The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 35
Back in the present’s not-so-distant past a certain living room was housing a conversation between a famous detective and his sublime operative.
“I’m interviewing two new recruits in a little while,” revealed Myx.
“Am I not enough, hon?” asked Lipps plentifully.
“Apoka, you’re such an eyeful as to be wholly sinful,” avowed Myx in full. “But these two are … Special.”
“Who are they?” questioned the Woman, as a hanging window-cleaner appeared outside the detective’s pane and experienced the Lipps Effect. With a practiced hand Myx grabbed hold of the fellow just before he and his jaw plunged into the morning void.
Turning to Lipps the detective replied, “May Day Henrikson and Neiky Baggins.”
“Never heard of them,” said Lipps.
“Few people have, though I suspect many people will,” came the nebulous response.
“Please, just call me Noro,” Myx asked the two ladies smilingly, once all-around introductions had been made, and the three had settled atop various sitting apparatuses in the living room. The detective’s gaze roamed from one woman to the other, finally making its choice.
“Tell me Neiky,” — he pronounced it knee-key — “have you always wanted to become a detective?”
“It’s nigh-key, Noro,” corrected Neiky Baggins patiently. “And the answer is no. The decision is actually quite recent. A few days ago I received an anonymous tip about your having an opening for an operative; the tip said I’d fit the bill to perfection. It sounded ludicrous at first — I’d never thought of detective work before — but then, well, I thought about it, and here I am.”
“So you are, my dear, so you are,” smiled Myx warmly. “And you, May Day, how did you end up on my sofa here?”
“I too received an anonymous tip about an open position,” admitted May Day Henrikson. “I’ve always had trouble making up my mind, but, surprisingly, this offer appealed to me right away.”
“Good,” declared Myx decisively and stood up. “I assume both of you want the job?” The two nodded in agreement. “Well then,” continued the detective, “since we have one post and two candidates, we’ll just have to hold a small competition to detect the detective.” He exited the room and came back a moment later holding two dossiers.
“Each of you will take charge of a case,” explained Myx, handing a dossier to Henrikson. “May Day, you’ll investigate the case of the missing knife.” He gave the second dossier to Baggins. “And you, Neiky, shall look into the case of the melting margarine.” He returned back to his Armchair and said, “You have one day to resolve your respective cases. We will reconvene tonight in this very room to hear of your accomplishments. Good luck to both of you.”
With that, Myx affixed an unlit pipe to his lips and began blowing unsmoke rings.
“One moment the knife was lying on the counter, the next moment it was gone. Gone, I tell you.” The shoemaker shook his head agitatedly as if still unable to believe the missing article had gone missing. “Never seen anything like it in my whole life, Miss Henrikson.”
The detective candidate thought for a moment and put forth a query. “At the time of the crime, was there anyone else besides you in the shop?”
“No,” replied the shoemaker resolutely.
“Well, thank you for your time,” said Henrikson, and turned to leave. As her hand was about to embrace the doorknob, the man cried, “Wait, I just remembered — there was someone here: the butcher.”
“Your testimony has been invaluable,” divulged Henrikson and left.
Three hours of intensive interrogation had left Baggins somewhat pooped. But losing was not one of her preferred predilections. She straightened her posture, eyeballed the group of suspects lying on the kitchen table, and spoke in a menacing yet affectionate tone. “If someone does not own up soon, you will all end up in the disposer.”
A crooked banana, who had been bent on hindering the grilling since its inception, declared haughtily, “Has it occurred to you, Miss Baggins, that we may all be innocent here?”
The detective cadet cast such a fierce gaze upon the bothersome banana, his face started to peel like an orange. At which the orange rolled about in a frenzy of revolutions, crying, “Lady, I ain’t never seen this banana in my life.”
“Teacher’s pet,” snorted the banana in a low voice.
