by Kara LaReau
“But we don’t have any money here, and we only have just a little at home, which we’ve earned by sock darning,” Kale explained.
“Maybe Magique can pay you, once you find her,” Jaundice suggested. “I bet she has money. After all, her father was a famous magician. And he had a book published; she must be rich.”
“Very well,” said Hugo Fromage. “First, let us search her compartment.”
“We already have,” said Kale.
“But not with HUGO FROMAGE, THE GREAT DETECTIVE,” Hugo Fromage reminded them. “There is nothing I do not notice or remember. As we go, please tell me everything you know and recall about your traveling companion—what she said, what she wore, what her luggage looked like . . . and how she seemed.”
“How she seemed?” asked Jaundice.
“Oui,” said the master detective. “The victim’s temperament can be very telling.”
“She seemed eager for her next performance,” Kale recalled.
“She said she had something really big planned,” added Jaundice. “Something ‘astonishing.’”
As the Bland Sisters recounted their experiences with Magique, Hugo Fromage listened intently, until—
SCREECH!
The train jolted. Jaundice, Kale, and Hugo Fromage bumped into one another. Teacups and spoons went clattering to the floor. Someone in the dining room gasped. The woman in the tweedy coat nearly dropped the pitcher of cream she was holding. The lights flickered, then went off, then went on again.
“What’s going on?” Mr. Hatchett asked Mr. Harold as the conductor ran by.
“There’s an abandoned truck near the tracks,” Mr. Harold quickly explained. “A Fluff-O truck. The driver must have gone for help when the back doors came unlocked—barrels are overturned everywhere, and the Uncanny Express is now stuck.”
“What’s Fluff-O?” Kale asked.
“I believe it is marshmallow crème,” explained Hugo Fromage. “Among other things, it is used as a spread, commonly accompanied by peanut butter in a sandwich known as a ‘fluffernutter.’”
“That sounds . . . terrible,” said Jaundice. Kale grimaced in agreement.
“It also sounds messy,” said Mr. Hatchett. “How long is it going to take to clean up?”
“I’m not sure yet,” said Mr. Harold. “I’ll update you whenever I can.”
The Bland Sisters leaned outside, where they could see the truck next to the tracks, its back doors open, surrounded by broken Fluff-O barrels. The marshmallow crème clung to the tracks and the wheels of the Uncanny Express like heavy, sticky snow.
“Follow me, mademoiselles,” Hugo Fromage said. “With this delay of the train, we now have more time to get to the bottom of our mystery.”
Slowly, meticulously, the detective inspected Magique’s train compartment. He looked underneath and behind the seats, just as the Bland Sisters had, but he also knocked against all the walls, stomped on the floor, and tried pulling up the carpet. He scrutinized each and every scarf, ball, cup, and playing card. Then he turned to the box of candy and the dish of burned paper.
“You say there was a fire in here?” he asked.
The Bland Sisters nodded. Hugo Fromage pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped the candy box, the red envelope, and the burned, wet scraps inside.
“What are you doing?” asked Kale.
“Collecting evidence,” explained the great detective, looking around the room. “Anything out of the ordinary, great or small, must be considered with suspicion.”
His eyes fell on something stuck in the door hinge. Gently, he opened the door and dislodged it.
“What is it?” asked Jaundice.
“A torn piece of fabric,” said Hugo Fromage, holding it up.
“It’s purple,” said Kale. “Like Magique’s robe.”
“And it has a stain on it. A red stain,” said Jaundice. “She showed that to us earlier, when she was telling us about how her last audience threw tomatoes at her.”
“I know all about stains, thanks to Tillie’s Tips,” said Kale, squinting. “And that isn’t the same one she showed me before.”
“How right you are, mademoiselle,” said the great detective. “This stain is fresh, and it is not from tomatoes. It is darker, and redder, perhaps from something else. Something . . . like blood!”
The Bland Sisters shivered.
