Short summary:

 

This is a continuation of my previous fic, “A Chain Reaction Begins”. In it, the Ruttheimer line gets cut-off, we see how Linda Griffin and Amy Barksdale met, and Sandi Griffins confers in her fellow Fashion Club members about her family legend. Part two of two.

 

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2000 MTV Networks.

 

This story is copyright © 2002 by Bacner (olgak531@rogers.com) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

 

(More) Trouble on Tuesday

 

“Hey Penny, what’s up?” Jane asked, as she entered Casa Lane.

“Hmm?” responded the older Lane sister, looking up from some book of hers. “Why didn’t you tell me that Trent gained a girlfriend?”

“A girlfriend? Oh! Monique, hah?”

“Yeah. Trent’s height or a bit shorter, black hair. Dark eyes too,” she added, as an afterthought.

“Yup, that’s Monique,” Jane agreed.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what’s the sitch with her and Trent?”

“They’re a couple – sort of,” Jane shrugged. “I could never really figure-out what is going-on between them. Somehow, it seems no more than force of habit, yet neither seem interested in breaking it.”

“Mmm… And what’s she like? Where she works-at? Axl’s?”

“No, she’s one of the Harpies.”

“Say what?” Penny shivered.

“She’s in another music group, you know? Trent’s in Mystik Spiral, she’s in the Harpies.”

“Oh. I see,” Penny nodded. “Right. And are they any good?”

“I have no desire of learning that,” Jane shrugged. “Trent’s enough to put anyone off the music liking, you know?”

“Right,” Penny had to agree with that. “And is there anything else you want to tell me about her?”

“Nope,” Jane shook her head.

“No chance of Trent marrying her?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, new conversation topic. Anything happened in the school today?”

Jane paused. “Remember Andrea?”

“The one who spreading rumours about the big evil and the inhumanity of Principal Li?”

“That’s her. She almost got into a fight with Sandi Griffin, but was talked out of it by Daria. However, nobody saw her afterwards – after that class.”

Penny shrugged. Jane shrugged too and went upstairs to her room, to do her homework.

 

“We're back,” Aaron’s voice came out of Sophia’s phone.

“Well, what are the news?”

“Encouraging and reassuring. Obviously, both neighbours were seriously into that.”

“Into what that?”

“Bio-stimulants. We’ve found some interesting books on biology and botany and I-know-not-what, and a lot of them were on human anatomy.”

“So what do the mushrooms got to do with that?”

“Those mushrooms were fly agarics of some sort. Ruttheimers – at least the older one – and Nicholson were making – or planning to make some sort of home-made intoxicant. A liquid kind.”

“You mean like alcohol?”

“You know – no, of course you know, Miss Texan – that Mexican natives can get high from peyote cactus, yes? Well, fly agarics can do the same thing.”

Sophia looked thoughtful. “Let me think. Ever since today’s lunch the possibility that one or both of the neighbours were playing with fire in the medical sense. However, I thought that the mushrooms would only encourage sexual potency, not be actual…” Her voice trailed-off and she groaned. “Of course! It was just a cover-up: take upon yourself a lesser sin so that no one would be looking for a greater one!”

Sophia’s gaze turned triumphant. Nevermind Angela Li: this time she was going to get something big – something really big!

“I've found something too,” Hassan said, smiling slyly.

“Oh? What?”

“This,” Hassan triumphantly produced a small plastic bag – one of several he always had in his pockets – which contained some unidentifiable at first glance forest refuse.

“What’s this?” Sophia asked, perplexed.

“Some short white fur. Really short and thin. Dog’s fur.”

Dog’s fur… This struck something in Sophia’s mind. “The white bulldogs of Mrs. Petersen!” she exclaimed. “The two older ones got sick from something, and the oldest one died from internal poisoning.”

“Precisely,” Hassan smiled his smile. It made him look somewhat like a shark. “The mutts found the mushrooms too.”

Sophia noticed. Apparently, Ruttheimers and Nicholson were very inexperienced in such matters, allowing dogs – and birds – spoil their crop. Which, in turn, led-on to thoughts that Nicholson and Ruttheimers weren't experienced, ‘mature’ enough for drug dealers that a tiny – in fact, any argument escalated into a double beheading. And more importantly, who would behave one of the richer men in town and his son? Certainly not Nicholson himself, if he decided to do so…

“We’ve done some distance, boys,” Sophia told her assistants, “but that’s not enough. Now we must find-out the employment lines of Ruttheimer and Nicholson estates. Understood?”

The two men nodded.

 

Tiffany, who has been cleaning some hall-tables in the corridor next to Sophia’s room heard enough. After cleaning some more she left, ready to make next report of the day…

 

“The report is ready, Ms. Li!” Amy said, feeling excited that she had actually did something that was important to their current situation.

“Ah! That’s good, that’s very good, Miss Barksdale,” Angela Li replied, as if awakened from a dream. “Let’s see.” She began to read or scale the written report. “Interesting, very interesting… Only what’s it got to do with sexual potency!”

“Nothing!” Amy Barksdale felt an urge to defend her report. “No mushroom is – or was – ever used for that and accomplished success. Hey, you’ve got mail.”

“So I see,” Angela Li agreed, “I hope it’s Miss Blum-Deckler – and it is. Hmm?..” She took a good look at the e-mail, then at the written report of Amy’s and paused, alternating looks between the two.

Finally, she smiled – kind of like she did in her old photo. “Miss Barksdale, contact your lawyer sister, please. We’ll send Miss Blum-Deckler’s reports… and yours. Hopefully, she and her comrades-in-arms of the legal world will understand what’s what.”

“Yes ma’am!”

 

“Hey Daria, how was your day?”

Daria discontentedly cast a sidelong look towards her mother. “Well fine, boring as usual. Quinn and her buddies, on the other hand, had a lot of excitement – almost got into a fight.”

“Daria!” Quinn exclaimed in indignation. “You had to tell them that?”

“Tell us what?” Jake asked, oblivious as ever.

Helen gave him an exasperated glance. “Never mind, Jake, let me handle this. Quinn, what you and your friend got into today?”

“Nothing, mom!.. Well, almost nothing…”

“And with ‘almost’?”

“Well, that crazy Goth chick-“

“Andrea Hecuba,” Daria helpfully explained.

“-was shouting some nonsense about Lawndale coming to an end and Ms. Li being inhuman.”

“That girl must be nuts,” Jake said with feeling.

Daria sighed. She felt sorry for Andrea, yet even she was hard pressed to believe that that was not so.

