by Bruce Hale
The wolf brought a paw up to his muzzle and avoided the captain’s eyes. “No,” he squeaked. “Never had the pleasure.”
Kreplach pulled on his mustache. “I never forgets a face, ’specially one as unfortunate as yours. No offense, madam.”
“None taken,” trilled Wolfgang. “It’s all a simple misunderstanding.” Head down, he tried to slip around the guards.
“Stop him!” cried Goldilocks.
The two soldiers blocked Wolfgang’s retreat.
“ ‘Him’?” Captain Kreplach repeated, peering at the wolf’s face. “Don’t you mean —?” His jaw dropped. “Strike me silly. Is that … the Big Bad Wolf?”
“Don’t call me that!” barked the wolf.
The captain snorted a laugh. “Wolfgang? All dressed up like a granny? Ha! Now I’ve seen everything.”
The guards chuckled and nudged each other.
Wolfgang scowled. If he hadn’t been so furry, he would’ve blushed redder than a sunset. “All right now,” he said. “It’s not that funny.”
The older guard cackled. “The roughest bruiser in the — ha! ha! ha! — forest. And he’s wearing — hee, hee! — makeup!”
“That’s enough,” growled Wolfgang.
“And not very well, either,” said the second guard. “Maybe he should get makeup tips from Snow White!” They broke into gales of laughter.
The wolf glowered at Ferkel. “This is all your fault.”
The pig shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Hey!” cried Goldilocks. “This freak and his pet porker attack me, and all you do is laugh?”
Captain Kreplach and his guards made an effort to simmer down.
“Right, then,” he said. “Tell us what happened, miss.”
Goldilocks elbowed Ferkel aside. “I was just minding my own business, picking apples, see?” she said. “Of course you need to make sure they’re not too big, not too small; not too ripe, not too unripe; not too tart, not too —”
“Yeah, yeah, just right,” said the captain, who knew of Goldie’s reputation. “Go on.”
“I was returning to the house, when these two wackos started asking questions. When I tried to go, they attacked me.” She glared at Wolfgang.
“Not true!” said the wolf.
“You did ask some weird questions,” said Goldilocks.
“I was only trying to find out who trashed the Three Pigs’ houses,” he said, appealing to the captain.
Goldie put a hand on her hip, eyes narrowing. “And you thought I did it?”
“You are a notorious housebreaker,” said Wolfgang.
She whacked him with her basket again, sending apples flying. “Take that back, you weirdo wolf!”
“Here now, miss!” said the captain. “Settle down.”
“You see?” said Wolfgang. “Rude and uncooperative. Guilty for sure!”
Captain Kreplach frowned. “You — first off, lose that cap. It’s creepy.”
The wolf growled, but he whipped off the cap and wiped off his makeup with it.
“Now, Miss Goldie,” said the captain. “If you’ll just answer a simple question, we can all be on our way.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
Ferkel cut in. “Where were you last night between sunset and midnight?”
“Button it.” Captain Kreplach sent him an exasperated look, then turned to the girl. “Yeah, what the pig said.”
“Me?” Goldilocks drew herself up. “I’m not the guilty one here. These beasts attacked me on my own —”
“Answer the dog-danged question!” snarled Wolfgang.
Goldie stepped back, eyes wide. “Oh my. Well, um, last night I was having a slumber party.”
“Can anyone confirm that?” asked Ferkel.
The captain glared at him again. “Stop doin’ my job, pig.” He turned to the girl. “Can anyone confirm that?”
Goldilocks huffed, but she answered. “Rapunzel and Thumbelina. We were up all night, braiding Rapunzel’s hair, and we almost lost Thumbelina in it. Just ask her, if you don’t believe me.”
“Maybe we will,” Wolfgang sneered.
“Thanks, miss,” said Captain Kreplach. “We’re done here.”
“But aren’t you going to punish the wolf?” She pouted.
The captain eyed Wolfgang. “He’ll get punishment enough, if he don’t find the culprit by sundown.”
Goldie flounced inside and slammed the door.
Captain Kreplach leaned close to the wolf and whispered three words: “Porridge. For. Life.”
