The case of the lost ear-stud

“Hello, Police Commissioner! What are you going to do now?” my wife asked on the evening of the day of my retirement, even as I was trying to not sulk on being denied an extension of service. “I am not sure”, I said. “You had better be. If you just go about mooning, tomorrow you will become an ‘Ex’ and in a few days an XYZ”, she said.

Just to shrug her off I said, “Okay, I will become a private detective.” “Wow, that’s a capital idea! I can even suggest a new name for you —Herlock Sholms!” I knew she was only trying to cheer me up but all I could manage was a weak smile. Soon, she left me to wallow in regret. Early morning, on the first day of my retired life, she called out,

“Good morning Mr. Sholms! Your services are urgently needed. See this ruby ear-stud you gave me on the silver jubilee anniversary of our marriage? I have lost the other piece of the pair. Please find it for me before I return from the gym”, she said and left.

That’s what retirement does to you. It shows your real worth. Here was an officer, who had spent years solving high profile cases that involved diamond thieves and serial killers, but in the end, all he got to do was to trace the lost piece of his wife’s jewellery.

Well, a half-an-hour’s search inside my ‘client’s’ dressing room yielded the desired result. I found the lost ear-stud twinkling in the torchlight of my iPhone under the dressing table. It had obviously fallen down from her ear when she was combing her hair.

When she returned, I placed the piece of jewellery on her palm hoping to get a compliment. She took it in her fingers and examined it carefully from this angle and that. Her long association with police had taught at least one thing— never trust cops.

“Okay, this is genuine but where is its gold screw?” she asked like a hard taskmaster. I felt, at that moment, that she would have made an immensely more successful Police Chief than I ever had the destiny to, given a chance.

“Oh! Let me search again”, I said defensively and was about to leave when she said, “come, come my dear ex-officer! It was only a plastic screw. I was joking.”

Later, handing me a mug of tea she said sweetly, “one day, you will be a great private detective!”

That may or may not happen but thanks to her my retirement didn’t look like such a calamity.