“I must collect this evidence. If only I had brought along another handkerchief,” said Hugo Fromage.
“You can use this one,” said Jaundice, pulling a handkerchief from one of her smock pockets. “I found it just outside, after we first realized Magique was missing.”
“Mademoiselle, I cannot use this to collect evidence. For this is evidence,” the great detective explained. The handkerchief was crisp and white, with green embroidery around the edges, and the letter H embroidered in one corner, surrounded by flowers.
“It’s pretty,” noted Kale. “I wonder who it belongs to?”
“The H is not for Hugo, that is certain. But I will be holding on to it for the foreseeable future,” said the great detective.
Jaundice dug into another smock pocket and produced the plastic baggie. “How about this, then?”
“Perfection,” said Hugo Fromage. Once the evidence was properly collected, he clapped his hands. “Now, shall we take a look at the rest of the train?”
The great detective and the Bland Sisters walked up and down the three cars of the Uncanny Express, including the passenger car, the dining car, and finally, the luggage car.
“This looks promising,” the great detective said, gesturing to a large purple cabinet. Jaundice read the label hanging from one of its knobs.
“It belongs to Magique!” she exclaimed. “And it’s supposed to be delivered to the Uncanny Valley Hippodrome. I bet it’s for her show.”
“I have heard of this type of apparatus before. In the world of magic, I believe it is known as a disappearing cabinet,” Hugo Fromage explained, running his gloved hand over its gilded trim.
“I bet she’s inside!” exclaimed Kale.
But when she flung open the doors, the cabinet was empty. Hugo Fromage rummaged around the cabinet’s interior, just to be sure. Then he stood for a moment, thinking. Finally, he looked up at Jaundice and Kale.
“There is definitely something missing,” said the great detective.
“Other than Magique?” asked Kale.
“Indeed,” said Hugo Fromage. “In your account of your magician friend, you said she carries a purple satchel. There is no satchel here, as you see.”
“And it wasn’t back in her compartment,” noted Jaundice. “What does that mean?”
“There are three possibilities, I think,” said the master detective. “The first is that your employer has left the train.”
“You mean, she jumped off?” Jaundice said.
“Précisément,” said Hugo Fromage.
Kale looked out the window. “But the train was going so fast. Even if she didn’t take a heavy satchel with her, jumping off a speeding train wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“I did say there were three possibilities,” the master detective said.
“What are the other two?” asked Jaundice.
“The second is that your employer may be hiding.”
“But we’ve already searched the train, and we couldn’t find her anywhere,” said Kale.
“Unless she’s in one of these, which really wouldn’t be a good idea,” said Jaundice, assessing the various stacks of luggage. Nothing seemed big enough to hold a full-grown magician.
“Well,” said Hugo Fromage. “There may indeed be a third possibility.”
“Which is . . . ?” asked Kale.
The master detective raised his perfectly waxed eyebrows. “Foul play, of course.”
“What is ‘foul play’?” asked Jaundice.
“It means ‘danger,’ mademoiselle,” explained Hugo Fromage. “It means that someone on this train has made your magician disappear—a
gainst her will. And it means we have a mystery on our hands.”
“We’re not big fans of mysteries,” said Jaundice. “Unless they’re in books.”
Indeed, the Bland Sisters had very recently started reading a series of books about two intrepid brothers named Keith and Joe Nubbins, aka the Nubbins Twins. The second book in the series, The Mystery of the Secret of the Clock Under the Stairs in the House on Cabin Island, looked very promising.
“What do we do now?” asked Kale.
“Unfortunately for the perpetrator, Hugo Fromage is on the case!” said the master detective, jabbing his gloved finger into the air. He turned on his heel and waddled away. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “Follow me to the dining car!”
Quickly and quietly, Hugo Fromage informed Mr. Harold and the other passengers of the situation: Magique was missing, and the Uncanny Valley Police should be notified. In the meantime, he announced, he would be conducting an investigation.