Wolfgang flinched.
The captain swaggered back down the walk after his men. At the gate, he turned.
“You know …” he began.
“What?” said the wolf.
“Next time you wear a nightie, try somethin’ in ivory. Pink just ain’t your color.”
With a mean laugh, the guards marched away.
The wolf cocked a worried eye at the sun slanting through the pines. “Only three hours left,” he said, “and we’re running out of suspects.”
As Ferkel and Wolfgang tramped on down the forest road, the wolf growled, “This detective stuff isn’t working out.”
Ferkel waved away his comment. “Don’t be so negative, Mr. Grumpy-pants.”
Grumpy-pants? thought Wolfgang.
“Here’s what we do now,” said Ferkel. “Look for more clues at the scene of the crime.”
The wolf ducked under a low-hanging branch. “But we already saw the brick house — nothing there.”
“So,” said Ferkel, “we visit the stick house, and we talk to the neighbors. That’s the detective way!”
Wolfgang raised a skeptical eyebrow. “All right. Since nothing else seems to be working …”
They hiked over hill and down dale until they spotted Martin Pig’s house of sticks, which was hard to miss. It looked like an out-of-control beaver dam with doors, and its garden, Wolfgang noted, was a disaster area. To reach it, they had to pass by the tidy white cottage of Martin’s nearest neighbor.
“First, we interview whoever lives here,” said Ferkel. “Maybe they heard or saw something last night.”
Wolfgang bowed and swept an arm toward the home. “Lead on, O Pig Detective. This better work.”
Ferkel squared his shoulders and marched up the stone walkway.
As they approached the door, the wolf’s nose wrinkled. “That smell,” he said. “I know that smell.”
At Ferkel’s knock, the door swung open to reveal a good-sized tabby cat wearing boots and a hat. “Good day, chaps,” said the tabby. “And what can I do for —?”
As soon as the cat spied Wolfgang, all the hairs on its body stood straight up like a furry pincushion. “Wolf!” it hissed.
“Cat!” snarled Wolfgang. His hackles rose and his tail went stiff.
Ferkel stepped between them with arms raised. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Time out, both of you.”
A low growl rumbled from Wolfgang’s throat. The cat continued to hiss. It sounded like a landslide meeting the world’s largest teakettle.
The pig doffed his blue velvet cap, jumped up, and swatted Wolfgang across the nose with it. “Bad wolf!” he cried. “Settle down!”
Wolfgang blinked, his concentration broken. Had a half-pint pig really bopped him on the nose?
Ferkel turned to the cat. “I apologize for my friend, Mr…. ?”
“Puss in Boots,” the cat yowled, his gaze still glued to the wolf.
“Wolfgang doesn’t know how to act in polite company,” said Ferkel. “Listen, could I ask you a couple of questions?”
The tabby kept one paw on the door, ready to slam it in a second. “Only if he backs off.”
“Oh, Wolfgang?” sang Ferkel sweetly.
The wolf grumbled and growled, but he took several steps away from the cottage. “Ask about last night,” he called.
“I will,” said the pig. “Mr. Boots —”
“Call me Puss,” said the cat.
“Puss, then. Were y
ou home last night?”
Slowly, the cat’s fur began to settle back into place. “The early part, yes. Before midnight.”
“And did you see anyone coming or going from the stick house next door?”
Puss smoothed down his whiskers. “Well, Martin Pig, of course. He left home just before sundown.”
“Anyone else?” called Wolfgang.
At his rough voice, the cat’s fur bristled again. “Drat!” said Puss. “Tell him to clam up, old boy. I can’t do a thing with my hair if he keeps startling me like that.”
“Wolfgang, please?” said Ferkel.
“Since you asked nicely.” The wolf mimed zipping his lips.
Puss in Boots licked a paw and used it to slick down his shoulder fur. “Let me think….” He lapped his way down a foreleg.
Wolfgang rolled his eyes.
“Ah, yes,” the cat continued. “I do recall seeing someone.”
The wolf’s ears perked up.
“Who?” said the pig.
“Yo mama,” said Puss.
