“I think we need a picture,” Steph said, eyeing herself in the mirror. “This is the fanciest costume ever.”
Pancho disagreed. “Not yet. We need dueling swords,” he said, looking at Dom. “What if somebody challenges us to a duel!”
With a flourish, Dom pulled a plunger from the bottom of the bag.
“Plungers?!” Steph and Pancho yelled at the same time.
“Not plungers. Épées. Musketeer swords. Perfect for dueling.”
“Musketeer swords are long and skinny,” Pancho pointed out.
Dom shrugged. “And these are short and fat. You got any better ones?”
“Who cares what they look like!” Steph scrunched her nose as if she’d smelled something awful. “They’re gross and icky! UGH.”
Dom reminded Steph about the flooding of the storage unit and el Señor Fuentes’s good luck in getting a lot of brand-new (and wet) things for nothing.
Pancho cut his eyes at Dom. “You think anyone will be afraid of a clean plunger? It would have been better if they really were gross.”
All three musketeers stopped. For a second.
Steph finally broke the silence. “What if…,” she said. “What if we turn them the right way and point the ‘dirty’ end at whoever we’re attacking.”
“Hmmm.” Dom turned her plunger around.
“Hmmm,” Pancho said. “Might work, but they need to be gross.”
“We have Gran’s cookies,” Steph said. “The chocolate’s still warm… and soft… and brown!”
Pancho looked longingly at the cookies before he smeared the soft chocolate over his plunger. Steph and Dom bit a few pieces off before grossing up theirs.
In less than five minutes, all three of them had transformed their swords into the ickiest dueling swords ever. With bits of cookie crumbs embedded in the chocolate.
“En guarde,” Dom said, one arm behind her and up, the other wielding her gross plunger.
“En poop,” Pancho said, and he met her thrust with his plunger.
“En poop,” they all said.
“One for all and all for one!”
They called Roco into the living room and asked Steph’s gran to take a picture with Dom’s phone—the phone Dom was allowed to use if she was abducted by aliens or if she needed to tell her mom that she’d gotten home.
Once the picture was done, they put their plungers on a cookie sheet to dry and sat down to make plans.
But they didn’t get very far.
Dom’s phone rang. It was her brother, and he was MAD.
“Why didn’t you take the check to the butcher?” Rafi yelled.
“I dropped it off at Tava’s Butcher at four twenty-two.” Dom reached into her pocket to get the receipt, but she couldn’t find it. She was so upset she forgot to use her musketeer words. “Oh no! The guy working there had me so twisted around, I left the receipt. No worries. I’ll run by and get it and bring it to you.”
“Forget it.” Rafi sighed. “The pigs are already gone. The butcher said you never came. Since he didn’t have the money, the kid that works for him sold Leni’s pigs to someone else. Dom…” Rafi’s voice wobbled. “El Señor Fuentes is pulling his hair out. He can’t believe you didn’t do what you promised.”
Dom’s stomach twisted into a monumental knot. “But I did. I gave the check to that boy! The one in the front office. His name is Vinnie. I had my musketeer hat on and he called me featherhead just like…”
“Dom?”
Dom’s heart had stopped. Of course she knew that snarl. It was the Bublassi snarl. And that laugh. Ernie Bublassi laughed exactly like that. Ponsi Bublassi had called her “buckethead” when he’d tormented her during her knightly adventures. No wonder the boy at Tava’s had looked familiar.
“Rafi.” Dom was breathless. “I think that kid’s a Bublassi. A dastardly Bublassi. Do you know someone named Vinnie Bublassi?”
Rafi’s gasp joined the other two musketeers’ gasps.
“Oh yes, I do!” Rafi said. “He’s the oldest of the four Bublassis. And he works for Tava’s Butcher. Rico, the Bublassi in my grade, brags that Vinnie brings free meat home all the time.”
“Vinnie Bublassi tricked me! He took my check. And hid it. For some reason. I’ll—I’ll—I’ll prove it. I’ll prove that I handed him that check. And I’ll get those pigs back. Don’t you worry. El Señor Fuentes will still be able to put on the perfect party for Leni.”
