The Case of the Missing Mr. Binney

On Friday 11-11-11, I had a bunch of associates over for a secret detective society dinner. I told my neighbors that it was just my birthday party, so that they wouldn't suspect anything out of the ordinary. About ten of us convened for supper and sleuthing. I basically had the time of my life and thoroughly enjoyed watching everyone try to solve the case I had set up for them.

Here are shots of dinner

Each place setting featured a notepad, pen, and magnifying glass or mustache.

A file folder acted as a place mat.

Vanessa, my dear Natalie's little sister.

Kaitlynn doesn't even try to hide her look of surprise.

Maybe Kaitlynn was surprised that I invited Count Olaf to my party.

 After enjoying a delicious dinner of lasagna, salad, garlic bread, and wine, I prepared my team with a little training. Our first stop was the

I took my spare bedroom and transformed it into a drug education center and fingerprinting lab. Drug education is very important, and I did my best to create a realistic atmosphere.

The person who does this drug is probably distraught that Borders closed and he/she can no longer use a Border's rewards card. 

Ice.

You're gonna go trippin' on them dots.

Shrooms.

Beans, Hug Drug, Lovers Speed

Black Tar, Hell Dust, Smack

To gain all sorts of knowledge on drugs, you should visit the DEA's website like I did. Here is a link. You can look up a drug, see its effects, learn its street names, and more. The detectives took really good notes.

After the drug education portion, people took their own prints using a stamp pad so that they could use them as a reference during the fingerprinting slide show presentation. You can easily dust for prints using powdered chalk, clear tape, and a paintbrush.

The other room that I set up for use was the

This is where people could study codes and practice writing them.

I've had these code books since I was a kid.

There was also an invisible ink station. Use a q-tip and dip it into lemon juice. Write your message and allow it to dry. It should be invisible. To show the message, put the paper under a light bulb. The writing will turn brown. This is because lemon juice is an organic compound and contains enzymes, which burn faster than the paper. It is also supposed to work with milk and apple juice. 

And okay, never mind that the Cryptology Center was actually my laundry room. It worked.

Agents study and write codes while looking fantastic.

After initial training, we all sat in the conference room so that I could do the debriefing.

This is what my team was told:
Last Monday night a man went missing. His name is Franklin Binney. I’ve been working with the police for the past few days trying to locate Frank, but he has not yet been found. We are suspecting foul play, a revenge of sorts, as no ransom note has been received. We’re not sure if it is a kidnapping or a getaway. 


At any rate, Frank’s family is worried about him, and they need us to find him. Mrs. Binney came home on Friday evening after a round of Bingo with her grandmother. She expected Frank to be at home watching TV, but he was not. Instead, the garage door was left open, but his car was still parked inside. Frank was no where to be found, and did not answer his cell phone. Police gathered clues from inside the house and garage, and it is up to our team of detectives to decipher their meanings and find Frank. He may be dead or alive. We need to find him stat.

The detectives discussed for a while to come up with a list of questions and to decide where to go from there. Then I gave out the first clue envelope. It contained what looked like loose pieces of Smarties. Agent Schuyler reflected upon his drug training and immediately suggested we take it to the lab for testing, as he suspected it might actually be Ecstasy pills.

Schuyler may or may not work for the FBI. I can't really say.

The next clue envelope looked like this. It was a grocery list with a Reeses peanut butter cup wrapper inside. This evidence was found in the garage on the floor near Mr. Binney's car.

I had the absolute most fun watching my detectives try to analyze this piece of evidence. They a had a hay day over it. First they thought it was in code and wanted to take it to the Cryptology Center to be studied. Then they noticed all the grease from the candy wrapper and wanted to lift prints from the thing. Everyone got really riled up when someone suggested it was actually a drug shopping list using drug street names. This is because the word "beans" was written on the list.

I know a lot of people who make shopping lists for all the drugs they need, don't you? : )

Oh, the team also thought that there might be invisible ink on the paper, so they stuck it under a light bulb but nothing showed up.