“Excuse me?” said Ferkel.
“Mama Pig. She must have stopped by around eight o’clock or so.”
Wolfgang’s tail drooped. This wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for.
“Anyone else?” asked Ferkel.
The cat shrugged and sat down to lick his hind leg. “Not a soul. Look, I really must finish my tongue bath now, but do drop by for tea sometime — without your friend.”
“Love to.”
“Don’t worry,” Wolfgang sneered. “I’ve had as much cat as I can stomach.” He spun on his heel and strode down the path to Martin Pig’s house, with Ferkel trotting to keep up.
“So what do you think it means?” asked Ferkel.
“Three things come to mind,” said Wolfgang as they began searching around the stick house for clues. “First, your mother dropped by to see Martin, found nobody home, and left without noticing the place had been trashed.”
“That makes sense.” Ferkel poked through some bushes.
“Second, your mother came and trashed your brother’s house.”
Ferkel frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“And third,” said the wolf, pausing to sniff around the front of the house, “your new kitty-cat pal is either lying or too dim-witted to spot the culprit.”
Ferkel cocked his head. “I think you’re jealous that I hit it off with Puss.”
“Jealous of that hair-ball hacker? That’ll be the day.”
Wolfgang rattled the locked doorknob, peered through the window, and sniffed deeply. “Double-dog-dang it!”
“What?” asked Ferkel, rising on tiptoe to look through the glass.
The wolf sneezed. “Just as I feared. Your neat-freak mother beat us here. The whole place stinks of nothing but ammonia and pig.”
Wolfgang slumped onto the front steps and put his head in his paws. He might live in Fairylandia, but it was starting to seem like there’d be no happily ever after for the Big Bad Wolf.
And still the sun sank lower. His jail cell beckoned.
Things looked so bad, Wolfgang felt like howling a mournful howl. But he was, after all, the Big Bad Wolf, with a big bad reputation to uphold, so he contented himself with a grumpy growl.
Ferkel sat down beside him. “Something wrong?”
“Really?” The wolf shot him a sarcastic look. “What makes you say that? Just because in two hours I’ll be locked up for good, and we’ve got only the slimmest leads?”
“Cheer up!” said Ferkel. “It could always be worse.”
“How?”
“There could be no time left and no leads at all.”
Wolfgang shook his shaggy head. “You’re such a comfort.”
Ferkel beamed. “Thanks, I try. Look, the point is, we still have two hours left to crack this case.”
“So what do you suggest?” said Wolfgang.
“We dash over and ask my mama why she visited last night, dash over and see if the straw house has been cleaned yet, then run and interview Cinderella,” said Ferkel. “Did you know she used to go out with my brother Dieter?”
The wolf winced at the thought. “Thanks for that image. Anyway, we don’t have enough time to do it all.”
“So, what, then?”
Wolfgang stood. “We split up. You take your mom, I take Cinderella.”
“And the straw house?” asked Ferkel.
“Send a messenger crow when you’re done,” said the wolf. “If there’s time, we’ll meet at the straw house; if not, straight to the castle.”
“This is exciting!” piped Ferkel.
“A thrill a minute,” said Wolfgang drily. “Now, go!”
They trotted back down the footpath, and when they reached the road, hurried away in opposite directions.
“Go easy on Cinderella!” Ferkel called back. “Use your charm!”
“I’m a wolf!” yelled Wolfgang. “We don’t do charm.”
“Then use your tricksiness.”
“That,” muttered the wolf, “I can do.”
* * *
Down the road and across the meadow Wolfgang sprinted, heading for Cinderella’s fancy mansion. A word about the young woman before we meet her.
You’ve no doubt heard Cindy’s tale — the mean stepsisters, the fairy godmother, the prince, the pumpkin. And parts of it are actually true. But the story didn’t unfold quite like it does in storybooks.
For one thing, the prince’s ball wasn’t the first affair Cinderella had crashed. In fact, this lassie made a habit out of dropping into parties uninvited and helping herself to cookies and punch, and whatever else took her fancy. And for another thing, the whole happily-ever-after bit with the prince?
Didn’t work out.