“Good luck, sis,” her brother said. “But just in case, we’re starting to make phone calls. We have to find more pigs by Saturday.”
5 A Musketeer’s Honor
Dom checked her plunger. The chocolate was dry. She tucked it into her baldric. “We must redeem my musketeer honor!”
Pancho and Steph nodded. The stumpy plumes in their hats bobbed as if to emphasize the trouble she was in. They picked up their plungers and followed her out the door.
“I need to get that receipt or that piece of paper, whatever it was. And the check. So el Señor Fuentes will believe me. Then Mr. Tava will have to give el Señor Fuentes the pigs.”
Steph put her hand out to stop Dom. “You can’t just walk in there and ask Vinnie Bublassi to give you the receipt.”
“Forsooth, why not?”
“The musketeer speaks the truth. We do not know Bublassi’s dastardly reasons,” Pancho said. “But he did it on purpose. And if he did it on purpose, he won’t give it to you. Maybe he’s even thrown it away already.”
“Or maybe he ate it,” Steph said. “I’ve heard of people doing that. Spies and all.”
Pancho nodded as if he knew a Bublassi would be willing to eat a receipt.
“If he didn’t eat it, I’ll need to find it and get it back,” Dom said.
“You can’t steal it from the butcher shop!” Pancho protested.
Dom started walking again. “Stealing… Stealing… Stealing is not a word I would choose, dearest friend. It’s not stealing if what you take belonged to you to begin with.”
Pancho didn’t look so sure, and Steph stopped walking.
“You can’t just give el Señor Fuentes a piece of paper, anyway,” she said. “He could say you wrote the paper yourself. We need proof you got it from the drawer, right? We need to video you getting it.”
“Yeah. And make sure it has a time stamp.” Pancho recorded their knightly adventures with Dom’s phone. He knew all about taking pictures. “You have to show it happened today and at what time it happened. I’ll be your videographer.”
They needed to get going. Any minute, Vinnie Bublassi could hide the receipt. Or eat it. They had to act quickly. But they also needed a plan. As they walked, they decided to ask the person behind the counter to check in the drawer. Fair and square. No pretending. Not at first. Of course, if they couldn’t convince anyone to look in the drawer, then Pancho and Steph would distract the person while Dom raided the drawer.
“If Vinnie Bublassi’s behind the counter, we may have to use our weapons.”
“One for all and all for one!”
They hurried off to the butcher shop. Roco was gnawing on a bone and seemed happy to stay behind with Gran.
6 The Search for Evidence
The man towered over the counter. The peppery brush on his lip made his nose look huge. Mostly because it was huge. But the man also seemed neat. For a butcher. Because the tag on his apron said ANTONIO TAVA, and his apron sparkled. Not a drop of blood or guts on it.
Dom tried to be polite but firm, like a musketeer would be. “We’re musketeers, and we’re here to right a wrong. We’re here to get the receipt I should have picked up earlier. At four twenty-two. Exactly. From Vinnie Bublassi.”
Mr. Tava smiled, like he would at a cute baby. “And where would that receipt be?”
“In the drawer, but it may not be there anymore.”
“And if it’s not there anymore, how will I give it to you?”
“If it’s not there anymore, it’s somewhere else.”
“And where
would that be?”
“We need to ask Vinnie Bublassi. Maybe he ate it.”
“You’re the little girl who said you brought the check?”
Dom bristled. She did not like being called a little girl. Especially not now that she was a musketeer.
“I did bring the check. And I brought it on time. And Vinnie Bublassi took it, and he wrote a receipt. But he talked and talked and talked and made me angry so I would forget to pick up the receipt. Or else it would be in my hand right now and el Señor Fuentes could pick his pigs up in the morning”—she remembered to add some Musketeer to her speech—“forsooth.”
“But Vinnie Bublassi said no one came from Fuentes with the check. And as far as the pigs…” Mr. Tava pulled out a receipt. “Uh… a Mr. Franklin Desmond took them home at four thirty-two.”
