When Did You See Her Last

by Lemony Snicket

  “Like those threats to the library,” Mimi said.

  “Or those stolen melons,” her husband said.

  “Or the broken glass in that alley.”

  Harvey Mitchum looked Ellington Feint straight in her green eyes. “You’re in a great deal of trouble, young lady. You’ll likely be on the next train to the city, where you will be imprisoned for your crimes. In the meantime, we’ll take you down to the station and lock you up until all of us know what’s what.”

  I did not like to think about how long it would take for all of us to know what was what. My own chaperone did not yet know how to acceptably style her hair, and she’d been growing it for years. The Officers Mitchum marched Ellington out the door, and I put on my coat and tucked the Bombinating Beast under my arm before following them.

  “What a beautiful blankie,” Stewart cooed to me, pointing at the light blue fringe.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I told him, “but it’s not for sale.”

  “It’s too bad you don’t want to do business with me,” he said, giving me a very dark look. “I’m going to be very important around here.”

  “You already are,” I said. “You’re the sweetest boy the town’s ever seen.”

  “Keep joking,” Stew said. “You just keep on joking and see where it gets you.”

  “I guess I should be scared,” I said. “You’re good with a slingshot.”

  The officers’ son leaned in close. “And I have a friend,” he murmured, “who is good with a knife.”

  I blinked at him and saw him in a new light, a phrase which here means that I no longer thought he was harmless. We are all told to ignore bullies. It’s something they teach you, and they can teach you anything. It doesn’t mean you learn it. It doesn’t mean you believe it. One should never ignore bullies. One should stop them.

  “Hop in, Snicket,” Harvey Mitchum said, hopping in himself. It was apparently his turn to drive. “We’ll give you and your chaperone a ride as far as the station.”

  “Very kind of you,” Theodora said. “I’m sorry my youngster was so much trouble.”

  The adults piled into the front of the car, and the children got into the back, which is the way of the world. Stew leaned his head out of the window and started sirening, and Ellington looked straight ahead and did not say anything to me. I let her think things through and listened to the adults. The difficulty of caring for children, they said. Disobedience, they said. Authority. A difficult age. When they were children, they never would have dared to do what children do nowadays without batting an eye. If their grandparents were alive to see this, they would roll in their graves. I began to listen to the sputter of the station wagon instead. It made more sense.

  The Mitchums parked, and we walked across the lawn, past the statue that had melted in the explosion. We walked up the steps and into the station. The station looked even less impressive than it had that morning. Maybe it was because that morning I’d thought the police might do the right thing. They led Ellington Feint to the far end of the room and put her in the cell. I watched her sit down on the cot, and Stew took this opportunity to kick me in the calf while nobody else was looking. He kicked hard. I wished I had the biting tadpole handy. The adults were still shaking their heads over the sad state of today’s youth, so I went to Ellington and looked over her situation.

  “It’s an ordinary enough pin tumbler lock,” I said to her in a quiet murmur. “You can do it with one of your hairpins. Think of the lock as containing a tiny chest of drawers. If you open all of the drawers the exact right amount, the lock will open.”

  She gave me a tiny nod. “I won’t be able to do it,” she murmured back, “unless you lure them away.”

  “The police are on to my tricks,” I said, “but I’ll try to give them a real reason to leave the station. In the meantime, at least you’re safe.”

  “Anything is safe,” she said, “if it’s locked in here.”

  I stepped back, just slightly. Ellington stood up from the cot.

  “Give it to me,” she said. “It’s the best place for it.”

  “Come along now, Snicket,” Theodora called to me. “We’ve been in these officers’ hair long enough.”

  It was impossible not to smile when Theodora said the word “hair.” Ellington smiled too. “She’ll ask you what it is,” she said.

  “She won’t notice,” I said.

  “She’ll notice.”

  “Well, then I’ll tell her.”

  “You won’t tell her.”

  But Theodora had reached me. “What’s that?” she said, frowning at what I was holding. I looked at Ellington Feint. Ellington Feint watched me.