“…And then, after she ran-away from her non-fight with Sandi, she just disappeared,” Quinn was finishing her narrative.

“What do you mean, disappear?” Daria’s interest to Quinn’s tale came all of sudden, and with a vengeance.

“That’s what I mean, vanished,” Quinn explained willingly. “One moment she was sitting under a tree, looking as if she was going nowhere, then a gust of wind came along, the door shut with a bang, and when it re-opened, she was gone. And it all happened in less than a minute!”

“Quinn!” Helen exclaimed, exasperated.

“You got mail!” her laptop beeped in its’ squeaky voice. Helen’s attention instantly turned to it, Quinn’s tale forgotten in ‘less than a minute’.

But not in Daria’s mind…

 

“Ah, ladies and gentlemen, we seem to have received some informal report,” Valeriy Vitale declared grandly.

“Just tell us what it is,” Mindy Horowitz said tiredly. She and Alan Schrecter have spent a lot of time by now working on who’ll inherit the Ruttheimer estate.

Valeriy turned to Michael Davis. “Davis?”

“Apparently, Ruttheimers and Nicholson were growing some sort of toadstool, that is supposed to increase a man’s sexual potency-“

“Nonsense,” Eric Schrecter said, disdainfully. All looked in his direction. “Sorry,” he semi-retired to the background, “but I know things about medicine and such, and I know that no mushroom can increase a man’s sexual potency. I know that.”

“-or be used as some sort of a hallucinogenic drug, like the peyote cactus,” Michael Davis continued, after ensuring that he won't be interrupted again.

“Interesting,” Arnold Riordan, turning back to Eric Schrecter. “Tell us, o font of medical knowledge, what kind of charges can such accusations bring-on?”

Eric bristled. “Very funny, Riordan. For a start, there has to be real proof that either the deceased or Nicholson were planning to sell – or are or were selling these mushrooms. Them toadstools could’ve grown naturally – where were they grown, anyway?”

“In the copse that is located in the area that brought-on the lawsuit,” replied Alan Schrecter.

“Also,” Davis said thoughtfully, “it says here that last Saturday a lot of birds – blackbirds, crows, rooks, magpies, et cetera – were acting, drunk, drugged, in other words – affected by some psychotropic substance.”

“We’ve received a complaint about that,” spoke the last Schrecter in the room – Peter. “From some old lady, who claimed that Ruttheimers or Nicholson were poisoning the birds with something.”

“Indeed?” asked Valeriy Vitale. “Then I think we should learn more about this old lady and her complaint. It might be… important.”

“And one last thing,” Michael Davis spoke loudly. “The fax suggests that Mrs. Petersen’s bulldogs – they got sick, remember? – may’ve also made an acquaintance with this fungus. Thus-“

“Somebody – get a map of that area of Lawndale in here now!” Valeriy Vitale, Mindy Horowitz, and Alan Schrecter barked.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Jane incredulously asked Daria. “Upchuck, his dad and his neighbour were growing some mushrooms that were supposed to make them sex-giants?”

“That’s the official story, at any rate,” Daria agreed. “The unofficial rumour, however, states that these mushrooms could’ve been hallucinogenics instead…”

“You mean fly agarics or such?” Penny Lane wedged-in into the conversation, demonstrating a deep interest. “It’s possible that one of that trio found a book on berserkers-“

“Berserkers? What’s that?” Jane asked, confused.

“A class of Viking warriours,” Daria patiently explained, “renown for their mercilessness, battle prowess, and battle fitness.”

“Mmm. But I bet that they were physically better-off than any of our mushroom-growers to begin with,” Jane argued.

“You're probably right. Besides, nothing is ever mentioned of their sexual prowess, anyways,” Daria replied.

“Still, beheading seems to be a little bit extreme,” Jane brought the conversation back to the old track.

“We still aren't sure that those two facts – mushroom-growing and decapitation – are related,” Daria re-assured her. “And even if they are, I don’t think that they are standing side-by-side, see?”

The Lane sisters agreed.

 

“Well, Michelle, it’s so sad that you must go, but it is understandable,” Mrs. Petersen was telling her relative. “You are, of course, always a welcome guest here.”

“Mrs. Petersen, thank you so much for your wonderful meal,” Michelle Landon said quickly, “but can I ask you for one more thing?”

“Certainly. What is it?”

“Can I see your bulldogs? My late brother – he spoke of them so flatteringly, that I really wanted to see them in the flesh, if it’s not too much bother.”

“It isn’t,” Mrs. Petersen smiled – the bulldogs were her weak spot, it seemed. “Yo! Girl! Bring forth Biter and Thrower!”

“Here is the puppy, ma’am,” Tiffany Blum-Deckler appeared, looking demure. “I don't know where the older dog is.”

“What?! Biter is gone?!! Find him!!!” Mrs. Petersen bellowed and almost collapsed from the shock.

The manour turned into a buzzing hive almost instantly, all searching for the lady’s missing bulldog...

 

When Daria was downstairs, Helen was busy talking on her cell phone, Quinn was talking on the kitchen phone, and Jake was playing solitaire on his laptop. “I'm going out!” Daria declared to everyone in general, and no one in particular.

“That’s nice, kiddo,” Jake replied, not looking up from the computer’s display. “Return for dinner – we’re having take-out!”

Daria nodded and left outside.

 

As Daria walked down Lawndale streets in the direction of Casa Lane, the wind seemingly picked-up, and turned cold and... weird? Daria didn't have time to ponder that when somebody tapped her on the shoulder. “Who is it?” she angrily whirled around.

“Whoa, chill, Daria – right? You're Daria?” a tall, thin Goth girl waved her hands in a gesture of peace.

“Yeah, that I am,” Daria nodded in agreement. “You're Monique, Trent’s friend?”

Monique nodded in agreement. “Tell me, Daria, what’s news on the Ruttheimer double-murder?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Trent?”

“Trent’s not the most reliable font of information, you know?” Monique said in a carefree tone of voice, “and neither of his sisters likes me, I feel.”

Daria raised an eyebrow. “Jane’s dislike for you I know, but what did you do to upset Penny?”

Monique shrugged. “Search me, it’s one of those instinct things, I guess. Anyways, your mother is one of the lawyers, and I was wondering – any news?”

“Now why would my mother have any news?”

“’Cause your lawyer firm would probably start their own discreet and private investigation,” Monique said.

“And this whole double-murder concerns you why?”