The photo below depicts Agent Brown in hysterics because she can't believe certain people want to discuss pre-nuptial agreements WHEN A MAN IS MISSING! I really appreciated her concern for a fictional stranger. Be assured that if anyone she knows in actual life goes missing, she will be all over it.

After a while this envelope was given. That's right, people. It was a bag of cocaine.

 The detectives thought it was a red herring and had nothing to do with Frank Binney's case, as the baggie was found down the street from Frank's house. The team decided to make a phone call to Mrs. Binney and one of the Binney's neighbors to interview them. Unfortunately, I was not in the room during the phone conversations due to my responsibilities managing the crime lab.

Travis holds the phone up on speaker so everyone can hear while Natalie uses her lap top to do some investigating of her own.

Another clue was given and the team knew exactly what to do with the information. They looked up the owner of the phone number online and went from there. They begged police to be sent to Tualatin without even seeing the final clue.

Don't call this number. I don't know the guy.

The final clue.

The agents were anxious to hear from the police if they found anything in the Tualatin home belonging to Michael Jones. I then read the full case to them.

Frank got in his car to go to the grocery store. He’s on a sugar-less diet, by his wife’s commands. He was looking for a fix. He found what looked like  loose Smarties in his child’s Halloween bucket, which they kept on the top of the fridge. They were actually Ecstasy pills. He went to the grocery store and bought twinkies and Reeses peanut butter cups. When he got home, he was so enthralled and energized from the drugs that he went for a run down the street, leaving the garage door open. 


He ran down the street and was crossing unsafely when a car struck him. It was mostly Frank’s fault, as he was wearing no reflective clothing. The driver was a crack cocaine user named Tony Tantino. Because of Frank’s mental state, he wasn’t all that damaged, but the crack user could tell he was on something. Tony Tantino didn’t want to call the police or ambulance for help, because he was afraid they would notice Frank’s drug use and get suspicious about Tony Tantino. So he figured he’d help a brother out, take him back to his place, and let the drugs wear off. 


Frank was very friendly and happy. They played games on the xbox and ate cake. Then Tony’s girlfriend came home. Tony did a line of coke. Frank got cozy with the gf. By morning, (which was actually 1pm the next day), Frank found himself in bed with the girlfriend. Tony was strung out on the kitchen floor. Frank thought “Oh crap, what’s happened?” but he was still riding the thrills of ecstasy. He saw some cocaine on the table and snorted some of it out of curiosity.
 

Tony wanted to drop Frank off at his house, but Frank was paranoid to go home (effect of ecstacy), and because he had cheated on his wife while under the influence. But he didn’t know he had been under the influence of ecstacy. Confused and paranoid, Frank didn’t think he could go home. He called his buddy Mike from college, asking if he could stay at his house for a few days while he sorted some things out. Mike said “yeah, you can stay at my place, but I am leaving for business in Germany today, I’ll leave you a key.” Frank had his wallet still and bought a bus ticket to his friend’s house, being fearful of going home for the car. 

Mr. Binney was found in Tualatin eating Cheetos, drinking beer, and being paranoid. His friend has no idea about anything and is in Germany, so he didn’t know to notify police of Franks' whereabouts.

moral of the story is: check your kids’ Halloween candy. 

 The detectives did a great job with the case. I was really impressed with their reasoning and thought processes. I think I am going to host a case party at least every three months, because they are so much fun for me. Only the next case I create is going to be really, really good. I might hire some actors. Stage a murder. Get the police involved. It will be very realistic. 

Interviews with Strangers

The reason I enjoy hanging out with my cousin's girlfriend is because she is accidentally hilarious, she says whatever she thinks, and she helps shape blog-worthy days. However, there are downsides to this pseudo-cousin relationship. Whenever I'm around Heidi, I'm influenced to do and say things I normally would never do or say. She's like a drug or a shot of vodka, clouding my judgement.

Examples of how Heidi alters my behaviors? Yes, sure. We went to The Bite at Riverfront Park on Saturday evening, and we talked to so many strangers you'd think we were politicians trying to win votes.

