The Uncanny Express

by Kara LaReau

  As Hugo Fromage watched the colonel limp away, Jaundice said, “I guess we can cross him off the list of suspects.”

  “You think so, mademoiselle?” the great detective asked. “So, you observed nothing of interest about the colonel?”

  “He mentioned being interviewed by an entertainment reporter. That must be Kirk Hatchett,” Jaundice remembered. “The one with the bow tie who always twirls his pen.”

  “And he seems very protective of his briefcase full of books,” surmised Kale, writing down this keen observation. She turned to her sister. “Maybe we can get a copy of his memoir. His story sounds unbelievable.”

  “Indeed,” said the great detective.

  Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion

  Never repeat an effect. If you do, you give the audience another chance to figure it out.

  “I really don’t see the need for this,” Countess Goudenoff said, pursing her crimson lips. She stroked her tiny white dog as she sat before the Bland Sisters and the great detective. “Aren’t magicians supposed to disappear?”

  “It seems this magician may have had enemies, Madame Countess,” Hugo Fromage explained. “Can you tell me your reason for traveling on the Uncanny Express today?”

  “I am en route to my summer home. It’s just beyond the Uncanny Valley, in The Cramptons,” the countess explained.

  “The Cramptons?” Kale repeated, her pen poised. “Is that with a C or a K?”

  “With a C, mademoiselle. It is a seaside resort,” explained the great detective.

  “An exclusive seaside resort,” corrected the countess.

  “I am sure it is beautiful this time of year,” said Hugo Fromage. “And what were you doing just prior to teatime? I do not think I saw you in the dining car with the other passengers.”

  “I was in my compartment, waiting for Vera, my maid,” the countess explained. “The conductor had left us the tea, but he’d included a pitcher of milk, and I’d expressly asked for cream. I sent Vera to the dining car to fetch some for me. Then the train jolted when it stopped to avoid whatever fell on the tracks. That’s when it happened.”

  “What happened?” asked Kale.

  “The tea spilled, all over my Chrysanthemum,” the countess explained.

  “Pardon?” the great detective asked.

  “Chrysanthemum, my shih tzu,” said Countess Goudenoff, gesturing at the dog in her lap, who regarded them all listlessly. “If the tea had actually been hot, she would have been terribly burned. Thankfully, this train has awful service.”

  “I am so glad to hear it,” said the great detective. “Might I ask, have you ever come in contact with Mademoiselle Magique before?”

  “I do not associate with magicians,” the countess said coldly.

  “I am sure you do not,” said Hugo Fromage. He pulled out the handkerchief. “And does this look familiar to you?”

  Countess Goudenoff narrowed her eyes. “Why would it? Goudenoff starts with a G, after all.”

  “What is your first name, if I might ask?” inquired the great detective.

  “It is Ima,” said the countess.

  “Ima Goudenoff?” Jaundice said.

  “You are,” said Kale, patting her sister’s hand.

  “Ima begins with an I, and not an H,” said the great detective, squinting at the handkerchief.

  “You are sharp-witted,” said the countess, looking down her nose at Hugo Fromage.

  He bowed his head. “You have been of great assistance, Madame Countess.”

  Jaundice rolled her eyes. “She didn’t tell us anything helpful,” she whispered to her sister. “All we know is that she likes dogs. And vacations in ‘The Cramptons.’ And cream in her tea.”

  “And ordering people around,” Kale said, adding this to her notes. “Though, I guess, when you’re that rich, you expect everything to be done your way.”

  “You may return to your compartment, Madame Countess, where I will make sure the conductor brings you some fresh tea. With cream,” said the great detective.

  The countess sniffed. “Just make sure it’s hot this time,” she said. When she rose, Chrysanthemum jumped out of her arms. The dog teetered awkwardly over to Hugo Fromage.

  “She doesn’t seem very good at walking,” noted Kale.

  “Or keeping her eyes open,” whispered Jaundice.