“For two reasons. First, the police will most likely to be tempted to search for the killer among us, those who dwell on Dega street and beyond. And second, the killer will also most likely to be tempted to live or hide among us, on Dega street and beyond. Thus, we have something of a double-bummer, see?”

“My condolences,” Daria replied, half-sincere, half-sarcastic. “But don't worry – it seems to be inside job more and more, as the time goes by.”

“So no stranger from the Dega street?” Monique asked, sceptically.

“Mhm.”

“Well, thanks,” Monique replied and quickly left, disappearing in the distance.

Daria shrugged and went her own way.

 

It was fetid and dark in that place – some place somewhere beyond the Dega street. And there were various people in that place, somewhere beyond the Dega street. And all of those various people were of female gender or persuasion. A door opened and yet another female walked-in.

“Monique! So what are the news?”

“Apparently, Nicholson did kill Ruttheimers – or somebody in his pay, openly or secretly. And it does seem to be centred around their growing of those foul mushrooms in their little copse.”

“Ah,” the voice of the inquirer turned happy in an evil sort of way, and a matching smile flashed in the internal darkness of the place. “This is good, this is well.”

“Indeed it is, considering that Linda Griffin drives us on most possessively.”

“Considering who her ancestors were, it is not surprising,” Monique shrugged. “Now what shall we do with that chicklet, Andrea?”

“She is foolish,” spoke yet another female vice. “The fluff of her childhood is half-replaced by the feathers of the adulthood already – yet she still acts with foolishness worthy only of a newly-hatched nestling!! I say we pluck her heart and brain out!!”

“Peace, Calais,” the apparent leader of the Harpies spoke. “We’ll just keep her safely locked-up till the crisis passes. Then… we’ll see. After all, your advice wasn't forgotten.”

The rest of the group exchanged meaningful looks between each other.

 

“Ah, got it!” Alan Schrecter said, delightedly.

“Got what?” Peter Schrecter looked-on, sceptically.

“The complaint,” Alan replied, acidly. “From Mrs. Vudrudakis, who’s leading some sort of a local Green-Peace organization.”

“Wonderful,” Mindy Horowitz groaned. “I hate dealing with organizations, they’re so unreasonable.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Alan Schrecter nodded. “Anyways, Mrs. Vudrudakis accused her neighbours of cruelty to animals. Aka, Charles Ruttheimer and Alexander Nicholson of starting some sort of pestilence amongst the birds, and Lawrence Arnolds – the major-domo of Louise Petersen – of shooting them down with a shotgun and what-not, in their weakened condition.”

“Oh? Indeed?” Valeriy Vitale spoke softly. “Then I think it is time I gave a call to my friend in the law enforcement, Lt. Reilly, and he’ll question the good old lady for further details. Any opposition?”

There was none.

 

“And so we’re off, scouring the neighbourhood for more clues,” Aaron said. “You just had to one-up me with those strands of canine fur, didn’t you?”

“Don't look so glum, little buddy,” Hassan chuckled. “It was only natural. If birds found those mushrooms, why not dogs? I just followed my nose!” he added grandly.

Aaron made a dry face. “Tell me, Hassan, do you Muslim infidels have any ‘bio-stimulants’ of your own? Like those mushrooms?”

“Us true warriours need no ‘stimulants’, but some good wine,” Hassan smacked his lips.

“Drinking wine is a sin, and you're an infidel,” Hassan muttered under his nose.

“It is not!”

“The way you’re drinking it, it is! Some times you’re not touching it at all, other times you’re drinking it by pails at once! Naturally you get in trouble because of it so often!” Aaron paused, looking at his comrade’s face. “Say, why are you looking so smug?”

“Am not!”

“Are too! You look smug as a cat, who saw a pot, full of sour cream…” Suddenly Aaron’s face unclouded. “Oh, I get it! It’s that little maid of the old lady, the one on whom Peter Joneston decided to concentrate his gaze too. What is with goy men falling in lust with younger goy women anyways?”

“You won’t get it, you old ape,” Hassan shook his head in mock sadness.

“Mr. Guthan? Mr. – Hassan?”

The two men turned around. ‘That little maid of the old lady’, an Asia-American, Tiffany something, was walking down the street as well. “What are you doing here, Miss Tiffany?” Aaron said, before his partner opened his mouth and said something ribald.

“I'm searching for my mistress’s older white bulldog, Biter,” Tiffany exclaimed. “Did you see it?”

“No,” Aaron shook his head in the genuine concern. “Sorry Miss, we didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“But we’ll be happy to help you search for it,” Hassan said quickly. “Won't we, Aaron?”

“Oh, thank you, sirs,” Tiffany said in genuine appreciation. “The bulldog needs to be found, before some disaster strikes again.”

Aaron’s complaint died on his tongue, unsaid. After all, they didn’t know what they were looking for in particular, and a white bulldog was some sort of a tangible goal, after all. “Don't worry Miss, we’ll help you find it,” he said.

It was then a police patrol car cruiser drove by. The trio followed it with long glances.

 

“Say, Miss Barksdale,” Angela Li turned Amy Barksdale. “You're a reporter, right?”

“Well, I work in TV business, yes. Why do you ask?”

“My ‘new-old’ friends in the LPD just called. Apparently, they’ve been called to investigate a complaint of animal cruelty in the Upper Lawndale area. Care to take a stroll there with your, ah, news stuff? You may find something worthy of your recording equipment.”

“Yes, but I barely now Lower Lawndale. Mayhaps I get lost up there?”

“Don't worry, I'll help you find your way around there,” Ms. Li chuckled.

“Then lead-on.”

The two women left.

 

“Hey, Daria!”

“Ow hi there, Jane. Hi, Penny.”

“Why’s the long face?”

“It’s my family. They’re at it again,” Daria deadpanned.

“Your parents are oblivious, and your sister is annoying?” Penny brought-out. “What is her name? Quinn?”

“Yes, that is so. Apparently, it takes a very strong crisis to shake us out of our routine lifestyle.”

“You mean like me taking you for an unofficial third-rate global tour?” Penny asked, mockingly.

“Yes.” Daria paused. “No, scratch that. “I guess that mom does have the right to be absent-minded, since Upchuck and his dad were two of the more prominent clients of the firm. No, it’s Monique that’s got me wigged.”

“Monique?” Penny frowned. “Trent’s supposed girlfriend? She came here this morning. Let me guess – she talked about Monday’s news.”

“Did she give you any reasons why?” Penny asked, curious.

