Sister-In-Law Surveillance

"No cheating?" she stormed. "I know that Herbert has been carrying on an affair with some home-wrecking harlot given the way he has been sneaking around and acting strangely this past year. I bet it's that dreadful woman who runs the office at the golf club. And Herbert ought to be ashamed of himself, given she is young enough to be his daughter!"

Ian put his most reassuring look on his face. "Mrs. Blunt, Miss Burgess and Miss Wake carried out extensive surveillance on your husband and neither of them saw any evidence of your husband being unfaithful."

At first the case was assigned to me, but apparently I was taking too long so Mrs. Blunt had called the office and chewed Ian's head off about it, so Claire had done some additional surveillance for a second opinion. Well if Mrs. Blunt was willing to pay for a second agent, then so be it.

"These girls don't look old enough to be private investigators," said Mrs. Blunt, indicating Claire and I. "They're just a pair of dolly birds, with no experience to do work such as this. You should have assigned a man to my case Mr. Cairncross. It is a man's job, and he would have found evidence that Herbert is fornicating with some floozy behind my back."

"Mrs. Blunt, with all due respect Miss Burgess and Miss Wake are both extremely efficient and experienced private investigators," said Ian. "If your case had been undertaken by a male investigator then the outcome would have been exactly the same, because your husband has not been unfaithful to you."

As was typical Mrs. Blunt was not satisfied. "Well, if Herbert hasn't been playing around, he must have been up to something else and I want to know what it is right now."

"That's what we were going to go through with you Mrs. Blunt," I said, opening up the file to show her some photographs taken during surveillance.

Mrs. Blunt was immediately on the attack when she saw the photograph, one of Mr. Blunt - a short-statured, skinny balding man with glasses much shorter than his domineering wife - going into a public library in the Noarlunga area, way down on Adelaide's southern beaches.

"What is Herbert doing there?" she demanded. "We live in Para Hills, nowhere near Noarlunga."

"I'll show you Mrs. Blunt," I said. I showed the suspicious wife more stills of her husband inside the library, sitting at a public access computer wearing headphones, staring at the screen.

"Is Herbert watching pornography?" Mrs. Blunt stormed. "If he is, he can sleep on the couch for the rest of his life."

It was hard to keep a straight face. "No Mrs. Blunt, even if Mr. Blunt was watching adult material then he wouldn't be able to do so in a public library." I showed her the next still, of her husband watching the cartoon 'My Little Pony'.

"What is 'My Little Pony'?" Mrs. Blunt spat.

"It's a cartoon about magical horses," said Ian. "Mostly it's aimed at primary school aged girls. My own daughters loved it when they were kids. I take it you haven't heard of it before?"

"I can see very well that it is a cartoon Mr. Cairncross, I am not blind," shot back Mrs. Blunt. "And Herbert and I never had any children, so why on Earth would I have heard of a kids' cartoon about magical brightly colored horses? My question is, why would my husband want to watch a cartoon for young girls? Is this what he has been doing when he has been sneaking out of the house and vanishing for hours?"

"Pretty much, Mrs. Blunt," I said. "These are more pictures of your husband using a public internet terminal at a convenience store in the city, again watching 'My Little Pony'. And another at a library near Henley Beach, once again using the public internet to watch the show."

"I should have known something like this would happen!" stormed Mrs. Blunt. "I told Herbert when he retired that he needed a hobby, I suggested woodwork. But did he listen to me? Of course he did not! Silly man!"

Mrs. Blunt breathed heavily then turned to Claire. "What about you blondie? Did you find evidence of my husband spending his days watching a cartoon for young girls?"

"Pretty much," said Claire. She showed Mrs. Blunt some more pictures. "This is your husband in a library in Woodville and a small supermarket in West Torrens watching 'My Little Pony'. Rachel and I also trailed your husband into an anime and magna convention, and I believe these photographs speak for themselves."

The photographs showed Herbert Blunt at the Adelaide Convention Centre, in the middle of the 'My Little Pony' section. He did look a bit out of place, with most of the people there young men although there were some gamer girl types, and also families with young children who liked the show. Many of the adult fans wore 'My Little Pony' clothing or carried associated merchandise.

Mrs. Blunt looked most displeased at the photos of her husband at the convention, mingling with other fans of the show many of whom wore fake horse ears, unicorn horns and horse tails. "What is Herbert doing with that Negro, that Chinaman and those two homosexuals?" she spat, looking at a surveillance still of her husband sitting with a young black man, young Asian man and a gay male couple holding hands as with other fans they watched an episode of 'My Little Pony' on a large screen.