To be fair, the first person we talked to thought he knew me. He is the one who stopped me. We were walking by the food booths and spotted the Willamette Burger Company, which is a top Friday Night Dinner location and was featured in the Burger Shack Shock. This lanky guy with dark hair and sunglasses starts making a beeline for us as we walk along the grass, and I start to think maybe the Italian mob is really changing their look these days, what without the snarls and everything.

"Hey, I think I know you," he says, and not in a you-owe-me-money sort of way. When someone says they know me, I usually believe them. I'm kind of a rare commodity. How many girls do you know who are exactly five feet tall, have a lion mane, and this face? Granted, I was wearing my famous celebrity sunglasses over my eyes, but still. The guy also looked a bit familiar.

Is this a person you think you know but don't?

"Maybe," I say. "What's your name?" He tells me it's Nate. I look at him some more and think that maybe he is one of my sister's friends that I've also hung out with, and maybe he thinks I am my sister. In retrospect, I probably should have asked him what he thought my name was. I never did say "hi, I'm Joelle." Instead, what I did was say, "This is Heidi. We go to the Willamette Burger Company sometimes. I usually get the grilled portobello mushroom though, because I'm a vegetarian."

Nate tells us how they actually have a vegan burger. "But is it your own recipe and handmade?" I ask. "Or is it some boxed Morning Star thing I can buy at Winco for three bucks?" Nate informs me that it is a Willamette Burger Company original, and that I should try it because they make it especially for people like me. I'm not sure if he means "people who you think you know but really don't" or "people who don't eat beef." Heidi and I then learn that Nate is a co-owner of WBC. I ask him how long he's been doing that. We chat a bit longer. I say that Heidi and I will stop in sometime soon for Friday Night Dinner. After departing, it becomes 80% clear to me that I don't think I actually knew that guy, even if he does know me. Sorry fool. I text my sister to see if his name rings a bell, but she does not respond since she is camping and probably has no reception.

Heidi and I sit on the grass and listen to the band for a while. During this time, Heidi decides to take pictures of unsightly circumstances, such as the brown/red tan guy without a shirt who is wearing his pants so low that you see his butt crack. I don't know why anyone would need to capture this image digitally, as it is a picture I have burned in my mind and would rather forget.

Here is a photo of Heidi and me with a giant Jamaican banana.

 Later we walk down to look at the river. We decide that we are going to acquire a little raft (or maybe do it Huck Finn style and bind some trees together) and go in the Willamette sometime. You never want to go swimming in the Willamette on account of how you might come back on land with a third eyeball or eleventh toe or something, but rafting would probably be safe.

On our way back up the stairs, we see a security guy sitting in chair with his arms crossed. We talk to him because he looks so utterly bored. I ask him if his job is to keep drunken people away from the water, and how many people has he had to restrain today? The conversation lasts about three minutes and ends with him receiving a notification on his walkie talkie. I am 75% sure I could become a security guard if I grew some facial hair and got up to at least 150 pounds. I say this because I have the whole arms-crossed-thing down, I know how to use a walkie talkie, and I look good in sunglasses acting like a bad ass.

Heidi and I continue our walk down the park, searching for shade in the 85 degree weather. We talk about how we need to find some other people to interview, but how they should probably be men, on account of how women don't generally receive strangers with prying questions very well. For example, if you go up to a random woman, say hello, and ask where she works, she might think that you want to know so that you can follow her home sometime and murder her. If you were to have the exact same conversation with a random man, he would probably just think you were flirting with him. This is also because a lot of men are affected by their testosterone and it inflates their ego. In agreement that the male gender is what we are looking for (and not for any sort of romantic purpose), Heidi and I tread on.

About two point five seconds later, my sidekick veers off in the direction of two girls who are sitting on a bench. I think to myself "What the heck? We just said no females," but I am also secretly fearful that they may know me, since I know 20% of the city's children through all my previous youth work. One of the girls has really awesome hair, so I ask her if I can take a picture of it, which is a total creeper thing to do. She reveals that she has extensions that she bought at Sally's Beauty Supply. I would post the picture of her gorgeous hair on here, except that I don't believe in posting photos of minors on-line. I've been a teacher in this town, and I know that this girl may have a creeper uncle or ex step-father who is on the look out for her. That's why you can't just go around snapping pictures of teens and telling the whole world where you saw them. Never mind the fact that this girl also told us which high school she goes to, and that she is 15 years old.