“One reason disguised as two, actually,” Daria admitted. “They – the ‘poor folk’ on Dega street – they’ll get most, if not all of the lumps.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I don’t care. We're not too close to each other, remember? In fact, I don’t think she knows where I live – it looked to me like she accidentally ran into me on the street, see?”

“It looks to me,” Penny said thoughtfully, “that Monique is working for someone.”

“Say what? Care to substantiate this theory?” Daria and Jane looked with eagerness at the older girl.

Penny paused, unwilling to share with the younger girls some of her crazier suspicions and wonderments around Monique. “Look, Monique came to see Trent this morning, and talked to me instead.”

“Ah,” said Jane. “That explains why you were so inquiring about her when I came home.”

“Yes, well, anyway, she was already back then interested in any news on the sitch.”

“So’s the majority of Lawndale,” Daria argued. “After all, a double beheading is big news even for Boston or Gloucester, I reckon, let alone a little town like Lawndale. And secondly, I suspect, everybody will – publicly or privately – feel relief when the killer or killers will be put in jail.”

“So how does this stack-up against Monique?”

“Not seriously – certainly not courtroom-rate material,” Penny admitted. “Bu-ut, also seriously – what kind of a person will go all day long, searching for the info – seriously searching for the info, not just some casual questions?”

“Good point,” Daria admitted, not happily. “Monique did seem to be knowing rather well what she was talking about.”

“But who could hire her?” Jane asked.

“Who would hire her, you mean,” Penny corrected her little sister. “I doubt that Monique is a professional investigator, you know?”

The phone rang.

 

“Excuse me, Ms. Li?”

“Yes, Miss Barksdale?”

“Can I… just phone my relatives and tell them that I might just be late for dinner and such?”

Ms. Li pondered that. “Very well,” she agreed. “Call them. But be curt.”

“Yes ma’am!”

 

“Who is it?” Daria spoke into the receiver.

“Daria? It is I, Amy. I'll be late today – I’m on a tour of Upper Lawndale.”

“Right. Roger,” Daria said, and Amy on the other end hanged-up.

“Who was it?” Jane asked Daria.

“Amy. She’s touring Upper Lawndale.”

“Really, why?”

“Hey girls, want to hear a strange thing?” Penny Lane spoke from her point of the room.

“What?”

“I just saw a police cruiser go by really fast, but with its’ blinker and siren turned-off, headed in – that direction, I believe.”

“That way lies Upper Lawndale, too,” Jane added thoughtfully. “Daria, something tells me that Ms. Li will be a bit sympathetic if we develop slight tardiness in our studies.”

Daria sighed. “Very well, come on. It’s natural that I’m worried about Amy; after all, I’m only human.”

The Lane sisters exchanged some strange looks, as they went outside.

 

“Where are we going again?” police lieutenant Reilly asked his partner.

“To check a complaint of Mrs. Vudrudakis about animal cruelty of her neighbours,” the other police officer shrugged. “Heck, it must be pretty important that our law firm got a notice of that.”

“Well, that old witch does live in the posher parts of the neighbourhood,” Reilly commented. “And – here we are.”

They stopped before a small, but well-managed estate, and rang the doorbell.

A small, wizened old lady opened the door. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Police officers Reilly and James about a complaint of animal cruelty?” Reilly asked.

“At last! Well, come to the veranda, I'll tell you all.”

 

Tiffany, Hassan and Aaron were following the police cruiser, when it stopped before a small dwelling. An old lady appeared shortly afterwards, and took them inside to a veranda.

Hassan and Aaron exchanged glances. Aaron wanted to ditch the girl and learn what the policemen were talking about with the old woman; Hassan was having doubts.

Tiffany solved it by herself. “Do you think this looks like a dog’s crawlway?” she asked Hassan, pointing to such an opening under the fence.

Hassan looked it, flushing his nostrils. “It could be,” he agreed eagerly.

“Do you think that the proprietress will mind if we have a look for Biter on her grounds?” Tiffany continued her idea.

“Leave everything to us, Miss,” Aaron said grandly. He and Hassan knew how to get in already.

 

“So ma’am, what was your complaint about, exactly?”

“Oh, you don't know how the poor animals are treated around here!” Mrs. Vudrudakis exclaimed. “Those poor ponies in the pony ride in the zoo are covered with sores, and the cats and dogs around here are so scraggy and skinny!”

“Kind of like the Ruttheimers were,” Reilly told his partner, as if he was making a private comment. But Mrs. Vudrudakis heard it as well and pounced onto it.

“The Ruttheimers? Why, they were some of the worst cases around here! They and their Nicholson neighbour – he was as bad as they were!”

“Ow? How so?” The police officers exchanged looks with each other, pencils and notebooks appearing as if from nowhere in their hands. “It’s your neighbours you’re talking about, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Those reprobates! The Ruttheimers, wicked pennypinchers, starved themselves and their help, let alone poor animals! And Nicholson – oh, he the true Catholic!! Why, when I called his attention to the fact that Ruttheimers, father and son, were wicked, and that a man was judged for the company he kept, he threatened me!! Told me to go to Hell!! Why, that smooth-faced liar and hypocrite! The fact that both Ruttheimers – those two misers – are dead, it’s his doing, no doubt!!”

“Right, ma’am, so what has overfilled the cup of your patience, that you launched a complaint to Lawndale’s lawyer firm?” Lt. Reilly asked, instead of telling her to shut-up.

“Why, their latest devilry – whatever they had grown in that bloody copse of theirs!” Mrs. Vudrudakis snapped. “It’s just a few feet away from my back fence, don't you see?”

“Right. So what was ‘their latest devilry’?” Reilly persisted.

“I have no idea! But poor birds dropped like crazy, as if from some pestilence, and one of them fell almost upon my tea-cup.”

“Say ma’am,” James spoke for the first time. “Was it just birds, or some other animals? Squirrels, perhaps, or small dogs?”

“Dogs too, dogs too! A couple of dogs went into that copse and exited it, looking drunk, drugged! Why, something white is showing there even now!”

Curious, the two officers went there to see what white was showing over there – and returned, looking whitish-green themselves. “Ma’am,” one of them spoke, “you better come inside. This isn’t a sight for you to see.”

 

The three conspirators hid behind a house corner, watching the drama unfold. One of the policemen took the old lady into the house, while the other one drugged from out of the bushes and over the fence a…

Hassan and Aaron barely had time to prevent Tiffany from screaming. But even so, their actions were wasted, for the old lady saw what the other policeman brought forth too.

Her screams shook-up the neighbourhood.