"They're all watching 'My Little Pony', Mrs. Blunt," I said.

"I can see that very well girlie, so thank you," the aggrieved Mrs. Blunt said. She breathed through her nose, snorting loudly in the process. "So, you're telling me that rather than being an adulterer, my husband is a pervert and a pedophile who watches children's cartoons to prey on young girls?"

This was certainly an odd interpretation. "No, no, Mrs. Blunt," said Ian. "Your husband is most definitely not a pedophile."

"Well, then why would Herbert be watching television shows for children if he wasn't some sort of child molester?" Mrs. Blunt wanted to know. "And why is he associating with these strange young men? Does my husband get some sort of sick kick out of hanging around with other men who use cartoons to try and groom young children for sexual abuse?"

"Mrs. Blunt, your husband is simply an adult male fan of 'My Little Pony'," said Claire. "It's actually very common, they're called 'Bronies'. Your husband isn't carrying on an affair, he isn't a predator, a pedophile or some other type of sexual deviate, and neither are the other men in these pictures. Your husband is a brony, and the men he is with at the convention are also bronies."

"Here's a webpage about bronies, Mrs. Blunt," I said, bringing it up on my phone and showing it to the disbelieving client.

Mrs. Blunt shook her head. "Well if Herbert had wanted to watch a children's cartoon, why didn't he just ask me instead of all this sneaking around?"

"Would you have given your permission to let him watch the show if he had done so?" Ian asked.

"Of course I would not!" The tone of Mrs. Blunt's response and her facial expression made it sound like her husband had wanted to watch bestiality porn. "I once caught Herbert watching Star Wars, and I ordered him to turn it off and go to bed that instant. Herbert is allowed to watch the news, a gardening show, one game of football or one session of cricket per week depending on the season and we both watch 'The Antiques Roadshow' together every evening. He is not to watch cartoons. Cartoons are for children, and Herbert is most certainly not a child!"

Ian, Claire and I looked at each other, then Mrs. Blunt. "So Mrs. Blunt, do you have any further questions?" Ian asked.

"No, I do not," snapped Mrs. Blunt. The tall woman stood up from her seat. "I will see myself out. I see that I will have to keep Herbert busy with projects around the house from now on. Humpf!"

With that, Mrs. Blunt swept out of the office and we heard the door open and close as she departed, hopefully never to return.

"Humpf indeed, I couldn't have said it any better myself," sighed Ian. "If I woke up next to her every day I think I might spend my days watching 'My Little Pony' too."

He shook his head and Claire and I struggled to keep ourselves from laughing, although it was hard not to feel sorry for Mr. Blunt. His days as a 'brony' would probably soon be coming to a close.

Going back to my desk, I was finishing up writing my report on the dishonest restaurant employees when my phone rang close to noon, me seeing my mother's ID on the screen.

"Hi Mum," I said, answering the phone.

My mother's voice on the other end. "Rachel, your father and I need to talk to you."

Mum's tone sounded stressed, and I was immediately concerned. "Mum, is everything okay? It's not Nanna is it?"

Nanna was my only living grandparent, Mum's mother. She had been born on a famous day in history, the day of the armistice to end the First World War on 11th November 1918. Nanna had always been a very fit and fiercely independent woman, but now at age 99 and living in a retirement center she was becoming quite frail, and whether she would live to see 100 later this year remained to be seen.

"No, it's not your grandmother, she's perfectly fine," Mum assured me. "Your Dad and I need to speak with you about another matter. Are you free to meet us?"

"Sure, it's my lunch break coming up," I said. "Where do you want to meet?"

"How about the King William Street Bridge?" Mum suggested. "On the north side of the river at noon?"

"Sounds fine to me, but is everything okay Mum? You sound stressed, and you've got me worried."

"We'll explain when we meet you," said Mum, with me ending the call worrying what was going on. Had one of them been diagnosed with cancer?

Feeling apprehensive I hurried down to the river and saw the figures of my parents waiting for me at the bridge; Mum's tall skinny figure with her blonde bobbed hair now greying, Dad equally tall with his dark brown hair also graying and thinning. Mum and Dad were semi-retired, Mum still working part time at the library and Dad doing part time work for the company where he worked in sales for many years, but obviously they must have had the day off today.

"Hi Mum, hi Dad," I said, approaching them.

