by Nic Saint
Philana had crouched down, so her face was level with Rodrick’s. “You can’t go peeping in other people’s windows, Rodrick. It’s not very nice. I mean, how would you feel if I came looking through your window?”
Judging from his frown, this gave the kid some food for thought. Finally, he seemed to decide how he felt about Philana’s unusual proposal. “I’d be fine with it. As long as you fly in on your broom. Brooms are cool.”
Philana laughed and tousled my little brother’s straw-blond hair. “You’re a funny little boy, Rodrick.”
“I’m not a little boy,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height of fifty inches. “And I’m not funny!”
“No, I don’t think this is funny, either,” said Grandma.
“He won’t do it again,” said Philana. “Cause next time he tries, I’ll cast a spell on him!” At this, she made a grabbing motion for Rodrick.
The kid squealed and ran off. “She’s a witch! I told you so!”
Philana laughed and rose to her feet. “If I ever have kids, I hope they’ll be like that little boy of yours, Margaret. He’s simply too precious.”
“He’s simply a pest,” Calvin muttered.
Just then, Jerome, our family French Mastiff, came waddling up, directed a sad look up at Philana, let rip a noisy fart, and dropped down on her feet with a sigh.
Philana heaved a squeal, extracted her foot from beneath Jerome’s sizable butt, and walked off in a huff. I wondered if she thought Jerome was precious, too.
Chapter 2
I knelt down next to the old dog and tickled him behind the ears. Jerome, who looks exactly like Hooch from the Tom Hanks movie Turner and Hooch, has been in our family for so long nobody knows exactly how old he is. I googled French Mastiffs once and saw their life expectancy is five to eight years. I’m sure Jerome is an anomaly, for he was already part of our family when I was born. Then again, nothing about our family is normal.
For one thing, we were all raised by our grandmother, after our mom and dad mysteriously disappeared soon after Rodrick was born. And for another, we work for an organization called Karma Corps. It’s not a car company, or one of those snazzy Silicon Valley software start-ups. Karma Corps has been around since pretty much forever, and handles humanity’s karma. You know the drill. If you do something bad, sooner or later you will pay the price.
We don’t handle the small stuff, though. That kind of thing usually takes care of itself. Like when a little boy peeks through a neighbor’s window hoping to catch a glimpse of her third nipple, he might get sent to his room by his grandma. Or when a guy kicks a dog he might get fired by his boss for arriving late for work. No, we handle the big stuff. Murder. Grievous bodily harm. Kidnapping. Arson. Fraud. Not that I’m perfectly up to date on all of the particulars, as I only started working for the company after I graduated from Columbia last year. I majored in history. Not because I needed the degree to join the family business, but I like history. And it doesn’t hurt to have a little perspective when you dole out the proper punishment for a corrupt politician or a greedy deceitful banker.
I sat down for breakfast in the large kitchen, and my brothers all joined me. Calvin started preparing himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Brice prepared himself some whole wheat cereal with fat-free milk—the Angelina Jolie breakfast, as he called it—while Dalton nibbled away at a cold chicken breast fillet. Lucien sipped his black coffee, a dark look on his face as he stared before him, and Rodrick dumped half a box of Cap’n Crunch into his bowl.
I preferred Grandma’s waffles, and snapped up three, hot from the griddle, before they disappeared down my brothers’ gullets. Or Jerome’s.
“That stuff’ll kill you,” said Calvin sagely as he watched Rodrick scoop up his cereal. “It’s just a bunch of chemicals. No nutritional value, like, at all.”
Rodrick shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“It’s just a lot of sugar.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’ll rot your teeth.”
“Huh. Still don’t care.”
“All those hydrogenated oils will give you cancer.”
Rodrick gave him his best eye roll. “Don’t. Care.”
“It’ll give you a third nipple.”
This time, the little tyke looked up, his spoon pausing halfway to his mouth. “For real?”