 

“What has happened here?” Ms. Li asked Lt. Leslie James, as she and Lt. Reilly turned-on their blinker, and contacted the LPD’s HQ.

The police officer explained. Amy turned green, but Angela took her by the hand, and dragged her towards the crime scene. No one looked in their direction, everything was in chaos.

 

“Hello? Mr. Arnolds? It’s Tiffany Blum-Deckler...” The girl’s voice was shaking.

“What’s going-on? Did you find the dog?” the major-domo snapped.

Aaron quickly took-over the conversation. “Yes Mr. Arnolds, but it is dead?”

“What do you mean, dead?” the major-domo roared, ignoring and uncaring that somebody might overhear it.

“Somebody caved-in its head with an axe,” Aaron explained helpfully.

“What?” somebody else roared into the phone’s receiver. Sadly, it was Mrs. Petersen herself, who started to listen-in on the phone conversation early enough.

“Somebody caved-in its head with an axe,” Aaron repeated himself.

Mrs. Petersen fainted.

 

“Well, Ms. Li, did you find anything?” Amy Barksdale nervously asked, as the older woman finished examining the crime scene.

“Yes, I think I have,” Angela Li replied thoughtfully, as they returned back to the front, unnoticed by everyone in the hubbub.

Or rather – by every person, for a bird – a big one, like a hawk or a kite, was watching everything from a lamp-post, most attentively, noticing what everyone below it was doing…

“…So tell me, Miss Barksdale,” Ms. Li’s spirits were seemingly going up, “is your sister Helen involved in this?”

“As a lawyer you mean? I'm not sure, but here’s the lawyer squad arriving.”

“Why won't we go over there and say hello?”

 

Eric Schrecter was in a foul mood. His cousin Alan and Mindy Horowitz took him along in case it’ll be medical, but he doubted it. “Couldn't it be just something land-related?” he sighed.

“Mr. Schrecter?”

“Yes?” he turned around in the direction of the meek voice – and instantly his day brightened. “Why, you’re Helen’s sister! The TV anchor! Amy Barksdale?”

“That’s me,” Amy nodded in delight. “Me and my friend Ms. Li were taking a stroll through here, when we heard the screaming-“

“-And found a clue,” Ms. Li interrupted curtly Amy’s bubble. “Take some of your law-protecting buddies with you and let me show it before it is trodden-down into oblivion.”

 

For a change, Daria, Jane and Penny arrived amongst the last arrivals – and so they have missed on most of the drama. They did, however, see a weeping Tiffany being consoled by the pair of men they saw on Monday as being assistants of Mrs. Griffin’s missing cousin, and Amy Barksdale and Ms. Li talking with several men very animatedly. And then Mrs. Griffin’s sister – aka Sophia Hakiojopoulos – arrived on the crime scene as well. “What the hell is going-on here?” she barked.

The chief of LPD, police officer Matson, turned to her. “You're the federal investigator, aren’t you?” he asked, none too happy.

“Yes. And I’m also Mrs. Petersen’s guest, and currently my hostess is in a deep shock, too. So what’s going-on here?”

“Let me handle this, Valeriy Vitale interceded smoothly before the two bearers of American law-and-order. “Ms. Hakiojopoulos, kindly wait. This is a partially-private investigation.”

Sophia’s gaze went over the smooth lawyer leader. “I expect a spoken report this evening, however – which gives you, oh, about two hours,” she said in a steely voice.

“But of course,” Vitale agreed easily and readily, “but of course.”

 

“Well, girls, it looks like that we're too late,” Penny Lane shook her head sadly. “As they say in Siberian villages, the fighting is done, and all that’s left to do is to sort whose hat belongs to who.”

“Say, isn't that Monique, talking to some unpleasant – girl? That’s a girl, right?” Jane asked her older sister instead.

Penny and Daria looked there. Monique was talking to some female, who looked like Monique, a few years older – and a few degrees nastier. And that girl gave-off serious wiggins on Penny’s radar. “That’s it,” the older Lane sister muttered. “Daria, Jane – keep watch for Amy; I'm going to be a concerned sister and talk with Monique about Trent.” She left, leaving the younger girls rather confused.

 

“This is unpleasant news, Calais,” Monique was saying to the other girl. “Both the flock’s leader and our benefactress-“ she suddenly stopped, as Penny came within earshot. “Hello, Penny,” she said, turning around.

“Hello, Monique,” Penny replied, looking none-too-happy. “Can you and I talk? In private?”

 

“Well, here we are, in private, so talk,” Monique said curtly to Penny.

“Certainly. Monique – I've known you barely for an incomplete day, and I’m starting to dislike you. You seem to have an above-average interest in this gruesome manner, you’re cloaked in mystery, and you keep unpleasant characters around.”

“Trent doesn't mind.”

“Trent probably isn’t aware of that fact. I’m surprised that he is – or was – aware enough to recognize you as his girlfriend. I'm not Trent, however, and I do not fancy the idea of you being my future sister-in-law.”

“I do not plan to marry Trent,” Monique said, almost growling.

“All the more reason for you to stop coming to our home,” Penny replied. “I do not fancy waking-up one morning and discovering that you suckered my brother into providing temporary housing for Calais over there, or anybody else in your band.”

Monique’s face turned rigid, her eyes turned cold, her voice – icy. “I will come and go to your house as long as I please,” she said.

“You do whatever you want, Monique,” Penny said, her own gaze and voice hard steely, “but you’ll never be welcome there – ever. I really don’t like your attitude.”

“Well, you can suck my-“

“And it’s break-up time, ladies,” Lt. James pulled the girls apart. “Pick your quarrels somewhere else – somewhere private, okay?”

The two girls pierced the police officer with bone-chilling gazes, but each went to different parts of the crowd.

Officer James exclaimed. The last thing needed right now was a fight, it could easily start-up a riot in this atmosphere…

 

“Hey, aunt Amy,” Daria said, approaching her aunt. “What’s going-on in here?”

“Ow! Hey, Daria,” Amy said, feeling surprisingly shy. “What are you doing here?”

“We were attracted by the hubbub – now answer my question?”

“Well, Ms. Li was showing me around town, when we heard the police’s siren and saw its’ blinker. Ms. Li went to investigate – and found-”

“Actually,” Lt. Reilly heard Amy’s story and decided to set things right, “actually, it was me and my mate who found the evidence of the dirty deed.”

“Which is what?” Daria asked. “Do tell.”

“I don’t know, kid,” the police officer looked genuinely debateable, whether to tell her or not.

