Big Bad Detective Agency

by Bruce Hale

  “We’ve got candy,” sang Ferkel.

  Whfff! The door whipped open.

  “What kind do —?” Hansel began, until he saw who stood on his doorstep. “You? Get lost!”

  The blond boy tried to slam the door, but Wolfgang had jammed his paw into the frame.

  “We only want — ow! — to talk,” the wolf said.

  Gretel’s head peeked over her brother’s shoulder. “Where’s the candy?”

  “There is none!” Ferkel chuckled. “We just wanted you to open up.”

  Hansel and Gretel shoved on the door. Wolfgang braced his shoulder against them, trying to spare his mashed paw.

  “Where — ugh — were you last night?” asked the wolf.

  “None of your — mmf! — beeswax,” said Hansel. His round belly poked through the gap as he struggled in vain to close the door.

  “We were right here,” said Gretel, “doing a taste test between chocolate, vanilla, and coconut cakes.”

  “Ooh! Which one won?” asked Ferkel.

  Gretel’s smile was dreamy. “All of ’em. We’re doing pies tomorrow.”

  “Big whoop,” Wolfgang growled. “Tell me, what do you think of the Three Little Pigs?”

  “Those oinkers?” Hansel snapped. “Hate ’em. Hate their building projects, too. Keep the forest green, I say!”

  Gretel produced a rolling pin from somewhere and poked it in Wolfgang’s eye. When he stepped back, clapping a paw over the injury, the twins slammed and locked the door.

  “Ow!” cried the wolf. “Open up!”

  “Never!” cried H & G.

  “Open that dog-danged door,” barked the wolf. “Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow it right down!”

  A moment of silence followed this threat. Then …

  “Ha, ha, ha, ha!” The twins burst into hysterical laughter.

  “I’m not kidding,” said Wolfgang. “I’ll do it — see if I don’t!”

  More laughter.

  Ferkel frowned. “Can you really blow a door down?” he whispered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said the wolf. “What do I look like, a tornado?” He headed off across the lawn.

  “Ooh! Where are we going?” asked the pig, trotting after him.

  “To find something vitally important to this investigation.”

  “What’s that?” asked Ferkel. “Another clue?”

  The wolf smiled a hungry smile. “Lunch,” he said.

  * * *

  Of all the restaurants in Fairylandia, the Hi-Ho Diner was the most popular. It was also the only one. Snow White ran the place with a firm hand, bossing around her staff of seven dwarfs and dishing up the best burgers, shakes, and dragon-egg omelets in town.

  Wolfgang and Ferkel strode into the warm, bustling restaurant, which smelled of fresh-baked bread and dwarf sweat. After the pair had placed their order, they sat back in a red leather booth to discuss their first suspects.

  “We didn’t get to see if they recognized that head scarf,” said Ferkel. “But I don’t think they did it.”

  “Are you kidding?” said Wolfgang. “They hate your brothers, they have no alibi but each other, and they acted suspicious.”

  Ferkel raised his eyebrows. “Suspicious? You lied about candy and threatened to blow down their house. How else would they act?”

  “You lied about the candy,” grumped the wolf. “Anyway, I still think Hansel and Gretel are guilty.”

  “Oh, they are,” rasped a scratchy voice behind them.

  Wolfgang spun in his seat to eyeball a lean, black-clad woman at the next booth. “You have proof?” he asked.

  She nodded glumly. “Hansel and Gretel ate my home — what more do you need?”

  “Um, proof that they trashed my brothers’ houses?” said Ferkel.

  The wolf frowned at the woman. “You’re Ursula?”

  “The witch?” said Ferkel with a gulp.

  “The same,” said Ursula, plucking a wing from her bat soup.

  Ferkel shrank back. “Didn’t you sue my brothers because they built your house from gingerbread?”

  “Well, yeah,” said the witch. “I mean, who builds a house from snack food? It was a pain to keep clean, and then those rotten kids ate the whole thing up.”

  Wolfgang’s eyes narrowed. “So you don’t much like the Three Little Pigs?”

  Ursula shot him a deadpan look. “What do you think, handsome?”

  “I think you better tell us where you were last night,” growled the wolf. His hackles bristled.

