Chapter 3
Jacksonville, FL
Saturday evening
WHEN MY VISITOR arrived, I was at my desk actually wearing a tie, and because it was after hours, I walked to the front door and unlocked it for him. Chauncey Mayberry was forty, short, kind of chubby, and what remained of his hair was worn in a bad comb-over. He introduced himself, handed me a card, and I invited him to have a seat. I looked at the card for a minute and read, ‘West Side Lounge, Chauncey Mayberry, owner’.
“So, Mr. Mayberry,” I said, “what can I do for a bar owner?”
“Help me catch a thief.”
“Tell me about it.”
“First, let me ask you something—how much do you know about alcohol sales?”
“Very little, actually, but I’m always willing to acquire new knowledge—you never know when it will come in handy.”
“Okay. The thing is, wh