“Sure. And a fourth, and a fifth… In fact if you keep eating that stuff you’ll sprout nipples all over your body. And your face.”
Rodrick glanced over to Grandma, who was pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Grandma? Is that true? Am I going to get a bunch of nipples?” There was a note of panic in his voice.
“Of course not,” said Grandma. “Calvin, stop feeding your brother a bunch of nonsense. And finish your breakfast, Rodrick. I don’t want to have to run after the school bus again.”
Rodrick directed an angry look at his older brother. “You’re mean, Calvin.”
“It’s true. Just wait and see.” He frowned and stared at Rodrick’s face. “My God. I think I can see one coming on already!”
Rodrick’s hands flew to his face, upsetting his bowl and sending cereal flying all over the table. “Where?! Where?!”
“Between your eyes. A big, fat, blue nipple!”
“You’re lying!” Rodrick cried, pushing himself away from the table and racing into the hallway to take a look in the mirror. “You’re lying!” we could hear him screeching. “There’s nothing there!”
“Calvin!” Grandma said, her hands planted on her hips. “Stop teasing your brother. And I won’t say this a second time. Or a third, actually.”
“Just a little instant karma,” Calvin said innocently.
“No doling out punishments to your own family,” she said. “You know the rule.”
“Rodrick is right,” I said. “You’re mean.”
“I thought it was pretty funny,” said Brice.
“Me, too,” said Dalton. He’d finished one fillet and was gnawing on another.
“We shouldn’t punish our own,” I said. “Especially for something minor like snooping around Philana Gauntlet’s house.”
Calvin groaned. “Can’t I have a little fun around here? I was just joking.”
Rodrick had joined us again, casting nasty glances at Calvin. “I’m going to get you for this,” he said.
“I do not doubt that you will,” Calvin said cheerfully.
“See?” asked Grandma. “That’s what you get. Punishment begets punishment. You of all people should know better, Calvin.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Calvin muttered, taking another bite of his peanut butter sandwich and picking up his iPad to read the New York Times.
There was a ring at the door and Lucien looked up eagerly. “That’ll be the mailman,” he said, and scooted away in the direction indicated. Moments later, he returned with a bulky package, his eyes shining with excitement.
He dumped a copy of US Weekly in Brice’s lap and said, “Oh, there’s a package for you, too, Dalton.”
“Cool,” said Dalton. “That’ll be my new dumbbells.”
“What’s that?” I asked as Lucien rattled his own package. He eyed me uncertainly for a moment, then said, “My meds. I ordered them online.”
“What meds?” asked Grandma, alarmed.
“I told you about this, Grandma,” Lucien said, signaling with his eyes. “My meds?”
“You didn’t tell me anything,” she said.
“It’s his transgender meds,” said Calvin, languidly sipping his coffee.
Lucien looked up as if stung. “How do you know about that?”
Calvin pointed at the label, which read Quality Health Corps. “They specialize in do-it-yourself hormonal therapy for transgenders. I’ll bet you’ve got your Estradiol in there, along with your Spironolactone and your Bical, right?”
Grandma looked horrified. “Lucien! What are you up to?!”
Lucien directed a dirty look at Calvin, who gave him a beaming smile in r
eturn. “I thought I’d explained this to you, Grandma,” he said, emphatically gesturing at her with his eyes. “In great detail.”
“You told me you’d finally found yourself, and that you were going to take steps to becoming even more true to who you really are,” said Grandma. “You never said anything about starting hormone therapy.”
“I’m a woman trapped inside the body of a man,” said Lucien, placing a hand to his brow like a genuine diva. “And now, finally, I’m going to free that woman, and, like the caterpillar, turn into a beautiful butterfly.”
“Or a moth,” said Calvin.
“A butterfly!” Lucien insisted.
“I thought you meant figuratively!” said Grandma.
“It’s just a bunch of meds,” said Dalton, who knew a thing or two about self-medication. “It’s all pretty harmless.”
“Thank you, Dalton,” said Lucien. “The first smart thing you said today.”