  Ferkel tugged on his arm. “Don’t make her mad,” he whispered. “She’ll turn us into newts.”

  Wolfgang shook him off. “Where were you, witchy woman?” he demanded.

  Plates slammed onto their table. “With me,” snapped the sour-looking dwarf serving their food. “Isn’t that right, Love Muffin?”

  Ursula beamed at the grim little man. “That’s right, Schnooky Lumps. We went to hear that new harpist play at the castle.”

  Wolfgang slumped. “So you didn’t wreck the pigs’ houses?”

  She stood and linked her arm with the dwarf’s. “It makes me happy to hear it,” she said. “But no, I didn’t. Try Jack — he’s a known thief and rascal.”

  “Right.” Wolfgang waved a paw in thanks and tucked into his meal: four griffin burgers with a side of venison and fries. It might be his last meal that didn’t consist of porridge.

  As she passed by, Ursula trailed her fingers over Ferkel’s shoulder. “Oh, and, Little Pig?” she said.

  “Yes?” said Ferkel.

  “Nobody turns anybody into newts these days.”

  Ferkel blushed and seemed to relax.

  “The best witches turn folks into wombats.” And with a light cackle, she left the diner.

  Jack lived on a tumbledown farm with his mother, a mangy cow, and a few fat hens. Since the lad was, as Ursula had noted, a well-known rascal, Wolfgang felt hopeful. He and Ferkel approached the cottage.

  “Now can we use my investigative techniques?” asked Ferkel.

  “Maybe next time,” said Wolfgang. He rapped on the cottage door.

  “Who is it?” a young man’s voice called.

  “Wolfgang,” said the wolf.

  “And me, Ferkel,” the pig added.

  “The Big Bad Wolf and the Little Bitty Pig?” said the voice.

  Wolfgang grimaced. “Don’t call me ‘Big Bad.’ Open up, Jack.”

  “Ma always said don’t talk to strangers,” said Jack.

  “We’re not strangers,” Wolfgang growled. “You know us. Now, open up!”

  A thumping and dragging noise came from inside. “Fair point,” said Jack. “But a guy can’t be too careful these days.”

  The weathered door creaked open just a smidgen and a wary blue eye peeked through the crack. “Hullo,” said Jack.

  “Hi,” said Ferkel. “How’s it going?”

  Wolfgang turned to stare. “ ‘How’s it going?’ That’s your investigative technique?”

  Ferkel shrugged. “No harm in being polite.”

  The wolf ground his teeth. “There is if you’re facing death by porridge.”

  “Fine.” Ferkel threw up his hooves. “Do it your way.”

  “Do what?” asked Jack.

  Wolfgang cleared his throat. “Have you had any doings with the Three Little Pigs?”

  The door opened just wide enough to reveal Jack’s other eye. “Seen ’em around once or twice,” said Jack. “You know.”

  “How do you get along?” asked Wolfgang.

  “I’ve got no beef with the pigs,” said Jack. He gave them an expectant grin. “Get it? Beef with pigs?”

  Wolfgang rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. Recognize this head scarf?” He held up the brown and red fabric.

  “Nope,” said Jack.

  “Where were you last night?” the wolf demanded.

  The door gap narrowed. “Why so many questions?”

  “Someone vandalized my brothers’ houses while
they were off listening to that new harpist,” Ferkel piped up.

  “And I’m getting really curious about what you’re hiding behind that door,” Wolfgang snarled, shouldering his way through. “Now, open up!”

  BAM! The door flew open. Jack stumbled backward and landed flat on his hot cross buns.

  And Wolfgang and Ferkel saw what the door had been hiding:

  A small stack of brass eggs, a pair of crutches, and a leg — Jack’s leg — in a plaster cast.

  Wolfgang frowned at the broken leg. “Huh?”

  “I, uh, fell out of a tree last week,” said Jack.

  “And the eggs?” asked Ferkel.

  Jack shrugged. “Bought ’em off a stranger.”

  “So, last night …?” Wolfgang said.

  “I was right here at home,” said Jack. “With Ma.”

  Wolfgang’s tail drooped. “Oh.” He turned to go. “Right.”

  “Wait a second,” said Ferkel. “You got the eggs from a stranger? You said your mom told you never to talk to strangers.”