After learning of her baby age, I was curious how old she thought we were, so we inquired. She looked us up and down, took into account our mannerisms, then decided on 16. SIXTEEN. Through this, I am given confirmation that I could indeed be an undercover reporter and fake going to high school all over again like Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed. For the record, I'm 25 years young.

Instantly I feel more like a creeper, because this girl or her friend seriously could be one of my old students. I don't want to get arrested or lose my teaching license for starting friendships out of the classroom, so I try to high-tail it outta there. Heidi and I give the two teens advice to "stay away from creepy old men" and don't let anyone get in your pants.

This story is getting so long that I think I'll stop and post the other half of it tomorrow. So check back some time in the evening Tuesday to read about how I harassed the Jerky Hut guy for not having vegetarian jerky, how Heidi and I polled more people to guess our ages, and of how I got to name some reptiles and conversed in Spanish with a parrot.

Surgery Update

I know I left you hanging last Thursday. Here you've probably been thinking I've been drugged up and can't even crawl to my computer to type an incoherent sentence, such as this one: i djdust cnt cee stght vry wll. Ndee grugs!

Not true. I had my surgery on Friday morning, but really I should just call it an extraction. I mean, I think I can only call it a surgery because I had an IV. All I really have to show for it is the nasty green bruise on the inside of my arm, where I was stuck with a needle. It sort of looks like maybe I shot up some heroin in a dark alley way or something. But I'm totally clean. I didn't even take any Vicodin.

I was up and active on Saturday morning, where upon I went to my sister's house to watch Lenay host Ten on Top on cable TV. Then my sis hit the county fair (for free) like we do every year. The county fair is really not that awesome, but she and I hold it dear to our hearts as we spent a week of our childhood summers there every year, like camp. (For a funny related story, read Criminal Intentions).

And I've been eating tons! The first day it was a lot of bananas and chocolate pudding, (which sort of sounds like a PMSing monkey?) but now it's just the regular food, plus the pudding. So much for summer diets. Ha!

Maybe you're like, okay Joelle, enough of your weekend and pudding cups, what was the tooth yanking like? Because you're dying to know. Basically I sat in this hydraulic chair and suspiciously eyed the tropical plant sitting in the corner while the two assistants swabbed me and hooked me up to heart monitor and blood pressure machines. Then the doc stuck me with the IV needle. I was lying there, staring up at the ceiling, not feeling sleepy or anything. I don't even remember shutting my eyes.

But the next thing I know, I'm in a dimmed room with my eyes shut and gauze in my mouth and I hear the assistant telling me to try to wake up, which is the last thing I want to do. I mean, can't she just let me sleep? I kind of blink my eyes open a bit, and about every four minutes the blood pressure arm band contracts and displays my numbers. After I manage to get my eyes open, the assistant's all "we need to try to get your blood pressure up before we can let you go home." Which you know, will be basically impossible since I have hypotension (see post Open Up Nice and Wide).

She tells me to wiggle my toes. I do. It doesn't help. I ask her what my numbers are. It's like 110 over 68 or something, which is basically the highest it's ever been. But it's not enough. So I start to do the bicycle move with my legs. I'm lying there, thinking that the nurse probably thinks I'm high on drugs, but she doesn't understand. If I have to lie there until my blood pressure goes up, I'll never go home. And I really want to sleep on my couch. After I do a few Lance Armstrong moves, the band contracts and my numbers are up.

They wheel my out, my mom drives me home, and I conk out on the couch. Oh yeah, I forgot. The entire left side of my face was numb and felt like rubber. So I poked at it a bit and it felt funny. But all that wore off within about four hours. Then I finally got to eat. So you know, super exciting.