  “Chrysanthemum, come to mommykins,” Countess Goudenoff said, clapping her hands and making kissy noises. But the dog did not move. It looked up at Hugo Fromage with half-lidded eyes.

  “I think she likes me,” the great detective said, reaching down to pet Chrysanthemum—just as she vomited all over his patent leather shoes.

  “Naughty doggie!” scolded the countess.

  “Of course,” said Hugo Fromage, with a sniff, “I could be mistaken.”

  Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion

  A gaff is an object that looks normal

  but does something tricky.

  Vera Dreary wrung her tweedy hat in her hands.

  “I di’n’t do nuffin’,” she said. “I was just fetchin’ the cream for my mistress, for her tea.”

  “Your mistress, Countess Goudenoff, had asked for cream?” the great detective asked. Recalling the chapter on Pet Messes from Tillie’s Tips, Kale had managed to clean Chrysanthemum’s “contribution” from Hugo Fromage’s shoes and was now buffing them with a dinner napkin.

  “I’m sure I heard her say milk the first time, so that’s what I ordered from the conductor. But then she insisted she said cream. Until then, we was havin’ a nice moment there in the compartment. She’d even invited me to pour a cup for myself. Then she saw the milk, and it was all off. When I got back with the cream, I told her about the accident, and that there was a detective on the train. That’s when she stood up and spilled the tea.”

  “I see,” said Hugo Fromage.

  “And how long have you been working for the countess?”

  “Oh, about five years now, since me mum passed,” the maid said, hanging her head. “She’d worked as a maid, too, for the countess and her husband, Count Goudenoff, rest his soul.”

  “When did the Count die?” asked Kale.

  At this, the maid put her head in her hands and began sobbing.

  “Almost a year ago, his heart just gave out. He was such a good man, he was,” Vera said. “Not that she ever took notice. But he was kind to me. He hired me, after me mum passed. Even gave me this right before he died—I carry it with me everywhere.”

  At this, the maid produced a framed photo of Count Goudenoff.

  “He looks like a nice man,” Jaundice offered.

  “Oh, he was. The nicest. ‘I’ll always look after you, Vera,’ he said. Them’s the last words he ever spoke to me,” said the maid. And then she collapsed in sobs altogether.

  “There, there, mademoiselle,” said the great detective, handing Vera a handkerchief. Just as she was about to dab her eyes with it, he asked, “Does this belong to your mistress?”

  “But the countess already told us—” Kale said, referring to her notes, before Hugo Fromage waved her off.

  “Please respond,” he said to the maid, who was inspecting the handkerchief.

  “It’s not hers,” Vera said, finally. “I iron all of her linens, so I would have noticed it. And besides—she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing green.”

  “Plus, there’s no H in her name,” added Jaundice.

  “Oh, is that an H?” said Vera, squinting at the embroidery. “I thought it was an N. You know, as in—”

  “Nut?” Hugo Fromage suggested.

  “That’s right,” said the maid, shifting in her seat.

  “This is all very helpful to know,” said the great detective.

  “One other thing I should mention,” said Vera. “When I opened the door to get the cream for the countess, I could swear I heard a woman’s voice in the hallway say something like ‘She’s going to ruin everything.’ But when I stepped out, the only one there was Mr. Ha
rold. He was just standing out there with the empty tea tray, looking very shifty indeed.”

  “Hmm . . . this is curious,” said Hugo Fromage. Kale agreed, making sure to write it all down.

  “Will that be all, then?” asked Vera. “I must be getting back to my mistress. She’ll be wanting something by now, no doubt.”

  “If I might ask one more question: Have you ever previously seen the magician, Mademoiselle Magique, or anyone else on this train?” asked Hugo Fromage.

  “Oh, I’ve only ever been on a train one other time, when I came to take up my service with the count and countess,” Vera explained, wringing her hat again. “Since then, I’ve only ever gone where my mistress tells me to. Can I go now?”

  “Very well,” said the great detective, as the maid scurried out.

  “That bit about her hearing the woman’s voice in the corridor was helpful,” noted Jaundice. “Though she said she only saw Mr. Harold standing out there.”