  “Yup.” Jack gave a wry headshake. “And that’s why she told me that.”

  * * *

  Back outside, Wolfgang pulled on his ears in frustration. “Only five hours till sundown, and we haven’t caught the culprit yet.”

  “Now will you try my investigative techniques?” said Ferkel.

  Wolfgang sighed. “Will they keep me out of the dungeon?”

  Ferkel chuckled and rubbed his front hooves together. “Absolutely! First thing we do is create a list of suspects.”

  They strolled along the forest road, adding and discarding names, until at last they had a fair list.

  “All right,” said Wolfgang. “Read off the new ones.”

  “Goldilocks.”

  “Check.”

  “Cinderella,” said Ferkel.

  “Check.”

  “Thumbelina.”

  “Really?” Wolfgang arched an eyebrow. “She’s smaller than a thumb.”

  Ferkel shrugged. “She’d have an easy time breaking in.”

  “Uh-huh. And how would she steal all that food?”

  Ferkel crossed off the name. “Okay, no Thumbelina.”

  “Right,” said Wolfgang, lengthening his stride. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “First, Goldilocks,” said the wolf. “I’ve never trusted blondes.”

  A word about Goldilocks before we meet her. As you may know, young miss Goldie had a rather free attitude toward other people’s belongings.

  Eating other people’s oatmeal, sleeping in their beds, and trying on their clothes didn’t make her the most popular of girls. Plus, because of her experience with the Three Bears, she was a wee bit shy around big predators — a fact that Ferkel pointed out.

  “You can’t just go barging in there,” he said.

  “Why not?” said Wolfgang.

  “Well, you’re a wolf.”

  Wolfgang stopped, looked down at himself, and then back at the pig. “My, you are a detective,” he said. “So?”

  “She’ll never open the door.”

  The wolf put his paws on his hips. “And what do you suggest? Climbing down her chimney?”

  “A real detective would get tricksy,” said Ferkel. “A real detective would wear a disguise.”

  Wolfgang eyed the pig. “Exactly what did you have in mind?”

  No way,” said Wolfgang. “Never in a million years!”

  “It’s genius!” said Ferkel. He held up the flowery flannel nightgown and mobcap he’d borrowed from his mother. “It’ll make you look harmless. Well, more harmless, anyway.”

  The wolf glared. “Are you cracked? I’ve got a reputation.”

  “Everyone fears and mistrusts you.”

  Wolfgang shrugged. “It may be a bad reputation, but it’s a reputation. What if someone sees me wearing granny clothes?”

  Ferkel stepped closer. “You want to stay out of Prince Tyrone’s dungeon, right?”

  “Of course, but —”

  “And you want to question Goldilocks, right?”

  Wolfgang grimaced. “Yeah, but —”

  “Do you have any better ideas,” Ferkel said innocently, “for making Goldilocks trust the Big Bad Wolf?”

  Wolfgang scowled at him for a beat. At last, he snatched the nightgown from Ferkel and growled, “If you ever tell anyone about this, you’re bacon bits. Got that?”

  Ferkel smiled. “You’re welcome. Don’t forget the cap!”

  Wolfgang stepped behind some bushes and slipped into the gown, tucking his ears under the frilly mobcap. After some tweaking and tugging, he stepped out again.

  “I feel like an idiot,” he said.

  Ferkel cocked his head this way and that. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but you look like the world’s ugliest granny.”

  “Funny, Pig. Real funny.”

  “It needs … something,” said Ferkel. “Bend down.”

  When Wolfgang stooped, the pig tugged the nightcap as low as it would go. Then he patted the wolf’s furry face with a powder puff and smeared some red lipstick across his snout.

  “That’s it,” said Ferkel. “Let’s hear your granny voice?”

  “Hello, little girl,” growled the wolf in a voice like boulders rumbling.

  Ferkel winced. “Leave the talking to me.”

  Wolfgang gnashed his teeth. This day just couldn’t get much worse. Nevertheless, he followed Ferkel down the path.

  Goldilocks lived in a cozy little thatch-roofed cottage beside a grove of apple trees. Scattered about the yard were various chairs, beds, tables, meals, and bits of clothing, both large and small.

  Wolfgang sniffed at a chair as they passed by. “She’s a tidy little thing,” he muttered.