“Ow, come on,” Daria pleaded. “After all, after yesterday, when two human corpses were fished from the river with no heads attached, surely whatever has happened today won't be anywhere as bad?”

The policeman sighed. “We found a dead dog. Over there. In the bushes.”

“So what’s so bad about it?”

“The dog’s head was caved-in. With an axe.”

“How can you be sure that an axe was used?”

“’Cause it was still there, in the victim.”

“Great!” Jane said sarcastically to Daria. “Now Lawndale has its’ very own axe-murderer! Just like those horror flicks we're so fond-of!”

“That’s the trouble with today’s youth,” Eric meanwhile told Amy, using the fact that no one was paying attention to them. “They just watch the wrong things on television – and then act them out in real life, with the consequences like of today, and possibly yesterday.”

“Do you think there’s only one culprit behind today and yesterday?” Amy eagerly asked.

“I hope so. Because otherwise it would mean that there’s a copycat – and we’ll have to catch two murderers, which is at least twice as hard than to catch one,” police officer James spoke.

“Eh, do you know whose dog it was?” Penny asked, returning from her brief confrontation with Monique.

The answer came from the mouths of yet newer arrivals.

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Petersen’s major-domo, Lawrence Arnolds, said, ashen-faced. “This is Biter, Mrs. Petersen’s second oldest bulldog.”

“How can you be sure, sir?” a policeman asked.

“Only Mrs. Petersen’s bulldogs are white with just one brown ear – the right one. And also, I've seen a lot of Biter for the last five years, so I know him pretty much on sight.” He paused. “Can I take the body off your hands?”

“Certainly, sir. You just have to sign some papers,” Valeriy Vitale said, aware of Sophia’s steely gaze on him. “And may I add, that both our investigator and that of the police found hints of whodunit’s identity might be. And so, we expect that all interested parties came to Mrs. Petersen’s manour this evening for some revelations.”

Both Arnolds and Sophia nodded.

 

Later this evening, Mrs. Petersen’s manour was once again abuzz with activity – but it was activity of different kind. The powerful old lady seemed to have received a shock from which she couldn't recover: her life force almost vanished.

“…Why are we here, mom?” Jodie Landon nervously asked Michelle, as she held her younger sister Rachel by hand.

“Because your ex-grandmother-in-law requested it, I was told,” Michelle said thoughtfully, none-too-happy about it herself. “And it’s impolite to refuse a woman in her condition, now is it? Just play along, girls, and hopefully we’ll soon leave, okay?”

Jodie and Rachael reluctantly nodded. “Good. Now go and mingle with our guests.”

Jodie and Rachael went off.

It was then, seemingly, a shadow slid off the wall and became 3-D. Actually, it was Sophia Hakiojopoulos. “Good work with your girls, Mi,” she said with genuine respect.

“Knock it off, Sophia,” Michelle replied. Something knocked against a window – a branch or maybe not. Sophia was instantly over there, staring intensely into the night. “Sophia, what are you doing?” Michelle nervously called-out. The unstable light and shifting shadows made Sophia’s face appear ridged, cold, inhuman, while her eyes glowed from some street-light reflected in them.

“I'm sorry, Michelle,” Sophia turned around, now looking completely human as before. “It’s just that I feel that something is out there.”

“Well, there is. Whoever killed the Ruttheimers and Biter.”

“And possibly poisoned Wanderer?” Sophia added wryly.

“Not exactly. I think Wanderer’s death came from natural causes – he ate what wasn't right for him, hence the moral: don't eat anything off the ground.”

“Hmm,” Sophia nodded. “That’s true, of course, but there is also something – or someone – else. Someone who is hostile to me in particular.”

“Possibly Linda Griffin?” Michelle suggested. “Not that she’s a wonderful boss, but she does seem to hate you with a passion that’s beyond natural.”

Sophia nodded. “Perhaps you're right. But I think that there is somebody – possibly more than one – involved in this as well.”

 

“Mother, why do we have to be here?” Sandi Griffin asked her mom.

“Because it’s good manners,” Linda snapped. “If this was some legal manner, concerning, say, the inheritance of the Petersen manour – than we would have no right to be here. But this – this is a private soiree, and we can be here.”

“Actually,” spoke Eugene Podgio, a friend of Arnolds’ and a guest of Mrs. Petersen (and a possible groom of Miss Joneston), “this isn't what one would call a soiree, not really.”

“And how would you know that, sir?” Linda Griffin instantly bristled.

“I'm having one on Thursday, lady. At Lawndale’s Art Gallery, to be exact. Didn't you see the posters?”

“Ah, yes,” Linda nodded. “I see. See you then, then.”

“Right.” Eugene Podgio left.

“I’m impressed with your people skills, Linda,” a voice spoke from the shadows.

“Mom? Is it one of your weird friends?” Sandi asked nervously. She only heard them on the phone; they had some sort of a curious accent – or even voice-sets – and she didn't fancy meeting one of them in person.

“Yes, it is,” the voice from the shadows agreed.

“Mom,” Sandi continued, heartened, in a fashion, by this admission. “Why’d you bring me here? There’s nobody of my age in there.”

“Sure there are,” Linda argued. “Amy Barksdale brought her Morgendorffer nieces along – you’re friends with one of them, right?”

“Yeah, but Michelle Landon also brought her girls,” Sandi shrugged. “Still, Rachael too young to be worrisome, and I can handle Jodie, I believe… Well, I'll be off, mom, have fun talking to your friend.” She went into the living room.

“You two are kin,” the voice from the shadows spoke.

“I don’t think we’ve met in person before, Alecto,” Linda Griffin’s voice was bone cold.

“So we haven’t. Even now, for you cannot see me.”

“Yet you can see me. Step into the light, Alecto, now.”

The leader of the Harpies stepped forth. She was a tall, powerfully-built woman; probably more intimidating than an average male citizen of Lawndale. Alecto’s hair was darker than her black clothing while the irises of her eyes were yellow, like a hawk’s. Alecto’s hands were in the pockets of her pants.

Linda looked over the taller woman. “So what is so urgent that you came to see me in person.”

“Why, tis those murders.”

“Monique told me that you didn't have anything to worry about.”

“That was early morning. Now, new things are appearing that Monique was unaware of in the morning.”

Linda shrugged. “Night brings forth things that morning’s unaware off? Why I’m not surprised?”

“How about this: I saw your sister of whose existence you’ve admitted this morning, and – I believe that your family legend is true.”

Linda’s face turned icily rigid. “Why are you telling me this, Alecto? Don't you want to stay in my good graces?”