"Hi Rachel," said Dad, looking worried and nervous, his and Mum's demeanor making me feel even more disquiet.

"Let's go and find a place where we can talk," said Mum.

"Mum, Dad is everything okay? I'm even more worried now," I said.

"Let's wait until we're on our own," said Dad.

I walked across the bridge with my parents to the southern banks of the Torrens. Between the main bridge into the city and a footbridge there was an old Victorian-era rotunda, and we went and sat in it. It was a nice Thursday, the autumn weather in South Australia's capital in the mid-20s and fine and partly cloudy. People cycled along the banks of the river, and others could be seen running the tracks through the riverside parklands.

"So, what is going on?" I asked.

Mum got right to the point. "Your father and I are worried about your brother."

I was puzzled. "Daniel? He seems fine to me."

Mum elaborated. "We're concerned about his marriage to Sammi-Jo, and what's going on there."

"Daniel hasn't mentioned any marital problems to me," I said. "Why, has he spoken to you or Fiona about something?"

"No, Daniel hasn't spoken to us or your sister," Mum said.

"Well, how are you concerned that there are problems with his and Sammi-Jo's marriage?" I asked.

Mum looked stressed, and she seemed to be talking for both herself and Dad. "Your father and I have noticed a few things with Sammi-Jo that don't seem right."

I laughed, neither Mum nor Dad looked impressed. "Come on, it's taken you eight years to realize that something is wrong with your daughter-in-law?"

Mum glared at me, reminding me of Mrs. Blunt in the meeting earlier in the morning. "I'm glad you find it so funny, Rachel. You find the way she makes everything about herself and the way she raises her children, putting her daughters into those child beauty pageants and the way she infantilizes her son makes us worry about how the kids especially Zayden are going to turn out as adults."

"Mum, if you're upset about what happened on Sunday with Dad's birthday I don't blame you, it was pretty embarrassing but you can hardly be surprised. You know Sammi-Jo as well as I do."

Dad spoke up. "Rachel, it's not that, I would have been happy not having a birthday celebration but Sammi-Jo was the one who insisted on it."

"So, you're upset that Sammi-Jo insisted on a day out for Dad's birthday?" I had no idea what the problem was, nor why Mum and Dad had wanted to speak to me so urgently.

"No, it isn't that," said Mum, sighing and rolling her eyes.

"Well what is the problem then? If you want me to confirm that Sammi-Jo is annoying, yes she is. Do I think she's a good mother? No I don't. But without giving away too many details, I've seen far worse parents both now and when I was a police officer, and Sammi-Jo isn't the only annoying person in the world."

Mum was flustered. "I don't know why you're defending her so much. Is this some sort of modern feminist thing?"

"I'm not defending her, it's just that I don't understand what's going on here, why you insisted on meeting me then telling me things I already know."

Mum was really worked up. "You would think that the worst thing about our daughter-in-law is the way she raises her son, the way she is going to turn Zayden into an adult with a lot of very serious problems."

"Mum, I don't like the way Sammi-Jo parents him either," I said. "The cardboard cutout of herself as a cheerleader from when she was in high school in his bedroom, still breastfeeding him at the age of three, dressing him up like a princess or a fairy and letting him carry her purse and the origami demonstrations with her loo paper when she was sitting on the toilet? Talk about creepy, and yeah, that could mess him up as an adult. But sometimes you can't tell. I mean, you raised Fiona, Daniel and I the same, and Fiona and Daniel are married with kids, and I turned out to be a lesbian. If Zayden turns out gay, it wouldn't be the end of the world."

"If Zayden turns out to be gay then we will be getting off lightly believe me," Mum said disparagingly. "Your father and I worry every day about our grandson growing up into a weirdo."

"Mum, it doesn't always turn out that way," I said, thinking back to my own experiences. "In Fiona's class at school there was this boy who was a real pest to the girls, making really inappropriate and sexist comments for his age. He turned out to be gay. Then there was a boy in my class who was a real girly boy, always wanting to play girls' games and he used to get teased and bullied by the other boys who called him a sissy and a mama's boy. I saw him on social media, and did he turn out gay? No, he's married with a young son, and he and his wife have recently had a baby daughter. Anyway, if you really have a problem with Sammi-Jo's parenting, what am I supposed to do about it? He's her son, not mine. And Daniel is Zayden's father, you should speak to him if you have any concerns."

"We wish the only problem with Sammi-Jo was her bad parenting," said Mum.

"So, what is the problem then, and why am I involved?" I asked, my patience starting to wear thin.