  “I hear she’s really picky,” Ferkel whispered. “Everything has to be just right.”

  “Except for her housekeeping, apparently,” said the wolf.

  They knocked on the door but got no answer. Then Wolfgang’s sharp ears detected a cheerful whistling coming from the orchard. Strolling around the side of the cottage, they spotted a sturdy blond teenager skipping toward them, carrying a basket of apples.

  “Hello there!” said Ferkel. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Oh!” The girl stopped dead, brown eyes round with surprise. “Who are you?”

  The pig swept off his blue cap and made a gallant bow. “Ferkel Pig, at your service.”

  Her gaze went from him to Wolfgang. “And who’s your ugly friend?”

  The wolf started to growl, but Ferkel elbowed him into silence.

  “He — uh, she’s called …” the pig began.

  “Lobo,” said the wolf.

  “Granny Goodie,” said Ferkel at the same time.

  Goldilocks frowned. “Well, which is it?”

  The wolf attempted the world’s most awkward curtsy. “Granny Lobo Goodie, my dear,” he rumbled, then caught himself. “Pleased to meet you,” he squeaked.

  Goldilocks hugged her basket closer and cast him a doubtful look. “Charmed,” she said. “I just love your fashion sense.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Ferkel.

  “Not every woman is bold enough to wear nightclothes in the middle of the day,” she said.

  Wolfgang shot the pig a glare.

  “Er, yes,” said Ferkel. “Granny’s a bold one, all right.”

  Goldilocks edged around them toward the house. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, just a neighborly gossip session,” said Ferkel. “Did you hear what happened to the Three Little Pigs last night?”

  “Yes,” said Goldie, keeping her distance. “What a shame. I heard they had to move back in with their mother.”

  “Who do you think did it?” Ferkel asked.

  “No idea,” said the girl, with a nervous glance at Wolfgang.

  He smiled reassuringly, his sharp fangs glinting.

  “Wow!” said Goldilocks. “Those are some seriously big teeth you’ve g
ot.”

  Ferkel scowled at Wolfgang.

  “The better to, uh, eat … my porridge with,” screeched the wolf in his best try at a female voice.

  “Riiiight,” said the girl. By now, she’d gotten around them and was backing toward the house.

  Following after, Wolfgang drew the head scarf from inside his sleeve. “We found this on the ground, dearie. You didn’t happen to drop it, did you?”

  Her eyes flashed from the scarf back to the wolf’s face. “Not mine,” she said.

  Just then, Wolfgang felt a terrible urge to scratch underneath the mobcap. He raised a paw and gave the itchy spot a quick scritch-scritch-scritch. But as he did so, his ears popped free.

  “Yikes, what big ears you have!” said Goldie in a small voice.

  “Uh, yes,” the wolf trilled. “I, uh — ah, forget it.” His voice dropped back into its normal register. “The better to hear you say what the heck you were doing last night between sunset and midnight.”

  Goldilocks turned and fled for her cottage door. Wolfgang lunged after her, tangled his legs in the nightgown, and did a face-plant into her tomato garden. He raised a red-stained muzzle and cried, “Stop her!”

  Ferkel trotted as fast as his little trotters would carry him, just managing to reach the door before Goldie. He spread his arms across the doorframe. “Wait, we —” he began.

  “Move it, Pig!” The girl caught Ferkel’s shoulder and flung him aside, in a move worthy of judo, which hadn’t even been invented yet.

  The pig just managed to grab her ankle as she barreled through the doorway.

  Wolfgang regained his feet and surged forward.

  “Help!” cried Goldilocks. “Someone save me!”

  The three of them grappled on the doorstep, Goldie trying to escape, Ferkel and Wolfgang trying to explain.

  FWEEEET! A shrill whistle blast pierced the air.

  “Ho there!” bellowed a rough voice. “Halt, in the name of the prince!”

  Captain Kreplach marched up the walkway with two tall guards at his heels. “Unhand her!” he cried. Wolfgang and Ferkel released Goldilocks, who promptly swatted them with her basket.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” said Wolfgang.

  “I’ll be the judge of that, madam,” snapped Captain Kreplach. He stopped and squinted suspiciously. “Hang on. Don’t I know you?”