  “It’s my security blanket,” I said.

  “Security blanket?” Theodora repeated with a frown. “Be sensible, Snicket. It’s not proper for someone of your age to have a security blanket. Give it to me.”

  “I thought I would give it to Ms. Feint,” I said, “in case she found it difficult to be alone.”

  “I’m teaching myself not to mind,” Ellington said quietly.

  “They can teach you anything,” I said, and took the statue from underneath my arm. Even covered by a childish blanket, it felt dark, and mysterious, and even menacing. I felt its weight in my hands as I passed it through the bars. They can teach you anything. It doesn’t mean you learn it. It doesn’t mean you believe it. I couldn’t believe it myself, that I was giving Ellington Feint the Bombinating Beast.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Moxie was waiting for me right outside the police station. She looked cross. She’d even put down her typewriter, right by the door of the library, so she could cross her arms. She did it crossly.

  “Don’t be mad, Moxie.”

  “I am mad,” she said. “I sat in the library reading about military history for hours, and when I went to show you what I’d found, you’d snuck out.”

  Theodora put a stern hand on my shoulder. “ ‘Snuck’ is not proper,” she said to Moxie. “The correct term is ‘sneaked.’ And it does not surprise me that Snicket has disappointed you, whoever you are.”

  Moxie turned her eyes from me to my chaperone and then reached into the brim of her hat. “I’m Moxie Mallahan,” she said, handing Theodora one of her printed cards. “The News. We’ve met before.”

  “I’m not interested in discussing imaginary meetings,” Theodora said, absently tucking Moxie’s card into her hair. “I’ve had a very trying day. I solved a case in a few minutes, but then my apprentice spent the afternoon sending the police on a wild-goose chase. His little friend has been arrested, and I’m considering putting him back on probation.”

  Recently I’d figured out the difference between being on probation and not being on probation. The difference was that if I were on probation, Theodora could remind me I was on probation, and if I were not on probation, Theodora could remind me that she could put me back on probation. Theodora snuck a look at me to see what I thought of what she’d said. I looked at the ground.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Markson,” Moxie said, trying not to stare at Theodora’s hair. “A person of your great skill shouldn’t have to be bothered by inept apprentices. If you solved a case today, you should be celebrating, not disciplining troublesome underlings.”

  Theodora’s voice softened slightly, like an old onion. “I quite agree,” she said. “Perhaps you’re more sensible than I first thought.”

  “That’s very sweet of you to say,” Moxie said politely.

  “Snicket, make yourself scarce,” Theodora said. “I’m going to celebrate the solving of this case.”

  “I’ll look after him, Ms. Markson,” Moxie said. “That way he’ll be out of your…”

  I watched Moxie’s face as she did something very difficult. A laugh is harder to swallow whole than a honeydew melon. Her mouth twisted every which way, and her eyes flitted madly as she looked everywhere but at me. “Out of your hair, Ms. Markson,” she finished finally. “Out of your hair.”

&nbs
p; Theodora gave Moxie a nod and strode down the stairs. We waited until it was safe to open up the laugh, and then we shared it. “You have a very good polite voice,” I told her.

  “That’s very sweet of you to say,” she said again. “My mother said a good polite voice is the journalist’s best tool because people are more likely to tell you important information if you treat them nicely. She had an expression for it—you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  “Either way,” I said, “you end up with flies. Did your mother teach you the phrase ‘troublesome underlings’?”

  “My father used to call everyone at the newspaper that, as a joke.” She stared out at the lawn, the damaged statue, and the darkening sky. “Back when the newspaper was running,” she said, “and when my father was in a jokey mood.”

  “It’s a good phrase,” I said.

  “You might not be a troublesome underling, Snicket, but you are still troublesome. You said we were associates, and then you ran out of the library without telling me.”

  “I had to follow someone.”

  “I would have gone with you.”

  “I keep telling you, Moxie, I don’t want to lead you into danger.”

