Della, Part 4

Last time... nothing really happened. Jeff showed up and got all possessive. Then Della started calling everyone she knew asking them if they hated her parents and wanted to kill them. Surprisingly, that pays off in this chapter.

It wasn't long before the foon rang again, and Della picked it up eagerly. "Yes, who's speaking?" she asked the phone caller on the other end, eagerly.

"Well...this is Sammy Jorgenson," said the hesitant voice on the other end. "Actually, can I back up and not tell you who's calling?"

It's HOMESTAR! "So, actually, the best thing for you to do would be to go back and not listen to the first part of this tape."

Della says yes, even though in the back of her mind she was plotting to remember it forever.

She's such an obliging person.

The tiny voice went on, "I have to say I have reason to suspect my father was lying to you about his motivations for everything and anything. 

That is a LOT of lying.

He hated your father, hated hated him. He wanted him dead." There was a pause, and then the voice said, "But I can't say that that'll help you any."

Right. That's not going to be a clue to her parents' murder or anything.

"Oh, it's helped me more than you know!" Della squealed, and hung up the phone with a click. She turned triumphantly to Dax and said, "I KNEW it would work!"

Dax cracked his fingernails 

Ewww...

and said slyly, "I know you said that, but I was just unsure."

That's sly, all right.

Della leaned forward and said, "But now I've been proven right!"

At which point Dax stood up and stomped out of the house.

Well, that came out of the blue. Dax is temperamental, isn't he?

Della cheerily went on her way, 

Doesn't seem to bother her much.

cooking and cleaning and keeping the house airtight. 

That's right. No air's getting into THAT house.

When she had finished all her daily chores, she sat down at the table to think out her thoughts. The question was, how was she going to go about obtaining a confession from Mr. Jorgenson? She was sure it was him, she hardly had to ask any questions about it, but she didn't know how she would get him to admit he killed them.

She's a brilliant detective, may I just say.

She supposed the best tactic would be to spy on him and see if he did anything suspicious, and if he did she could go to the police with her proof - the gun, the information from Sammy, and whatever suspicious things she saw him doing.

That'll get a conviction RIGHT AWAY.

The next day was ideal following someone weather - foggy with a hint of rain.

Haven't you seen any movies? Of COURSE that's ideal following someone weather. Foggy so they can't see you. Except... wait. You can't see them either, can you?

She wore a long black gown and a mask over her eyes, 

Now THAT is inconspicuous. 

and stalked through the village with a mysterious air.

This CRACKS me up. I'm not sure she could be drawing more attention to herself if she tried.

When she reached the Jorgenson's house, she hid behind a tree but got tree sap on her hand.

...Oh no?

As she tried to swipe it off, she noticed the front door open and Mr. Jorgenson walked out of the door and into his car.

Oh, no! If he got in his car she'd never be able to follow him, he'd go too fast!

She probably should have thought of this beforehand.

Quickly she brought the blowgun to her lips and blew, 

My gosh. I'd forgotten that. The completely random appearance of a blowgun.

and a tiny dart flew out and into the tire of the Jorgenson's car. Mr. Jorgenson gave a start and went over to examine the tire more closely. "Martha!" he yelled. "Them darn kids are playing again!"

Right. In 1950s sitcoms, it was pretty frequent for the squirrely neighborhood kids to blow BLOWDARTS into people's tires.

Mrs. Jorgenson appeared in the doorway of the Jorgenson house, hardly sure what was going on. "You can't stop children from playing, dear," she said supernaturally.

Clearly I couldn't find the right adjective.

Mr. Jorgenson angrily indicated the punctured tire, which was sinking deeper every moment. "I can't possibly get to work now!" he said.

"Well, dear, you can walk," Mrs. Jorgenson said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a brown paper bag. "Don't forget your lunch."

She seems very much in control.

He snatched it out of her hands and went on his way, mumbling. Della was glad for the interruption. She could follow him on foot, but she couldn't if he had been in the car. Sneaking behind alleys and between cars, she managed to keep him in sight all the way to his work place, a large smoke billowing factory that made shoes and toys.

Lots of smoke billowing going on there. Don't forget that part.

She hadn't known he'd gotten a job there after he'd lost his job with her father.

As she watched him, he walked into the factory gates and shut the doors. She sat outside with her own brown paper bag and ate her lunch under the trees on the hickory bushes 

That doesn't sound even slightly comfortable.

as she waited for him to reemerge.

"Having some lunch?" came a voice next to her. She looked up and it was that friendly policeman from the first day when her parents died. She patted the tree next to her. "Sit down," she said.

Well, after all, she is sitting on a hickory bush... it's not like she is taking the best seat for herself.

"I could use the company."

Stalking people is a lonely business.

He plopped down on the ground next to her and knelt his knees and rested his hands on them. "How are you doing?" he asked.

She shrugged, her mouth full of peanut butter. "Can't complain," she said. 

Apparently Della isn't even all that sad that her parents are dead. She just wants the revenge.

"I'm trying to watch someone."

The police man looked interested, and said, "Why? Why would you watch someone? And for what?"

Out of all people, a policeman should know why you might want to watch someone.

She swallowed and took a drink of milk so the peanut butter would swallow right, 

First things first.

and then she explained the whole story. "And so now I'm waiting for him to come out and do something suspicious," she said. "Because then I'll have irrefutable proof!"

Sorry, Della, I'm not sure it works that way.

"Well, actually, no," said the policeman.

He's putting a damper on Della's zeal.

"You'd have to actually catch him in the act."

Right. In the act of KILLING HER PARENTS.

"What!" Della's jaw dropped. "That's so ridiculous!"

She disapproves of the legal workings of this country.

The policeman shrugged. "Sorry, I don't write the laws, I just make sure everyone obeys them." 

That's right. So he's going to sit her and let her stalk the guy.

They sat in silence on the grass for awhile, until the sun began to set and Della was worried that Mr. Jorgenson would never come out.

This policeman is awfully patient.

A moment later, though, the factory gates began to slowly open, and Mr. Jorgenson's familiar figure came strutting out from behind the gates. He carried the same brown paper bag, except there was still something in it. Della knew he had to have eaten his lunch, so what WAS he carrying out in that paper bag? Left overs? Shoes? Toys?

"Can we follow him?" she asked her policeman friend.

At least she's trying to get legal permission now.

The policeman shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

They stood and padded behind him, 

Yeah... not the right choice of verbs.

careful never to get too close or make direct contact with him. When Mr. Jorgenson got to an intersection, he stopped and looked both ways before crossing the street. Finally at one point he ducked into a tiny dark shop. Della ran over to see what it was. The window in the shop read: "HATS FOR SALE."

Next time... we find out what happens at the shop! Kind of. As much as we ever find out anything in this story.