The Case of the Mistaken Identity
Hear this story read aloud.
It All Started on a Monday
It was a Monday, which meant the coffee tasted like burned motor oil and my office smelled like yesterday’s burrito. I was sitting behind my battered desk, flipping through a stack of stone inspection reports, when the phone rang. Not the cell. The real phone. The rotary one. You know, the kind that clunks when you dial and could double as a weapon in a bar fight.
“Stone Detective,” I answered, already half-expecting it to be a telemarketer trying to sell me a warranty on my 1949 Woodie wagon.
Instead, it was Betty.
A Call from Betty
If you don’t know Betty, she runs the front desk at my go-to stone lab and has the voice of a 1940s lounge singer who’s smoked too many Lucky Strikes. She’s sharper than a fresh diamond blade and can spot a bad stone install from fifty paces.
“Hey, gumshoe,” she rasped. “Got a juicy one for you. Client says their quartzite counters are etching and staining. But get this, they were sealed six times and cost more than my last divorce. Something doesn’t add up.”
I tipped my fedora back on my head and gave her a slow nod, even though she couldn’t see it. “I’m on it.”
Arrival at the Mansion
I hopped into the Woodie, fired up the engine, and it coughed like a guy who just tried to inhale a meatball. After a few sputters, she settled into that familiar low rumble that always made me smile. I tossed my field kit in the back, patted the dash, and muttered, “Let’s roll, sweetheart.”
It was a short drive to the site, a waterfront mansion that looked like a cross between a Tuscan villa and a Vegas timeshare. The General, my grizzled old bulldog who’s seen more botched installs than most contractors, snored in the passenger seat as I pulled up.
Surface Clues
Inside, the homeowner greeted me with a glass of cucumber water and a worried look.
“We paid for quartzite,” she said. “The stone guy said it was nearly bulletproof. But now it’s etched around the sink and stained from lemon juice. What gives?”
I gave the surface a once-over. My gut already had suspicions, but guts don’t hold up in court. So I pulled out my trusty test kit.
I ran a couple of basic field tests:
- Scratch Test: Steel blade left a mark – Strike one.
- Acid Test: Drops of acid solution etched within 30 seconds – Strike two.
“Mind if I chip a piece for lab analysis?” I asked.
“Do whatever you need. Just tell me I didn’t get ripped off.”
Back at the Lab
Back at the lab, Betty was already at the microscope.
“This ain’t quartzite, sweetheart. It’s engineered quartz. Manmade. Crushed stone and resin. Pretty, sure. Durable? Sometimes. But etch-proof? Not even close.”
I grunted. “That explains the stains. Resin burns, and that lemon juice probably hit the filler. No natural quartzite would’ve done that unless it had some impurities.”
We pulled up the original invoice. The supplier had it labeled “White Mist Quartzite.” Fancy name. Problem is, “White Mist” is often code for “We don’t know what this is, but it looks expensive.”
The Final Reveal
The next day, I rolled back to the mansion and gave the homeowner the news.
“You bought a stone that wasn’t what it was sold as. It’s not quartzite. It’s a quartz surface made with marble aggregate. Manmade. Looks natural, but it doesn’t behave the same. Different chemistry. Different durability. You didn’t get what you paid for.”
She looked like someone just told her her dog was actually a cat.
“So what do I do?”
“Well, you could go back to the fabricator, show them the lab report, and demand a refund. Or a replacement. At the very least, you’ve got a case of mistaken identity. And around here, that’s a serious crime.”
Another Case Closed
As I drove away, the sun dipped behind the horizon and the Woodie’s chrome grille caught the light just right. The General let out a snore that sounded like agreement. I tipped my fedora low, lit an imaginary cigar, and muttered to myself,
“Another case closed.”
In my world, stone doesn’t lie, but people sure do. And when the surface doesn’t match the story, that’s when they call me.