“Where do we even start?” asked Jaundice.
“We start with a list and a map,” said the great detective, handing Kale a clipboard. “This list is called the passenger manifest. Every person who bought a ticket for this journey should be accounted for, and this diagram of the train compartments should show us where they should be situated, oui?”
“Um . . . oui,” said Kale. She looked at the manifest. “This is a lot of people.”
“And a lot of compartments,” said Jaundice, looking at the diagram.
“Then we must work quickly,” Hugo Fromage said, pulling out two chairs from one of the dining tables. “Please, be seated, mademoiselles. The first suspect is due to arrive at any moment.”
“What are we supposed to do?” asked Kale.
“Why, assist me, of course,” said the great detective.
“The last person we were supposed to assist was Magique, and look how that turned out,” Jaundice reminded him. “I’m not sure we’re the best people for the job.”
“You already have the best person for the job, and that is Hugo Fromage,” explained Hugo Fromage. “I am intelligent, clever, and experienced in all things, particularly crime solving. But I find it is helpful to have an entirely different perspective, which I am sure you two can provide.”
“Well, when you put it that way, how can we say no?” said Kale.
“Just remember, mademoiselles, the key to being a good detective is to be observant,” said the great detective.
“‘Observant’?” repeated Kale. On these occasions, she sorely missed her dictionary.
“It means we must pay close attention to everyone and everything,” Hugo Fromage explained.
“Sorry, what did you say?” asked Jaundice, still considering the clipboard.
The great detective sighed.
“As ever,” he muttered, “Hugo Fromage will rise to the challenge.”
Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion
It’s normal to be nervous before a performance: It shows you care about doing a good job.
The first suspect, as it turned out, was none other than the conductor himself, Frank Harold. He served Hugo Fromage and the Bland Sisters tea before he sat down to be questioned.
Jaundice and Kale sighed as they took their first sips. To their delight, the tea was perfectly weak and tepid.
“Can you tell me, monsieur, how long you have been employed by the Uncanny Express?” the great detective asked.
“Just about six months now, I think,” Mr. Harold said.
“Can I borrow your pen and accounting notebook?” Kale whispered to her sister.
“Okay,” said Jaundice, retrieving them from one of her smock pockets. “Just don’t mess with my tallies. We still have a sock-darning business to maintain.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be doing a different kind of accounting,” said Kale. “If Monsieur Fromage expects us to be observant, I figure it might help to take notes—like that reporter, Mr. Hatchett.”
“And you were here, in the dining car, to witness Mademoiselle Magique’s performance?” the great detective asked the conductor.
“I was, but I wasn’t really paying attention,” Mr. Harold admitted. “I was on my way back from delivering some tea to Countess Goudenoff. She insisted on having it in her compartment. And then Colonel McRobb stopped me to ask for more raspberry jam. He’s the gentleman with the walking stick.”
“When I was getting on the train, I tripped over his walking stick, and he called me ‘missy,’” Kale remembered. “And not in a nice way.”
“Can you tell me, have you ever come across Mademoiselle Magique before?”
“Never,” the conductor said.
“What about the other passengers on the train?” Hugo Fromage asked. “Are you . . . familiar with any of them?”
“I am familiar with all of them,” the conductor said, clearing his throat. “That’s my job.”
The great detective sipped his tea. He pursed his lips.
“Of course,” he said. “But, are you familiar with any of the passengers outside of your job? Have you ever seen them anywhere else before this particular journey?”
“I . . . don’t believe so,” said Mr. Harold. “Then again, there may be some passengers who have traveled before. But I’m not aware of any right now, off the top of my head.”
A long silence followed. Jaundice and Kale looked at each other. Mr. Harold began to fidget in his seat.
“I really must be going,” the conductor said. “I have work to do.”
“Very well, then. That will be all. For now,” Hugo Fromage said.