  “She seems so anxious, the poor thing. It’s too bad she’s stuck working for such a mean lady for the rest of her life,” said Kale.

  “It is true. One wishes her fate might be different,” said the great detective.

  “It doesn’t seem like she had anything to do with Magique’s disappearance, either,” said Jaundice.

  “Let us not be too hasty,” said Hugo Fromage. “Even those who seem most innocent have a way of bringing the truth to light.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” Mr. Harold said, rushing into the dining car. “You are needed in compartment four. Evidently another crime has been committed.”

  “Sacrebleu!” exclaimed Hugo Fromage. He leaped to his feet and followed the conductor, the Bland Sisters trailing behind him.

  It turned out compartment four belonged to the countess and Vera Dreary. Vera was wringing her hat again, and the countess was looking particularly annoyed.

  “Someone has stolen my garnet ring!” the countess exclaimed.

  “And when do you believe this theft took place?” asked the great detective.

  “When I was with you people, being questioned about this ridiculous magician,” the countess said. Then she glared at Vera. “And you left the compartment unattended!”

  “I had to—use the facilities,” Vera explained sheepishly. “I was only gone for a few moments, I swear it!”

  “You were not wearing the ring, then?” Hugo Fromage asked.

  “It is a large ring, so I can only wear it for so long before it fatigues my delicate fingers,” the countess explained.

  Jaundice gave Kale a nudge. Countess Goudenoff had gnarled fingers tipped with long, dark red nails. They seemed more talon-like than “delicate.”

  “Eventually, I took it off, and I gave it to Vera to put in my train case,” the countess continued, glaring at her maid again.

  “I put in in the train case, just as you asked, m’lady,” Vera insisted. “I di’n’t do nuffin’!”

  “You said she seemed anxious,” Jaundice whispered to her sister. “I wonder if she stole the ring.”

  “You think so?” said Kale.

  “How else is she going to afford a better life for herself?” Jaundice noted.

  Kale nodded. Jaundice was almost always right.

  The countess turned to Hugo Fromage. “I purchased that ring right before my husband’s tragic passing, so it is priceless to me in every way,” she explained.

  The great detective looked around the room then picked up the train case and inspected it. He set it back on the seat next to Countess Goudenoff and bowed his head.

  “Madame Countess,” he said. “One way or another, I promise we will get to the bottom of this.”

  “‘We?’” said Jaundice.

  “As my assistants, I expect you to help me with whatever investigations I am conducting,” Hugo Fromage explained. “And now, we return to the dining car, tout de suite.”

  “But now you have two crimes to solve,” Kale said. She considered her notes, which already seemed overwhelming.

  “And you only have one brain,” noted Jaundice.

  “Ah, yes, mademoiselles, but there are three of us,” said the great detective, waddling ahead of them to the dining car. “So the crimes, they are woefully outnumbered.”

  Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion

  Misdirection is the art of controlling

  where and what the audience focuses on.

  It is in your gestures, what you say,

  and where you look.

  “My goodness, are you really a detective?” Cecily Springwell asked, widening her already-wide green eyes.

  “I am not merely a detective, mademoiselle. I am HUGO FROMAGE, THE GREAT DETECTIVE,” said Hugo Fromage, the great detective. “Surely you have heard of me.”

  “Not really,” the young woman admitted, to his disappointment. “Though I don’t go in for all that cops-and-robbers stuff. Desmond is the one who keeps up with all the crimes in the papers. He seems rather obsessed with them, really.”

  “Is Desmond the man you’re with?” asked Jaundice.

  “He is. Isn’t he dreamy?” said Cecily.

  “He does have very nice teeth,” noted Kale. “They look like the tiles in our bathroom after I’ve given them a good scrubbing.”

  “We met six months ago, on this very train!” Cecily said. “I was on my way to the millinery in the Uncanny Valley to have some hats made, and he was on a business trip. He travels quite often, in his line of work.”

  “And what is that, his line of work?” asked Hugo Fromage.