“But Vinnie Bublassi’s lying,” Dom protested. “And if he’s lying, he needs to go back and get the pigs from that Mr. Desmond guy.”
“Why would Vinnie Bublassi lie? He got confused. He thought I said that if the check wasn’t here, he should sell the pigs. Why would he sell the pigs to someone else?”
The only answer Dom could come up with was that she knew the Bublassis. They didn’t need a reason to do something awful. She couldn’t say that aloud, of course.
“That’s what we need to find out,” she said, putting an end to that side of the conversation for the moment. “For now, we need to find the check and the paper. At least we must prove to el Señor Fuentes that I did what he asked. My musketeer honor’s at stake.”
Mr. Tava shook his head.
Steph stepped up. “Kind sir, the musketeer’s not asking for much,” she said. “It’s her honor. She’s looking for something that belongs to her. And she thinks she left it here. Could you please look in your drawer?”
Mr. Tava shook his head some more, but he invited Dom behind the counter.
“Come. Come see,” he said, and he opened the drawer. “There’s nothing here. No check here. No receipt.”
The butcher was right. There was no check. And no receipt. In the drawer. But there was something on the drawer. Blood. Dom saw it on the hand the man pulled back in disgust. He wiped it on a towel that hung behind the counter.
“Excuse me, kind sir,” Dom said. “Where is that blood from?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. Someone… someone…”
“I know exactly how that blood got there. I bet Vinnie Bublassi did it when he reached in to put away the check and write me the receipt. He smeared blood on the receipt. I saw him. Vinnie Bublassi got that blood on your drawer,” Dom declared.
Steph stood up to the butcher. “And that means that what Musketeer Dom said is true. He wrote her the receipt. And we need to find it.”
“If you don’t mind,” Pancho said. “I’ll take a video while we look for the evidence.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mr. Tava bristled.
“But there is blood on your drawer. Someone must have put it there. You, at least, should let the musketeer search the butcher shop to see if she can clear her good name.” Steph stood like a stone wall. “You know, a musketeer’s good name is most important.”
The butcher sighed. “Of course.”
* * *
It took seconds, not minutes, for Dom to find it. The crumpled, blood-smeared piece of paper. The one that said Emilio Fuentes and Dominguita Melendez and 3 suckling pigs and 4:17 and 4:22. And PAID. She found it in the trash can. Not on top, but not really hidden. Pancho took a picture of it while he filmed.
Now they had to find the check. They all knew that. Pancho continued taking videos while Steph and Dom looked. He took pictures of the calendar showing the day’s date and followed it by focusing on his watch—just in case the time stamp on the video didn’t work. He clicked to take stills while he took the videos.
But they didn’t find anything. Not in the sales area.
“We need to keep looking,” Steph said, heading toward a door with a glass window.
“Wait!” Mr. Tava stepped in front of them.
“We have proof that Vinnie, your person, wrote the receipt and threw it away. Now we need the check. It is totally necessary, you know.” Steph tried to step around the butcher. “It’s her honor at stake. We must clear her good name.”
“Stop. I promise I’ll help you clear your name. But you need to stay away from that door, please. That’s where we cut the meat. It’s bad enough you’re in here with those filthy plungers. If bacteria infects the meat, I’ll lose my store. I’ll never be able to be a butcher again.”
Dom nodded, but still she stepped toward the door. The others followed.
Through the glass on the top half of the door, they could see a second door—on the right—labeled REFRIGERATOR ROOM. It seemed to be a heavy metal door. On the left there were metal tables with cutting saws and scales. At a sink close to the door, a tall boy washed his hands.
“That’s Vinnie!” Dom whispered as the boy reached for the paper towels. “I think… I think… I…”
The door opened, and Vinnie stepped into the salesroom.
“En poop!” Dom had been waiting all afternoon to do this. She stuck her plunger right under Vinnie’s chin.
Steph pointed at one of Vinnie’s ears.
Pancho at the other, while he kept filming.
Vinnie Bublassi raised his hands to hold them off, but he was cornered.
“Where did you put the check?”
Vinnie didn’t answer.