  She reached down and picked up her typewriter. “I’m a journalist, Snicket. A dangerous story is an interesting story, and interesting stories belong in the newspaper. Now tell me everything that happened since you sneaked out of the library—”

  “Snuck,” I said, but Moxie just shook her head.

  “When did you leave? Who did you follow? How did you know to follow them? Where did they go? What did you find? Why aren’t you telling me?”

  I sat down on the steps. “I’ll tell you,” I said.

  She opened her typewriter. “Everything,” she reminded me.

  I told her everything. She typed wildly, like she was hurrying after something. She took off her hat and scratched her forehead in thought. “So Ellington Feint pretended to be Cleo Knight, so Cleo could stay in town and finish her formula for invisible ink.”

  “But Ms. Feint took her Cleo Knight act to the Inhumane Society to get closer to Hangfire and rescue her father.”

  “And meanwhile Cleo was kidnapped, and nobody’s seen or heard from her.”

  “Maybe somebody has,” I said suddenly. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “That’s funny. I thought somebody else was Hungry.”

  “I don’t follow you, Snicket.”

  “Then follow me, Moxie.”

  Moxie followed me. The last few rays of sun lit the lawn in dim stripes. The shape of the ruined statue made a long, strange shadow. “You haven’t even asked me what I discovered,” Moxie said.

  “I thought you were too mad to tell me.”

  She frowned at me. “I didn’t appreciate being left at the library, but I did find some interesting information. Dashiell Qwerty stopped by to check on me, and he just happened to leave a book on the table that turned out to be important. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”

  “It might be serendipity,” I said, “or it might be something else.”

  “Whenever I talk with you, I get the feeling there’s something else,” Moxie said to me. “You’re chasing mysteries, Snicket, but you’ve been a mystery yourself since you arrived in town. I have the sense there’s something you’re not telling me—something secret underneath the surface, like an underground tunnel.”

  I froze. “What exactly did you find out?”

  Moxie walked over to the remains of the statue and ran her hands down the cold, melted metal. “Remember that photograph I showed you?”

  I nodded. “It was the groundbreaking ceremony, with everyone gathered to celebrate the first day of work on the statue honoring Colonel Colophon.”

  “Not everyone was celebrating,” Moxie said. “The book Qwerty left on the table talked about what happened beforehand. There was a fierce argument over the statue, and after the groundbreaking ceremony the argument only got fiercer. There were people who thought that the war was nothing to celebrate and that Colonel Colophon shouldn’t be honored for so much bloodshed. The tree that was uprooted was home to the Farnsworth Pulpeater Moths, and people were angry that no one had thought of what would happen to those rare and endangered creatures. At first there were only a few people who thought this way, and they began to make trouble. They even formed a sort of troublemaking society.”

  “The Inhumane Society,” I said.

  Moxie blinked at me. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew you’d know.”

  “I didn’t know, really,” I said. “I guessed.”

  “You’re a good guesser.”

  “I have good associates.”

  We’d reached the door of Hungry’s, and I held it open for Moxie, who sat immediately at the counter and typed a few lines. Pip and Squeak looked up at the sound and gave us a wave, and Jake Hix gave us a salute from the stove, where he was standing over something sizzling with a spatula in his hand.

  “Did you finish that mystery?” I asked him.

  “Not quite,” Jake said.

  “Well, maybe you can help me with mine.”

  Jake slid the sizzles onto two plates and then hovered over them with a pepper grinder. “Let me just serve this up, and I’ll come talk to you,” he said.

  “What are you fixing?”

  “Gashouse eggs. Let me whip some up for you.”

  “Me too, Jake,” said Moxie, without looking up from her notes.

  Jake gave her a smile and delivered dinner to the Bellerophon brothers. “Sure thing, Moxie. Haven’t seen you around for a while. How’ve you been?”

  “Busy,” Moxie said, and kept typing while Jake got to work tossing another cube of butter into a hot, flat pan. “Tell me,” I said to Pip, “why didn’t you mention that you picked up Ellington Feint in your cab the other day?”