  The young woman scratched her head. “It’s something to do with some import-export blah-blah-blah,” she explained. “I don’t have a head for business, or much of anything else. It’s a good thing I’m easy on the eyes, as my fiancé says!”

  “Desmond is your fiancé?” Kale asked.

  “He is my everything, as I tell him,” Cecily said, putting both perfectly manicured hands over her heart. “I don’t have any family, since both my parents are gone and I haven’t any other relatives. It’s so nice to know that I’ll have someone to share Fernwood with me.”

  “We don’t have family, either,” Kale explained. “Well, except for our parents, though we haven’t seen them in years. And our aunt Shallot.”

  “But our parents made up Aunt Shallot, to get us to the train station, remember?” Jaundice said.

  “Oh,” said Kale. “So we’re never going to meet her?”

  Jaundice sighed. As she attempted to spell things out for Kale, the great detective returned his attentions to Cecily.

  “So what is Fernwood, mademoiselle?” he asked Miss Springwell.

  “That’s the name of my parents’ estate. Well, it’s my estate now, since I inherited it. And it will be mine and Desmond’s, when we’re married next month. We’re just on our way to the Valley now, so Desmond can attend to some business and I can attend a fitting for my wedding dress. And I’m stopping at my jeweler to have them polish the Green Goiter.”

  Cecily removed a scarf from her neck to reveal a gigantic emerald.

  “Whoa,” said Jaundice.

  “I’d been keeping it in my train case, but Desmond advised me to put it on when this whole investigation started, so it’s never out of my sight,” Cecily explained. “Daddy bought the Goiter for Mummy when they were engaged, and now it’s mine. I’m going to wear it when Desmond and I are married, so of course it needs to be sparkling.”

  “Have you ever had occasion to meet Mademoiselle Magique before today?” the great detective asked.

  “I’ve never met her,” said Cecily. She leaned toward the Bland Sisters conspiratorially. “Can she really read minds?”

  “We can’t reveal her secrets,” said Jaundice.

  “We took the Magician’s Oath,” Kale explained.

  “Well, it’s not as if there’s much going on in my mind for anyone to read, anyway!” Cecily said, giggling.

  The sisters nodded. They understood all too well.

 
Hugo Fromage smiled politely. “Can you tell me where you and your fiancé were, prior to the announcement of Mademoiselle Magique’s disappearance?” he asked.

  “I’d had a headache in the midst of lunch, so I was convalescing with Desmond in our compartment. Well, except for a few minutes, when I went out to powder my nose. It was just as I was returning that I heard the commotion in the dining car.”

  “She could have done something to Magique,” Kale whispered to Jaundice. She put a question mark next to Miss Springwell’s name in her notebook.

  “So could her fiancé, since both of them were on their own for a few minutes,” Jaundice said. “Or maybe they were in it together! But why?”

  “Could this be yours, then?” the great detective asked, holding out the handkerchief to Miss Springwell. She narrowed her green eyes to inspect it.

  “Well, there’s no H in Cecily Springwell, of course,” she noted. She scratched her head again. “It is lovely, though.”

  “She scratches her head a lot,” Kale whispered to her sister. “Maybe she has lice.”

  “Or maybe she’s allergic to her hair spray,” Jaundice whispered back. “She must use a lot. She never seems to have a hair out of place.”

  “It is lovely . . . to have made your acquaintance,” Hugo Fromage said. “I appreciate your help.”

  “I don’t see how a silly little thing like me could help you,” said Cecily, laughing brightly.

  “You are much more than a ‘silly little thing,’ mademoiselle,” Hugo Fromage said. When Miss Springwell stood, the great detective also rose, took her hand, and looked into her emerald-green eyes. “Do not, as they say, sell yourself short.”

  Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion

  The best magicians adapt to their environments.

  “I thought I’d heard of all the sleuths out there. I can’t seem to recall a Hugo Fromage,” said Desmond Goode. He had a newspaper under his arm as he took a seat across from the great detective.