it all means, but we’ll figure it out. The bad news – and, depending on how one looks at it, it could appear to be a bit unsettling (Nigel’s view, of course, but he’s always predicting the end of the world or some such thing… ) – is that someone appears to have discovered us. Someone with a gun. Someone who apparently wouldn’t have minded spending the afternoon pumping us full of hot lead (that’s Nigel, again, obviously). We escaped, but God knows who’s on to us and what they’ll do next. Clearly, they’re worried that we’re going to discover the same thing that got J.R. killed. Nigel wants to go to the police and tell them what happened, but what sodding good’s that going to do? Except get us in trouble. I mean, we just broke into a motel, stole a computer and bashed the plonker who was trying to kill with a bloody lamp. And I’m supposed to be on holiday out here. I guess that’s why they still call it ‘the Wild West’ out here. And I thought the after Christmas sales in New York City were dangerous.
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