  “You didn’t ask,” Pip said, with his mouth full.

  “You just asked about Cleo Knight,” Squeak said.

  Jake frowned into the butter. “If that’s what this is about, maybe I don’t want to talk to you after all, Snicket,” he told me. “I said before, I don’t talk about my customers.”

  “You’re good at keeping secrets,” I said, “but you could be better. You slipped up. You said you didn’t know her very well, and then you called her Cleo. Everybody calls her Miss Knight. Even her parents call her Miss Knight. You must be pretty close friends if you’re calling her Cleo.”

  Jake was silent for a minute. He sliced two big hunks of bread and ripped a hole in each of them, right in the middle, and then slid the two hunks into the sizzling pan along with a handful of spinach and a few mushrooms. He got two eggs ready to crack, and he still didn’t look at me. Gashouse eggs are sunny-side-up eggs cooked in the middle of a piece of bread. It’s like French toast and fried eggs are dancing together, with some spinach and mushrooms playing the tune. He was sore at me, but he was still cooking me dinner. Jake Hix was a person of honor.

  “We’re not friends,” he said, finally and quietly. “We’re sweethearts, OK? Go ahead and laugh if you want to.”

  “I never laugh at a man’s romantic life,” I said. “That’s his own business.”

  “Well, the Knight family doesn’t feel that way,” he said. “They don’t think it’s proper to have a hash slinger like me involved with their brilliant chemist.”

  “A chemist and a cook are basically doing the same thing,” I said. “It all comes down to mixing and heating some basic elements.”

  Pip pointed to his meal with his fork. “Then I’d call you a brilliant chemist, Hix.”

  Jake smiled and covered the pan. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Knight put up such a fuss that Cleo and I had to keep things secret. But now that the Knights have left town, there’s no reason to keep sneaking around.”

  “Does that mean this is on the record?” Moxie asked, her fingers poised over the typewriter keys.

  “Sure,” Jake said. He wiped his hands on a tow
el and slung it over his shoulder. “Cleo is hiding out, working on a big experiment. When she’s done, Stain’d-by-the-Sea will be a real town again, and Cleo and I will get married.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not the case,” I said.

  “Sure it is,” Jake said. “Cleo made a deal with some girl. They dyed her hair and dressed her up in the same clothes so that anyone who went looking for her would be on the wrong track. Sorry, Snicket, but you’ve been barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I barked up that tree and found a bird anyway,” I said. “Listen, Jake. Has Cleo called you?”

  Jake shook his head. “She said it might be a little while,” he said. “I’m not nervous about it, though. Cleo’s not afraid of anything except heights and not finishing her formula.”

  I looked at him and asked him the question on the cover of this book.

  “Yesterday morning, right outside this diner,” Jake said, pointing with a spatula. He uncovered the pan, and the steam rose into his face. “She had tea here, and then she got into her Dilemma and drove off. It’s like I told you before, Snicket. I just didn’t tell you all of it.”

  He served up the gashouse eggs, first to Moxie and then to me. I knew they’d be delicious, but I didn’t want to eat them. I didn’t want to be at Hungry’s telling Jake Hix the bad news. “Cleo Knight’s Dilemma is parked a block away with a flat tire,” I said. “The family apothecary grabbed her, Hix.”

  Jake Hix went white. “No,” he said. “Now you’re not telling me the truth, Snicket.”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said. “I think she’s in the clutches of a doctor named Flammarion and a villain named Hangfire. She should be at the Colophon Clinic.” I looked down the counter at Pip and Squeak. “I’d appreciate a ride,” I said, “so we can get her back.”

  “Of course,” Pip said. “Let’s go.”

  Everyone got up from the counter, and Jake Hix tossed the towel down to the ground and turned a sign around in the window so it read CLOSED. “Why didn’t you tell me before, Snicket?” he asked. “Why’d you let me chatter away when all the while my sweetheart was in danger?”