“Silence!” called Baggins, her face assuming a condemnatory demeanor. “Innocent? Innocent? Hah! There isn’t an innocent soul on this table.” She paused to sink her words. “Before we’re done here I will have the name of the margarine melter. And I promise you the perpetrator shall not get off easy. Crème and banishment!”
The Caesar salad launched into a series of hiccups, as was her wont when overexcitement overcame her. Baggins observed approvingly that her words had sunk in.
The butcher was livid. “That weasel of a shoemaker! He’s always had it in for me.” The man was waving a huge knife to and fro. “Never, I repeat, never in my life have I set foot in that miserable little shop of his.” In his anger, the butcher chopped off his rage into little pieces of wrath, which he later put up for ire.
Henrikson was unimpressed by the spectacle. “Are you sure you’ve never been to the shoemaker’s shop?” she asked calmly.
A hurt saintly look appeared in the butcher’s eyes. “I swear, Miss Henrikson. On my mother’s gravy.”
A large woman came out through a small hole and shouted, “Lambchops Junior, have I just heard you use the g-word?”
The butcher cringed and mumbled meekly, “Uhm, Mamma …”
“You know I hate gravy!” cried the large woman and disappeared through the small hole.
The man turned back to Henrikson and blurted out defiantly, “Yeah? So?”
“So,” replied Henrikson smilingly, “your oath is apparently of little value. Besides which, I know for a fact you have been to the shoemaker’s.”
The butcher crossed his arms against his chest. “Yeah? Prove it!”
“By all means,” said the would-be detective coolly. “I point the jury’s attention to the witness’s shod feet.”
“Doh!” cried the butcher and stomped his shining shoes. Through gritted teeth he said, “Okay, you win. I was at the shoemaker’s shop around the time the knife went missing. But I’m not the one. It was already gone when I came in.”
“I believe you this time,” said Henrikson and asked, “One last question: Did you notice anyone leaving when you arrived?”
“As a matter of fact I did,” admitted the butcher matter-of-factly. “I saw the tailor walking out. Come to think of it, he seemed to be in quite a hurry.”
“I thank you for your time,” said Henrikson pleasantly and turned to leave.
The butcher just stood there sulking, an expression of chopped liver on his face.
“I told you already: I was sitting right here minding my own business,” groused the sugar sourly. “I most certainly did not have a hand in this ugly affair. Why, me and the margarine, we’ve always been best friends. Ask anyone.”
“That’s right,” bounced the pepper, “the margarine calls the sugar ‘my sweet powder’.”
“How eagerly you jump in to help her,” wailed the salt bitterly. “You always had a thing for that floozy.”
“Not so my salty honey!” cried the pepper emotionally, and peppered his sweetheart with sugary words. “You’re the only one for me. You know that, don’t you?” But the salt was sulking sullenly in her corner, having put a lid on it. The pepper sneezed longingly, as was his wont when things went saline.
“This is getting us nowhere,” affirmed Baggins gravely. “I want to go over the whereabouts of each and every one of you during the crime once more.”
“Again?” grouched the roast beef, who was not known for her patience.
“Again and again if we have to,” replied Baggins firmly. “No one is leaving this table until we find the culprit. Now, I want each of you to take up the position he or she occupied during the crime.”
There ensued a boisterous shuffling of edibles.
“Sometimes I just want to chop that wretched butcher into little batches!” said the tailor vehemently.
“But you did exit the shoemaker’s shop around the time the knife had disappeared?” asked Henrikson quietly.
“Yes, yes, that is correct,” admitted the man. “But I most certainly did not have a hand in this ugly affair. Why, me and the shoemaker, we’ve always been best friends. Ask anyone.”
“That’s right,” hopped a plaid skirt, “the shoemaker calls the tailor ‘my friend to boot’.”
“How eagerly you jump in to help him,” called a smart three-piece suit. “You always had a thing for that knit-picker.”
“Not so my clad champion!” cried the skirt emotionally, having no intention of skirting the issue. “You’re the only one suited for me. You know that, don’t you?” But the suit was sulking sullenly in his corner, the whole affair having gotten too sooty for him.
