you,” added her mousy, mustachioed husband. “Other than King and the Crowes, you’re our favorites.”
And with that, they drifted off in search of the map of pickles.
Just about everyone still lingering about was shoving in to congratulate Diana and the colonel. The exceptions being Old Red, who’d turned to gaze with bitter longing up the steps to the top of the cheese, and the Columbian Guards who’d pointedly positioned themselves in his path.
“Well, I do hope you got a rope on some decent clues,” I said. “Cuz we sure ain’t gettin’ another crack at the scene of the crime.”
Gustav pushed back his Stetson and sighed. “I don’t know what I got a rope on. But at least for once we’ll have us some expert help untanglin’ all the knots.”
“That’s right.”
I looked over at the Crowes again. Just beyond the cluster of back-slappers around them I could see Boothby Greene talking to his publisher, Blackheath-Murray, and though Eugene Valmont had yet to put in an appearance, the Frenchman was bound to come scurrying along any second.
“If Curtis was murdered, the killer won’t stand a chance with the World’s Greatest Sleuths on the job,” I said.
“I reckon not.” Old Red squared his hat again, pulling the brim low, as if readying himself for a gust of wind he felt stirring around him. “Unless, of course, he is one of them.”
11
LE PARFUM DE LA MORT
Or, My Brother Gets a Whiff of BS, and Our Fellow Sleuths Sling Some Around
Within ten minutes, we had them gathered: four of the greatest detectives the world had ever seen.
Well, the four greatest detectives we could find, anyway. (King Brady had disappeared.) The four greatest who were willing to speak to us. (Pinkerton was still atop Mt. Cheddar with the Columbian Guards.) And the greatness of three of these detectives we had to take on credit. (We’d seen Diana’s firsthand in the past. Boothby Greene and Eugene Valmont and Colonel Crowe, though…?)
So, to be a tad more accurate, within ten minutes we had them gathered: a great detective and three men who called themselves detectives but who, for all we knew, couldn’t detect their way to flames if their pants were on fire. Still, it was a start.
All it had taken was a few quick whispers with the Crowes, a jerk of the head to Greene, and a Lucille Larson-ectomy for Valmont. (The Frenchman had come hustling up with the lady reporter attached to his side just as we were leaving the Agriculture Building. “There’s a body in the Mammoth Cheese,” Diana said. “Pinkerton won’t let anyone up to look at it.” “Oh, really?” Miss Larson said, and she shot off for the cheese like she’d been fired from the Krupp Gun. Valmont we steered outside with us.)
Now here we all were, bunched up around a bench beside the shimmering waters of the Grand Basin. It had been a long, long time since I’d seen my brother crack a smile, and though he certainly wasn’t about to pop off with one now, there was a grim satisfaction upon his face that counted, for him, almost as a grin. At long last, he wasn’t just dreaming of being a sleuth. Here he was amongst people he might call peers, extraordinary individuals who shared his passion for detectiving. And they weren’t competing against each other now. They were gathered together for a common purpose … and they were looking at him .
He took in a deep breath and clapped his hands together.
“So,” he said, “let’s begin with—”
“Who put you in charge?” Colonel Crowe snapped.
“I just figured since—”
“Where are your speck-tickles?” Valmont asked.
“That’s neither here nor—”
“It’s a clear, sunny day,” Greene said, “yet you don’t seem bothered by the light.”
“Like I said, that’s not—”
“And your bruh-THERE’s coat,” Valmont said with a nod my way. “He was not wearing it when the contest began.”
“Listen, could we just stick to—?”
“It barely fits across his
And with that, they drifted off in search of the map of pickles.
Just about everyone still lingering about was shoving in to congratulate Diana and the colonel. The exceptions being Old Red, who’d turned to gaze with bitter longing up the steps to the top of the cheese, and the Columbian Guards who’d pointedly positioned themselves in his path.
“Well, I do hope you got a rope on some decent clues,” I said. “Cuz we sure ain’t gettin’ another crack at the scene of the crime.”
Gustav pushed back his Stetson and sighed. “I don’t know what I got a rope on. But at least for once we’ll have us some expert help untanglin’ all the knots.”
“That’s right.”
I looked over at the Crowes again. Just beyond the cluster of back-slappers around them I could see Boothby Greene talking to his publisher, Blackheath-Murray, and though Eugene Valmont had yet to put in an appearance, the Frenchman was bound to come scurrying along any second.
“If Curtis was murdered, the killer won’t stand a chance with the World’s Greatest Sleuths on the job,” I said.
“I reckon not.” Old Red squared his hat again, pulling the brim low, as if readying himself for a gust of wind he felt stirring around him. “Unless, of course, he is one of them.”
11
LE PARFUM DE LA MORT
Or, My Brother Gets a Whiff of BS, and Our Fellow Sleuths Sling Some Around
Within ten minutes, we had them gathered: four of the greatest detectives the world had ever seen.
Well, the four greatest detectives we could find, anyway. (King Brady had disappeared.) The four greatest who were willing to speak to us. (Pinkerton was still atop Mt. Cheddar with the Columbian Guards.) And the greatness of three of these detectives we had to take on credit. (We’d seen Diana’s firsthand in the past. Boothby Greene and Eugene Valmont and Colonel Crowe, though…?)
So, to be a tad more accurate, within ten minutes we had them gathered: a great detective and three men who called themselves detectives but who, for all we knew, couldn’t detect their way to flames if their pants were on fire. Still, it was a start.
All it had taken was a few quick whispers with the Crowes, a jerk of the head to Greene, and a Lucille Larson-ectomy for Valmont. (The Frenchman had come hustling up with the lady reporter attached to his side just as we were leaving the Agriculture Building. “There’s a body in the Mammoth Cheese,” Diana said. “Pinkerton won’t let anyone up to look at it.” “Oh, really?” Miss Larson said, and she shot off for the cheese like she’d been fired from the Krupp Gun. Valmont we steered outside with us.)
Now here we all were, bunched up around a bench beside the shimmering waters of the Grand Basin. It had been a long, long time since I’d seen my brother crack a smile, and though he certainly wasn’t about to pop off with one now, there was a grim satisfaction upon his face that counted, for him, almost as a grin. At long last, he wasn’t just dreaming of being a sleuth. Here he was amongst people he might call peers, extraordinary individuals who shared his passion for detectiving. And they weren’t competing against each other now. They were gathered together for a common purpose … and they were looking at him .
He took in a deep breath and clapped his hands together.
“So,” he said, “let’s begin with—”
“Who put you in charge?” Colonel Crowe snapped.
“I just figured since—”
“Where are your speck-tickles?” Valmont asked.
“That’s neither here nor—”
“It’s a clear, sunny day,” Greene said, “yet you don’t seem bothered by the light.”
“Like I said, that’s not—”
“And your bruh-THERE’s coat,” Valmont said with a nod my way. “He was not wearing it when the contest began.”
“Listen, could we just stick to—?”
“It barely fits across his
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