“It can do a lot of harm,” said Calvin. “Estrogen contributes to blood clots and can increase your chance of suffering a stroke or heart disease.” He suddenly turned serious. “If this isn’t another one of your fads, Lucien, and you seriously want to go down this road, I suggest you seek medical advice.”
“I’m just dabbling for now,” said Lucien. “I’ll see where it takes me.”
“You’re not going to do any dabbling,” said Grandma, trying to make a grab for Lucien’s box. “That stuff is dangerous!”
“Oh, just let him,” said Brice. “He’ll just get really silky skin and grow a pair of boobies. And what’s wrong with that?”
Rodrick’s eyes had gone wide. “Boobies? With nipples?”
“Oh, God. What’s with you and nipples already?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing.” He then directed an eager look at Lucien. “Can I see them? Once they come out, I mean?”
“Eww,” said Brice. “Gross, dude. Who wants to see Lucien’s boobs?”
“Lucien isn’t getting any boobs,” Grandma decided. “It just isn’t natural.”
“And this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Lucien said, getting up. He then turned to us. “You just don’t understand!” And he swept from the room, his do-it-yourself hormone replacement therapy under his arm.
“Nice exit,” Brice commented. “He’s turning into a diva already.”
“Stop teasing your brother,” said Grandma. “And Rodrick, why aren’t you ready for school?”
“I’m ready,” said Rodrick, whose cheeks were red and his eyes shiny. I was pretty sure he was going to be stalking Lucien next, trying to catch a glimpse of his third nipple.
“It’s all right, Grandma,” I said. “I’ll talk to Lucien.”
“Yes, me, too,” said Calvin.
“No, I think you better sit this one out, Calvin,” I said. “I don’t think Lucien is ready to take any more advice from you.”
“Why not?” asked Calvin indignantly. “I give the best advice.”
“You go talk to him, Saffron,” Grandma said. “And please try to talk him out of taking those drugs. That really can’t be good for him.”
“They’re fine, but only when taken under medical supervision,” said Calvin. “Which is what I was trying to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“And why, I wonder, is that?” I asked.
“Beats me,” said Calvin with a shrug.
“Next time try removing that smirk from your face,” I suggested. “Maybe then he’ll listen to you.”
“That’s not a smirk,” said Brice. “That’s his normal face.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a smirky face, bro,” Dalton chimed in.
“That’s not even a thing,” Calvin protested, his smirk increasing in wattage.
“I think Lucien will look great as a girl,” said Rodrick.
“Lucien isn’t going to look like a girl,” Grandma said. “Not now. Not ever.”
“Well, if he really wants to go through with this, we can’t stop him,” I told her.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Grandma muttered, making the sign of the cross. “Have mercy on my soul.”
Just then, there was a rumbling sound in the pipes that ran through the whole house. We all knew what it was, and we stopped doing what we were doing and stared at the end station for the pneumatic tube system which was located right in our kitchen. There was more rumbling and rattling and the noise drove Lucien to retrace his steps and return to the kitchen.
Finally, with a dull finality, the cylindrical container dropped down into its receptacle and Grandma stalked over. She was the designated recipient for the Happy Bays branch of Karma Corps. She took out the container and opened it. A piece of parchment fell out, written in the elegant handwriting of one of Karma Corps Headquarters’ secretaries. A single name was written on the document, along with a time and a place. The name was the name of a person who’d recently been murdered, the time and place of the murder added beneath.
Grandma slipped her glasses onto her nose and squinted at the page. “Mariana Piney,” she said, then shook her head. “Never heard of her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Calvin cheerfully. “We have our assignment.”
“Who’s the lucky agent?” asked Brice, putting his copy of US Weekly aside.
Grandma turned the piece of parchment, and glanced up at me, taking off her glasses. “Calvin and… Saffron.”
I gasped. “Me?”
Grandma nodded, then her wrinkly face broke into a smile. “Congratulations, honey. Your very first assignment. I’m so proud.”