“Are you threatening me and my flock?” Alecto’s voice was very calm.

“Are you trying to get me angry?” Some of ice drained from Linda’s voice.

Alecto’s eyebrows rose. “You were always smart, Linda Griffin. But seriously, the murderer concerns us too. Do not think that we’re high and mighty.”

Linda shrugged. “Very well. Are you here to enjoy the- soiree?”

“Why not. Care to show me around?”

Linda nodded. “Why not?”

 

Jodie was walking through the corridor, when she collided into somebody. “Hey!” she and that somebody spoke simultaneously. Then they took a good look at each other. “So you’re my cousin,” once again they spoke at the same time.

Jodie Landon and Nina Joneston finally met, and at once tension ran through the air. “So you’re one of my cousins?” Nina asked.

“Yes.”

“I've met your mom – my aunt – earlier today. She and dad have a great family resemblance, you know? And so do you – look like my dad, I mean.”

“Yeah, I was told by my mom that I rather look like my late uncle Joseph,” Jodie agreed. “You, however, look like our grandmother, you know?”

“What does grandmother Joneston look like?” Nina asked, curious.

“Like you. But taller than you.”

“I see. Taller than dad?”

“I don’t remember uncle Joseph that well,” Jodie admitted. “Taller than my mom, for certain, though.”

Nina nodded, storing that bit of information. “Say, did you meet my brother Peter?” she asked,

“Not yet.”

“Do you have any siblings? No, wait, I heard your mother tell grandmother Louisa that you have a younger sister – Rachael?”

“Yes, she’s here with me and my mom tonight. Dad – couldn't make it. And I have a baby brother too, his name is Evan.”

“Must be nice having a baby brother,” Nina muttered. “My brother, Peter, is almost as bad a womanizer as that Ruttheimer boy was.”

“You know Up… Charles Ruttheimer the III?”

“Him? Oh yeah. He and his father usually were with Alexander Nicholson – another man with issues about women.”

“Do you have any opinion on who could’ve done it?” Jodie carefully asked.

Nina carefully looked around and shrugged. “I have no idea. Remember, too, Jodie, that on Saturday there was a lot of rain outside.”

“So what?”

“Well, I think that whoever done them in did it then – since it was the best of times to do that type of thing.”

“And he has also killed Biter?”

“That I cannot be sure of. That could’ve been anyone. That old hag, Mrs. Vudrudakis, for one thing. She always claims to be a big animal lover, but grandmother Louisa always says that whoever is raising the most murk in the water may be the one to benefit from it the most.”

Jodie shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Want me to show you around?”

“Why not?”

 

“Hello, Tiffany.”

“Ow hi, Mr. – Hassan, isn’t it?”

“Please, call me Hassan. Just Hassan, really. It’s my mate Aaron who is Mr. Guthan, while our boss is Ms. Hakio – and so on.”

“Right,” Tiffany nodded. “So, uh, what do you do for a living?”

“Follow my boss around, help her with whatever the Bureau assigned her to investigate – or if she just found something on her own.”

“But how’d you met her?”

Hassan paused, remembering the crazy times of his teenage years, and how he was extremely lucky to get out of it with his hide unscathed and his life kept… “It was a coincidence,” he finally said. “One of those things that work-out in the end, you know?”

“Ye-es,” said Tiffany, who was thinking her own thoughts. “I do see. Is it terribly exciting, working for her?”

“It’s not dull, not dull,” Hassan said.

Tiffany just nodded, smuggling up to him. And then, there was no more talking for awhile.

 

“Sandi, what are you doing here?” Quinn Morgendorffer asked, surprised.

“That’s what I would like to know too,” Sandi sighed. “Mom made do it – what’s your story?”

“Oh, both my mom and aunt Amy are in attendance – mom because she works for the firm and aunt Amy as a guest of honour. Therefore, mom took me and Daria so that we could impress, perhaps, some important people.”

“Did you see Tiffany around here?” Sandi asked, very quietly.

Quinn shook her head. “But I think I saw Jodie.”

“Oh drat. That’s the last person I want to meet right now. Seriously though, I guess this means that Mrs. Landon is here too.”

“And what can I do for you, ladies?” Peter Joneston appeared behind their backs.

Sandi and Quinn glared. They’ve been instructed somewhat about who’s who around here, and besides, there was something quite ‘Upchuckian’ about Peter Joneston in any way, so the two quickly walked away.

Peter Joneston just glared at their backs.

 

Daria Morgendorffer just stood by the refreshment centre and acted bored. She was bored – after Monday and today’s afternoon, this Tuesday’s evening was rather anti-climatic. And so Daria idly looked around, and saw Linda Griffin. The latter was walking around with some female stranger, who was tall, yet female, and reminded Daria of a Monique. Somewhat.

“Ah, Miss Morgendorffer,” Ms. Li’s voice’s spoke over her head. “And why did you answer this social call?”

“Both mom and Amy were going, and so me and Quinn went too,” Daria said grouchily. She could see aunt Amy, deep in a conversation with her mother’s lawyer boss, and that made her cranky. “Why are you here?”

“Why, I’m a ‘guest of honour’,” Ms. Li smiled unpleasantly. “That smooth lawyer, Vitale…”

“You know him?”

“I know of him. Supermen of law, they are. Belonging in Hell, they are too.”

“And Master Yoda next, you are not,” Daria replied in the same fashion. “Still, did you see Tiffany around here?”

“Not since this afternoon,” Ms. Li shrugged, growing serious once more. “Oh well, this is largely informal, now that Mrs. Petersen is now largely out of picture, so maybe she’s slacking-off. I can understand. That bulldog with a cloven head was a rather unappetizing picture, after all.”

“You seemed to have been holding-out quite nicely,” Daria casually noted.

“I'm two…three decades older than Miss Blum-Deckler, Miss Morgendorffer,” Ms. Li said calmly. “Naturally I have better self-control than your sister’s friend.”

“Speaking of friends, here comes Jodie Landon and Nina Joneston – re-discovered cousins,” Daria said casually.

“So they do,” Ms. Li agreed calmly. “Miss Morgendorffer, if they show any interest in talking to you, please reply in kind.” With those parting words Ms. Li seemingly lost interest in everything, but the contents of her glass of punch.

Daria shrugged, and turned to wait.

 

She didn’t have to wait long. The two female Afro-Americans did approach her, after all.

“Hey, Daria!” Jodie cheerfully said. “This is Nina, daughter of my late uncle Joseph.”

“Hey,” Daria said, unsure where she stood with Jodie’s cousin.

