Fitz: For this dusty old gumshoe, it's Miller time

Satire alert

I just spent the last few days trying to talk to Pima County Supervisor Ally Miller about a certain allegation, an allegation that a young aide in her office had created a phony news site, The Arizona Daily Herald. This gumshoe had heard that the very same kid had created a fake identity. And that he was telling sources he was a “reporter” named “Jim Falken.”

Of course, the chief suspect, Doogie Howser, or Woodward N. Bernstein, or whatever his name was, denied everything. Miller backed him up, but she was elusive. She prefers to yap to right-wing radio talk show tea-party types. How was I going to break into her bubble? And what was the truth?

This mystery was right up my alley, so I went straight to Supervisor Miller’s office. The voice on the other side of the locked door asked for a password.

I thought for a second. Then I whispered, “Chuckleberry.” Lucky guess.

The door cracked open. “Let me in, Miller. I got a few questions for you.” The door slammed shut. A woman’s voice said, “Drop dead, liberal scum.”

I was so desperate to question Miller I got suction cups for my hands and feet and inched my way up the side of the county building like Spider-Man.

I found her office window, rapped on the glass, cast my peepers at what appeared to be a common rude gesture and promptly lost my grip, falling seven stories.

The ER nurse suggested I try again, only this time “use a ruse to get in to see her.” It was sound advice.

“A Mr. Donald Trump is here to see you, Supervisor Miller. He’s a huge fan. Huge.”

She came running out, her tea-bag earrings wagging like wind chimes. “Oh, poop. You’re just a lousy gumshoe! What do you want?” She threw her hands behind her back. She was hiding something.

“I was hoping to talk to you about the allegation that an aide in your office created a fake news site and was pretending to be a journalist, going by the name ‘Jim Falken.’ As soon as certain reporters began poking around the fake news site it disappeared faster than a snowball in Sabino Canyon. What gives, Miller? You behind this kerfuffle? And what do you have there, behind your back?”

“Reporters from a fair and balanced newspaper.”

She held out her hands up high, at eye level, in front of me.

I thought I’d seen everything. “You have puppets.”

One was holding a toy microphone and the other one had a tiny pencil and a tiny notepad.

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Miller denied it. “I don’t see any puppets. All I see are two journalists just trying to do their jobs.”

“They’re puppets.”

Miller wagged her right hand, gritted her teeth and attempted to throw her voice. “Hi, my name is Clark.”

I talked to the puppet on her right hand. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your last name is Kent.”

“How did you know?”

“Never mind. Who’s the dame?” I pointed to her left hand.

“Hi, her name is Brenda. I mean, ‘Hi, my name is Brenda.’”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess.Your last name is Starr.”

“How did you know? You’re amazing. Yes. Yes! My name is Brenda Starr! It’s so nice to meet you.”

I refused to shake hands with the puppet. I dipped my fedora. “Brenda and I are both reporters from The Trumpeteer.”

“I’m asking the questions here, Shari Lewis. So you can shut Lamb Chop’s yapper. What happened to The Arizona Daily Herald?”

Both puppets shook their heads. And then Miller gritted her teeth and Brenda Starr spoke again. “Gee, mister. We work for the Daily Bugle. And we are in no way connected to Southern Arizona’s Tea Bag of Sugar and Spice — and Spunk — the Amazing Ally Miller.’”

“I thought you both worked for The Trumpeteer?”

Miller said none of them had ever heard of The Trumpeteer. Or the Herald. Or Mr. Falken. She held Clark Kent up to my face.

“Listen, Mister Gumshoe, none of us have anything to do with Supervisor Miller’s office. But I did write a swell profile on her yesterday about how totally awesome she is and how her road plan is super-awesome and how she is surrounded by complete and total idiots on the board. Just ask her.”

“No thanks, Kermit. I got no more questions.”