The conductor rose from his chair and crossed the room.
“Oh! One more thing,” the great detective said. He reached into the plastic bag and produced the handkerchief. “Is this yours?”
The conductor turned around. When he saw the handkerchief, he looked surprised.
“Certainly not,” he said, finally.
“I ask, only because of the letter H embroidered here,” Hugo Fromage said. “And your last name being Harold.”
“Well, that’s obviously a woman’s handkerchief, and I am clearly not a woman,” the conductor said.
“Clearly,” said Hugo Fromage, smiling. “Good day, Mr. Harold, and thank you for your assistance.”
“You call that assistance?” Jaundice said, after the conductor had left the dining car.
“What did you observe, mademoiselles?” Hugo Fromage asked.
“Well, he seems like a hard worker,” said Jaundice.
“And he makes perfectly tepid tea,” offered Kale, making sure to write this down in the notebook. “But he didn’t tell us anything useful at all.”
“Au contraire, ma chère. Sometimes a ‘tell’ is not about what one says. Sometimes it is about how one reacts,” the great detective said. He pushed away his teacup and saucer and dabbed at his mustache with his napkin. “Unlike this tea, I’d say things are just heating up.”
Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion
To truly amaze your audience,
you must tell small lies.
“What’s all this, then?” Colonel McRobb asked, limping over to the table where Monsieur Fromage and the Bland Sisters sat. As he took a seat across from them, he placed his briefcase on his lap.
“We are hoping you might be able to assist us,” Hugo Fromage explained, “as we investigate the disappearance of Mademoiselle Magique.”
“Ugh, that flaky trickster?” said the colonel, crossing his arms. His face flushed scarlet.
“Be that as it may,” said the great detective, “we have reason to believe she had enemies. Enemies who may be on this very train. Had you ever seen Mademoiselle Magique before?”
“I don’t go in for that magical balderdash,” said the colonel. “I am only interested in reality, sir.”
“Yes, you must have faced many harsh realities in your time at war. Your injury, how did it happen, if I might ask?” the great detective asked, gesturing to the colonel’s walking stick.
> “I jumped out of an airplane during a rescue mission,” the colonel explained, puffing out his chest. “My parachute didn’t open, so I landed in a tree. I broke my leg in the fall.”
“Ouch,” noted Jaundice. Her toes were particularly sensitive, though she preferred to avoid trauma to any and all extremities.
“After I untangled myself, I crawled nearly a mile in the pitch dark until I found a cave, where I created a splint for my leg out of branches. I remained there for days, eating nothing but nuts and berries and small woodland creatures,” the colonel continued. “When I was finally able, I snuck into the enemy’s camp and rescued my comrades.”
“Most unfortunate,” Hugo Fromage said, shaking his head.
“Especially for the small woodland creatures,” noted Kale.
“It was most fortunate,” the colonel said, “that the enemy never took me alive. And that I was able to save my fellow soldiers.”
“I, too, served in the military. Though I did not exhibit such grand acts of heroism during my tenure,” the great detective admitted. “Might I ask why you are traveling on the Uncanny Express this afternoon?”
“I’m out promoting my memoir,” Colonel McRobb explained. He opened his briefcase just wide enough to pull out a book, which he placed on the table.
Kale picked it up. “True Hero: One Man’s Fall to Glory,” she said, reading the title and subtitle emblazoned across the front cover.
“It’s been number one on the Dullsville Mentioner’s bestseller list for the past six months,” the colonel said, smirking. “My publisher has me doing an event at Uncanny Valley Books tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m being interviewed for a feature in the Mentioner, by their entertainment reporter.”
“I congratulate you on your success, Colonel. And I thank you for your assistance,” said Hugo Fromage, pulling out the handkerchief. “By the way, does this look familiar to you?”
Colonel McRobb scoffed. “I’d never carry around such a flouncy thing. Or associate with anyone who would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an interview to finish.”