Introducing Chapter DCCXI of her ambulatory romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” challenges her readers: “Will the daring middle-aged podiatrist, Dr. Fratsky, be able to bring the Royal Millipede Inspector home from Portugal, whence he was transported by rogue Picts?” (Honk if you know the answer to that question.)
For a podiatrist, Dr. Fratsky takes great big chances. “Did you see him dancing on the roof top during that thunderstorm the other day, waving that old sword around?” Such was the question most often asked at The Lying Tart.
Dr. Fratsky’s theory is, “Find the chap’s real name, and you find the Royal Millipede Inspector.” Lady Margo Cargo’s crusty old butler, Crusty, has already done that; but no one will listen to him because the shire is in one of its snooty moods toward the servant class.
Dr. Fratsky’s method is to make a very long list of guesses and then hope one of them is right. “I can’t say I think much of that procedure,” muses Lord Jeremy Coldsore.
“Well, he did manage to fail all his courses at university,” stroots Dr. Fratsky’s cousin, Johnno the Merry Minstrel. “He stole his degree from a dead man. He really is quite a daredevil.”
Ms. Crepuscular hints darkly: “Get ready for Portugal.”
Whoa! That’s the best investigative technique imaginable. Let’s just hope that no hostile powers adopt that. 🙂