“This is getting us nowhere,” stated Henrikson sternly. “If you did not disappear the item in question, the question is, who did?”
The tailor scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and pinched his nose. “I think I may have an idea. You see, when I entered the shoemaker’s shop the knife had already vanished. However, I had a distinct impression there was a certain odor in the air, which I’d encountered beforehand.”
“Did you recognize the scent?” asked Henrikson.
“Not at the time, no,” replied the tailor thoughtfully. “However, it just came to me. It was the odor of silver polish.”
“Thank you for your time,” said Henrikson and U-turned to face the door. “You have been most helpful.”
“One of you is lying,” said Baggins once the food shuffle had ceased. “One of you is not where he’d been at the time of the crime.” The Caesar salad again embarked on a series of hiccups.
Ignoring her, Baggins turned to the smartly dressed lasagna and stated severely, “You, sir, are out of place.”
In a voice straight out of an Italian cookbook, the cheesy dish waxed indignant. “Ey, lady, I ain’t done a ’ting. Nobody, and when I say nobody I mean no one, accuses Joey of a crime he ain’t done. You ask dat zucchini over der where he was. Bad famiglia dat one. Bad famiglia.”
The zucchini boiled in three seconds flat. “You lying formaggio! Why, I’ll put you in de freezer and — ”
“Why, I’ll squash you, you — ” began the lasagna, only to be interrupted by Baggins, who’d had enough of the food fight. “Chill out! Say cheese! Enough of this.” She turned to the lasagna. “I still say you’re out of place.”
“Okay, okay,” grumbled the grub and moved over to stand beside the zucchini. “Dis is where I was at de time of de crime.” The two chows immediately engaged in a stare-down battle.
“Hey, you, come back here!” cried Baggins, as she caught sight of a foodstuff who had taken advantage of the commotion to attempt a getaway.
“Okay, lady, okay,” said the stuff. “I give up. Please don’t hoot me.”
A narrow victorious smile made a brief appearance along Baggins’s edges.
Henrikson entered the shop to find herself staring at a man of medium build, with several appendages growing out of his face, including eyes, ears, noses, and mouths.
“Mouth. Singular,” corrected the man, and smiled broadly, exposing various teeth he entertained.
Henrikson took in the various tools lying around, and the sharpener off to one side of the shop. She also noticed the odor.
“May I help you, miss?” asked the artisan pleasantly.
“I’ve come here about a certain knife that’s gone missing,” said Henrikson.
Wasting no time, the man began changing colors like a chameleon, finally settling on off-white. “I … I …” he tried to utter.
A thin triumphant grin made a transitory appearance along Henrikson’s rims.
“Well, ladies, how fared ye?” asked Myx that evening, once the three had settled back into their morn positions.
Both women smiled. “I see,” saw Myx. “Let’s start with you, May Day. Have you found the missing knife?”
“I have indeed,” announced May Day cheerfully, and handed Myx the erstwhile lost item.
“Excellent, excellent,” complimented the detective. “And you have uncovered the perpetrator, I take it?”
“I have,” confirmed Henrikson.
“Well, don’t be shy. Out with it,” prodded Myx.
“The cutler did it,” said Henrikson evenly.
“Splendid! We have a winner,” cried the detective in delight, and turned to the other candidate. “How about you, Neiky, have you exposed the ignominious margarine melter?”
“I have,” avowed Baggins.
“What? You’re shy, too? Come now, let’s have the culprit!” prompted Myx.
“The butter did it,” said Baggins quietly.
“Another winner!” called Myx jubilantly. “What shall I do? Which one of you shall I hire?” He sucked on the unlit pipe for a long moment, during which the tension became so palpable she decided to make some major changes to her life.
“I have it,” Myx finally declared. “I’ll take both of you on. Welcome detectives.”
The small giant and the tall dwarf exchanged a meaningful look, which — unbeknownst to them — had not escaped Myx’s notice.