Sure, they dated a few times, but Prince Tyrone was looking for someone a bit more … serious to rule the kingdom with him. He broke it off with Cinderella and ended up with Princess Ingrid, a much better fit.
Still, Cindy was able to talk him into building her a smallish mansion before the breakup, so it wasn’t a total loss.
Loping across the fields, Wolfgang took a shortcut, and before too long, he arrived at the ’Rella Estate (for that was what Cindy called her swanky house). Its gardens were immaculate, Wolfgang noted. As he headed up the curving stone walkway to the many-towered structure, the wolf smelled the buttery odor of … butter. He followed his nose and poked his head around the side of the mansion.
Just outside the kitchen door, Cinderella stood over her youngest stepsister, Prunella, who was grinding away at a churn.
“That’s it,” said Cindy. “Put some, like, elbow grease into it. I want croissants, and croissants need butter!”
“Listen to Miss Bossy,” muttered her sister.
Cinderella gestured at the driveway. “Hey, anytime you want to leave …” She frowned when she spotted Wolfgang approaching. “Who’s that? One of your boyfriends?”
Prunella arched an eyebrow. “Unlike some girls, I don’t date forest creatures.”
The wolf raised his paw in what he hoped was a friendly wave. “Hello, ladies!” He made an extra effort not to flash his fangs when he smiled. “Lovely day, eh?”
Cinderella and her sister traded a nervous glance. “Um, yeah, whatever,” said Cindy.
“Spare a minute for a brief chat?” asked Wolfgang, doing his best to sound like one of those fancy-pants courtiers at the castle.
“Whatever you’re selling, we don’t need any,” said Prunella, gathering up her churn.
“And we’ve got to get the butter into the, um, butter thingy,” said Cinderella, pretending to help her.
The wolf ignored their words and leaned on the doorframe. Prunella shrank away from him.
“I found this in your driveway,” he said, producing the brown and red head scarf. “Did one of you lovely ladies drop it?”
“As if,” said Cinderella. “That style is so, like, Middle Ages — I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”
Wolfgang w
as undaunted. “Seen much of Dieter Pig lately?” he asked.
“Dieter?” said Cindy. “He’s, like, ancient history.”
“Word around the forest is that you parted on bad terms,” said Wolfgang.
“Duh,” said Cinderella. “I dumped his corn-fed butt.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t what the wolf had been hoping to hear, but he pressed onward. “And isn’t it true that when he got a new girlfriend, you went insanely jealous?”
Cindy frowned. “Me? I’ve already had, like, three other boyfriends since Dieter.”
A bit desperately, Wolfgang continued, “Jealous enough to trash his house and his brothers’ houses, too? Admit it! You did it!”
For a moment, Cinderella stared at him, wide-eyed. This is it, thought the wolf, she’s going to confess.
And then Cindy threw back her head and burst into peals of laughter.
Wolfgang sighed.
“Trashed his — ha, ha, ha! — house?” chortled Cinderella. “That loser? Mister, you are too — hoo, hoo! — funny.”
“So that’s a no, then?” said Wolfgang miserably.
That triggered another Cinderella laugh attack, and this time Prunella joined in. Shaking their heads and wiping away tears, they lugged the butter churn inside and slammed the door in Wolfgang’s face. He slumped.
Great. Just great.
Eighty minutes left, and the wolf was fresh out of suspects.
Wolfgang stumbled back down the driveway, visions of cold porridge filling his mind. He shook his head. This was no time to wimp out. Maybe he should review his suspects and compare them or something?
For the first time, the wolf wished that Ferkel was there. Somehow the little pig had a knack for all that detective-y stuff, though Wolfgang would never admit that to his face.
As if summoned by his thought, the caw-caw of a messenger crow broke the late afternoon stillness. Black wings flapped, and the bird landed on a nearby oak branch.
“Message for wolf!” it croaked.
“Give me that!” Wolfgang made a grab for the scroll tied to the crow’s leg. The bird half-hopped, half-flew to a higher branch, just out of reach.
“Money first,” it said.
Wolfgang grumbled, but he dug some change from his vest pocket and held it out.