“Hey!” Nina cheerfully replied. “So you’re Jodie’s friend?”

“One of them, at any rate,” Daria agreed.

“Where’s Jane?” Jodie asked.

“She’s at home. The Lanes have some sort of an unpleasant family development launching at their house.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Nina said. “Maybe me and my brother can help – financially?”

“I don’t think so,” Daria said, her face expressionless. “The Lanes – from oldest to youngest – have views and certain issues concerning financial aide from strange and unknown people. So-”

“That’s cool, but maybe something can be worked-out still,” Nina argued.

“Well, the next time I see Jane – and that’ll be on school morning Wednesday tomorrow, Jodie will relate your kind offer to her, and see what’ll come-up.”

“Splendid!” Nina Joneston beamed. “Jodie you do that – oh drat, I got to go. Talk to you to later!” She left in a hurry, leaving Jodie and Daria somewhat confused. Then they saw Alexander Nicholson pass them by, and they had a revelation…

 

And so, the time went by. However, soon, at 8:30 PM, Valeriy Vitale called that the guests would group together at last.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the leading lawyer said, while his assistants for the evening – Eric Schrecter, Alan Schrecter, and Mindy Horowitz – took their places close to him. “I've assembled you all tonight because of a reason, or rather – you came here because of a reason – who is responsible for this, this state of Mrs. Petersen.”

Sophia Hakiojopoulos frowned. Underneath the smooth veneer of the lawyer’s speech something stank. It was a ratty smell, it was more of a general wrongness kind of one.

“As you all know, yesterday, our town was shocked – shocked by the fact that two of our more prominent citizens – you even knew them – Mr. Charles Ruttheimer Jr., and his son Charles Ruttheimer the III. Whoever did that to them will pay – in their own time. But for now we have another problem – the demise of Biter the white bulldog.”

“Typical,” Daria muttered to no one. “A bulldog’s death is equalized to a beheading of two humans. Just another sign that our society is going to Hell in a handbasket.”

“Hmm?” sounded to her right. Daria looked there, and her eyes travelled up – and up.

“Who're you?” she asked.

“Not now,” the extra-tall woman said. “The lawyer there is getting to the climax of his speech.”

“And so, when today the dog’s body was discovered, something else was found too: a clue! A clue as to who done that particular crime, at any rate.”

“Dogs before people. Nice to see that the prerogatives are kept still in human society,” Daria mumbled, keeping a watchful eye on her unexpected neighbour, who seemingly ignored her.

“The clue was a series of footprints,” Valeriy Vitale rumbled, pointing to a series of slides. “A series of footprints belonging to female shoes – lady shoes!”

“What’s he driving at?” Linda Griffin wondered. Angela Li, who was standing next to her, just shook her head. Dumb lawyer show-off theatrics.

“The thorough investigation of those footprints have brought forth another fact – that this was an inside job: whoever that had killed Biter actually knew him.”

“Just get to the point already, Slick,” Angela Li shook her head in dejection. She disliked that lawyer profusely – and she just met him.

“This resulted in another thorough investigation of the lady shoes in the house, and a culprit was found,” Vitale’s voice rose high.

“Damn theatrics,” Angela Li, Daria Morgendorffer, and Alecto thought at the same time.

“It was – Nina Joneston!” the lawyer’s voice shook.

Crash! The mulatto woman jumped-off the chair before anyone else could react and fled.

 

“Well, I wonder what Daria is doing,” Jane told her sister Penny, who was busy surfing the Internet. “It’s a piety that we didn't go.”

“Jane, you told me yourself that you’re feeling sort of threatened by Daria in the family plan,” Penny said jokingly. “Well, here’s the choice for the two of you to do individual things.”

“Mmm,” Jane said wryly. “I've been doing my ‘individual thing’ way after you left and way before Daria came. Coincidentally, what did break-up that perfect pair of you two?”

“Jane, don't you start,” Penny said in an edgy voice.

“Sorry, I'm just curious. Answer me laconically, if you prefer.”

“Laconically? – Very well. Two factors: our mom and Daria’s sister.”

“Quinn? What did she do?”

“She got born.”

“Ooo-kay. I can really see how you and Daria bonded. But to those of us uninitiated folks, what has happened.”

“Didn't you ask for a laconic version?”

“Yeah, but not with the generous helping of mystery on the side too. Penny, spill!”

There was some sound on the roof.

 

“Penny,” Jane finally said. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, probably just the crows or some other birds, pecking something up the roof,” Penny shook her head. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Should I wake Trent?”

“Actually, I think his snores do an admirable job of scaring the possible perpetrators away as it is. Let him lie.”

“He’s the man of the house- in dad’s absence. And Wind’s absence, too.”

“And which one of those three is the most manliest?” Penny asked.

“You,” Jane said with an angelic smile. The two sisters laughed.

Then the sound returned – scratching and tapping over the window. “Read Poe much?” Penny turned to Jane.

“I once tried to draw the Raven, yes, but it turned-out rather unimpressive,” Jane admitted. “And, for some reason, I put it on the bust of our great-aunt Olivia – you know, the one that lived in Africa?”

“Oh yeah.” Now the two sisters clearly heard the scratching and the tapping noises on the wall over their window.

“Excuse me,” Penny quietly said. “Jane, here’s the plan.” She produced a large, thin, rectangular suitcase from under the bed. “You stick your head outside and see what’s the matter – I’m right behind you with back-up.”

Jane looked at Penny intently. “Very well. But if something happens – say, I get my eyes pecked-out, or ripped-out, or something – it’ll be on your medical plan.”

“You got it, sister,” Penny smiled piratically. “Now go and stick your head out of the window!”

Jane did. Instantly, a pair of some strong, sinewy paws or talons or whatever grasped her by the neck and began to choke.

BANG!

The pressure vanished instantly, and Jane felt how somebody pulled her back in.

 

“Jane, are you okay?”

“Well, I still have my eyes and not two bloody messes in my eye-sockets, so yeah. Still, how did that?”

“Don’t know. I shot at it, but it got away?”

“You have a gun?”

“A hunting rifle, yes. I think I hit it, but it got away.”

“Great,” Jane said. “A trained animal killer. What next?”

“Next,” Penny said, smelling Jane’s head, “you need a bath.”

“You're right. Whatever it was, it stank. And now – so do I. I hate this evening.” Jane went downstairs in order to take a bath.

Penny smiled once again – and it was an unpleasant smile. “You know something, Monique-and-the-Harpies,” she said coldly. “This means war.”