"We think Sammi-Jo is playing around and cheating on Daniel," said Mum.

I stopped short, now they had my attention. "Has Daniel spoken to you about that? Did he say something to Fiona? Is he worried Sammi-Jo has been having an affair?"

"No, Daniel hasn't spoken to us or to Fiona," said Mum.

"Well, what makes you think that she's screwing around?" I asked. "If Daniel hasn't had any concern about his wife ..."

"Your brother thinks that Sammi-Jo's shit doesn't stink!" Mum yelled out in frustration.

Her voice unfortunately travelled, and a group of passing joggers looked over. "Bev, keep your voice down," Dad hissed.

"Well, it needed to be said, Raymond," Mum said. "Daniel is typical of many professional sportspeople, he doesn't live in the real world, so he cannot see the obvious signs of his wife's infidelity. Plus he thinks she's perfect."

"Well, if you want me to confirm to Daniel that Sammi-Jo's shit does stink, I can already help you with that," I said. "At Christmas last year I went into the bathroom to use the loo right after Sammi-Jo had been to the toilet and I think she'd been overdoing it on the detox drinks. Or just eaten nothing but cabbages for the past week."

I laughed, but my attempts to lighten the situation failed with my parents. "Don't be such a smart-arse Rachel, and can you please take this seriously?" Mum complained.

"Mum, I really don't think Sammi-Jo is cheating," I said. "She's not exactly what you'd call a discrete person, the way she documents everything she and her husband and kids do online, and the way she over-shares? The rest of her family is just the same. Plus Sammi-Jo loves the money and prestige of being a cricketing WAG. I mean, she makes some money herself as an influencer and from online sponsorship, but the main income comes from Daniel and I don't think she'd be silly enough to risk her meal ticket and her social media career by having an affair."

"There's signs of infidelity you haven't seen, Rachel," Mum assured me.

"Okay then, take me through some of the signs that you believe Sammi-Jo to be cheating on Daniel," I said.

Mum got straight to the point. "Have you ever wondered why Sammi-Jo puts Zayden in day care several days a week when she's a stay at home mother?"

"Mum, it's nothing unusual," I said. "Parents do it to get their kids socializing with other children their own age. Anyway, what would you prefer? Zayden to sit in his bedroom alone with his mother's cardboard cheerleader cutout when the girls are at school, Daniel at work and Sammi-Jo at the computer doing her mummy-blogging and influencing?"

"Other days she leaves her son with her mother to look after," said Mum. "And two weeks ago, Sammi-Jo asked your father and I to take care of Zayden for the day."

"What's wrong with that?" I asked. "Don't you want to spend time with your grandson?"

"Yes, but it was at such short notice. What if your father and I had already made plans for the day?"

"Well Sammi-Jo isn't known for being considerate," I pointed out.

"Again, we're aware of that Rachel, but that day she seemed different, distracted like something funny was going on."

"Funny how?"

Mum elaborated. "Sammi-Jo dropped Zayden off in the morning and thanked us for babysitting him, but she seemed distracted, keen to get away. We were trying to make conversation with her, asking her about her plans for the day and she was quite dismissive and very defensive. Then when she got back in the mid-afternoon she was again very guarded, wouldn't say what she had been doing all day, and couldn't get her son out of there fast enough."

"It does seem a little strange, Sammi-Jo is normally a terrible over-sharer," I said. "But maybe she was just in a bad mood that day?"

"Sammi-Jo was in such a hurry to leave that she didn't notice this receipt fell out of her purse on the way out," said Mum, handing me the receipt.

I examined it, and it was dated the Thursday in question, but there was nothing that stood out as unusual about it. "It's a receipt from a petrol station. She filled up her car."

"Look more closely Rachel," Mum urged me. "It's in Victor Harbor and she paid cash. One, why would Sammi-Jo drive all that way and back in one day? Two, why couldn't she take her son with her if she was just going for a drive or to meet friends there? And three, Sammi-Jo isn't a cash person, she uses credit cards and purchases online. So why did she pay cash for her fuel?"

"Mum, Victor Harbor isn't that far away, just about an hour and a half down the Fleurieu Peninsula," I said. "It's not like she drove hours and hours to Whyalla, Port Lincoln or Port Pirie. Or flew to Perth or Melbourne for a few hours? Maybe she just felt like a kid-free day and met friends for lunch? And maybe the EFTPOS at the service station was down or she just paid cash without thinking? You did say she seemed distracted."