Cheers rang out around the breakfast table. Even though I’d been employed by the family business for six months, I’d never been out in the field. Now I would be bringing justice to the murderer of Mariana Piney, whoever she was. It was an auspicious moment in the life of any Diffley.
“Thanks, you guys,” I said, glowing with pride.
“And don’t worry, sis,” said Calvin, clapping me on the back. “I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure you don’t mess up.”
“I’m not going to mess up,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
“You sure do,” said Grandma, and gave me a warm hug.
“When can I join the business?” asked Rodrick.
“When you stop annoying the heck out of our neighbors,” said Brice.
He looked thoughtful at this, then shrugged. “Nah. I like annoying them. I’ll wait.”
Well, he was going to have to wait anyway. At least until he was eighteen. As for me? My time had finally come, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into my first case. Jerome, who must have felt my excitement, emitted a loud bark, then pushed out an even louder fart, and promptly collapsed on my foot, granting me the full benefit of his odoriferous joy.
Chapter 3
While the others went down to the office, it was up to Calvin and me to drop Rodrick off at his school, since he’d missed the school bus. Again.
“So why were you harassing Mrs. Gauntlet, exactly?” I asked. “And don’t give me this witch business, because I’m not buying it.”
“But she is a witch,” Rodrick insisted. “And I’m going to prove it.”
He was in the backseat while I was riding shotgun, Calvin our designated driver. It was only a short drive from Diffley Manor to the heart of Happy Bays, the small Long Island town where we live, and it took us along the coast, where we could see other, bigger mansions, all belonging to millionaires and billionaires and maybe even trillionaires.
Diffley Manor is something of an anomaly. It’s a big, rambling place, in urgent need of renovation, something Grandma has been telling us to take in hand one of these winters, when crime rates drop and we have less on our plate. But it’s hard to work on a house in the middle of winter. Spring would be a better time, but the last couple of years there were an inordinate number of murders come springtime, so my brothers all had their hands full.
“I think you should just leave the poor woman alone,” I said.
“She’s
not a poor woman,” Rodrick shot back. “She’s loaded!”
“Well, that’s still no reason to go harassing her.”
“It is if she’s a witch. She could be after us. She could want to bewitch us!”
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as witches,” I assured him.
“Mrs. Rinsky believes in witches. Mrs. Rinsky says they fly around at night on their brooms and cast spells. She showed us a movie and witches kidnap kids and use them to keep themselves young!”
“Hey, I know that movie,” I said, turning to Calvin.
“Hocus Pocus,” he said knowingly. “Classic Bette Midler. Though not necessarily based on true facts,” he added with a quick glance in the rearview mirror at Rodrick.
“Well, I think it’s true,” the little tyke said stubbornly. “There are witches out there and I’m going to find them before they eat me.”
“I really don’t think—”
“That’s because you’ve got nothing to fear! You’re old!”
“I’m twenty-three!”
“That’s old. You’re almost as old as Mrs. Rinsky.”
I gave him a dubious look. “How old is Mrs. Rinsky?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Like, a hundred maybe?”
I huffed out a cry. “You think I’m a hundred years old?”
“I said you’re almost as old as Mrs. Rinsky,” he hedged.
I turned around in my seat. “Look, buster, I’m going to stop you from bothering Philana Gauntlet again. Do I make myself clear?”
“You and whose army?!” he cried, then cackled like an evil witch.
Too bad we’d reached his school’s drop-off zone, for before I could respond, he’d opened the door and was off at a trot, still cackling evilly.
“Gah, that kid,” I said, shaking my head. “Was I like that at his age?”
“I wouldn’t know, hon. I was too busy fighting for my life in the cage called Diffley Manor.”
“It can’t have been that bad,” I said, giving him a surprised glance.
“When you’re the younger sibling, with no less than three older brothers, life can be pretty tough,” he said with a grimace. “Which is why I had to learn to rely on the power of my intellect to see me through.”