Dom stepped closer to the door. Maybe that would get Mr. Tava to do something.
It worked.
“No, no, no.” The butcher tried to stop her. “I beg you. Don’t get any closer to the cutting room.”
“Tell him to give you the check. We’ll leave once the check is in our hands.”
“VINNIE! DO YOU HAVE THE CHECK!”
“Okay, okay. I thought I was doing the right thing. Here’s the check.” Vinnie pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Tava. “I wasn’t gonna cash it or nothin’.”
The butcher let out the breath he’d been holding. It was a very long breath. “Thank you,” he said.
Dom pulled back her plunger. She looked straight at Mr. Tava and dipped her index finger in her mouth to get it wet. She rubbed some brown stuff off the plunger and then licked it. “Yum.”
“GROSS!” Vinnie Bublassi covered his mouth.
“DON’T!” Mr. Tava’s face went very pale.
Steph presented her plunger to Mr. Tava as she pulled off a hard brown piece that was already peeling off. “Chocolate-covered plunger. Want a piece?”
Mr. Tava sighed. He shook his head and pointed his finger at Vinnie Bublassi.
“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” the lying hyena said.
“Exactly,” Dom said. “You didn’t mean nothing. You meant something.” She hated when people used double negatives incorrectly.
Antonio Tava snapped the receipt on his apron. “You had the money before four thirty and you still sold the pigs to someone else. You weren’t confused at all. In fact, I get the feeling Mr. Desmond was just waiting for half past four to come get the pigs!”
The lying Bublassi shrugged. “I told you, I thought I was doing the right thing. What’s the big deal? You could sell her chicken. Or we could pick up more pigs by tomorrow. Or maybe we can sell her some of the barbecue in the freezer. You’ll make more money this way.”
“That’s not the point!” Mr. Tava snapped. “I promised Emilio Fuentes three suckling pigs for his granddaughter’s quinceañera. He ordered them weeks ago.”
The butcher shuffled back behind the counter. “I am so sorry,” he told the musketeers.
Dom felt awful for the butcher. He had been Bublassied. Badly. But there was something she needed him to do. “Kind sir,” she said quietly. “I need you to call el Señor Fuentes and clear my good name.”
“I will call el Señor Fuentes and tell him you were here on time. You can show him the receipt as w
ell. Then I’ll try my best to find more pigs.”
Dom bowed deeply, sweeping her musketeer hat to the ground. “I wish you the best of luck in finding those pigs. El Señor Fuentes is a good friend of the musketeers. And so is his granddaughter.”
The butcher mopped his brow with a handkerchief and then pointed to Vinnie. “I don’t know what got into him. But I will take care of all this.”
Even though Dom’s toes were doing a little dance because she’d revealed the dastardly deed, she wasn’t totally happy. She needed more information.
“Kind merchant,” she said. “Do you have an address or phone number for the Desmond gentleman? Mayhap having pigs, for him, is not as important as it is for the worthy Señor Fuentes’s granddaughter.”
“I already checked,” the butcher said. “He paid with cash. Vinnie didn’t take down a phone number or an address.”
“Nope,” Vinnie said. “Just a name.”
Why was it that Dom saw a triumphant sneer in the hyena’s eye?
7 An Unhappy Bublassi
The musketeers stopped at Dom’s house to talk to Rafi. Dom waved the receipt in front of her brother’s nose.
“See?” She pointed to the times on the paper. “I delivered the money on time.”
Her brother shrugged. He was on his computer, searching the internet and writing notes on grid paper. “Sure, sure. You did the right thing. Great. But we still need to find three suckling pigs by tomorrow. No pigs, no quinceañera!”
“You mean you can’t serve any other food?” Steph said. “It would make things easier.”
Dom, Pancho, and Rafi all looked at one another.
Rafi tried to answer. “It’s… tradition…”
“Cubans eat suckling pig for important holidays and parties, like Christmas and christenings and… quinceañeras,” Pancho added.
“It’s like most people eat turkey for Thanksgiving,” Dom finished up. “It’s tradition.”
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