The Fantastic Family Whipple

by Matthew Ward

  The Panther-Man—who had now shed all his bandages except the sling that held his right arm—promptly retrieved a bottle of milk from behind the bar and measured it into a martini glass. With a warm smile, he handed the glass to the chef.

  “Here you are, Mr. Sammy. I have extracted it this very morning from the World’s Creamiest Cow.”

  Upon receiving the glass, Sammy clutched Mr. Mahankali’s good hand and looked him in the eye. “Cheers, mate,” he said. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you out of that ’ospital bed. Gave me quite a scare there, you did…”

  “I am so very glad to see you as well, my friend,” said the Panther-Man. “The animals have missed your exquisite cooking. I have not known what to tell them.”

  “Tell ’em I missed them too,” said the chef. “They’re a fousand times more pleasant to be ’round than the animals I ’ad to live wiv this past month.”

  Sammy smiled and took a long drink of milk, then gave a satisfied ahhh and turned to Mr. Whipple. “Good to be back, guv,” he grinned.

  The octuplets, who had just finished setting the thirty-foot dining table at the center of the cabin, scurried over to their newly freed chef and tugged playfully at his apron.

  “So, tell us Sammy,” said George with deep interest, “what was it like on the inside?”

  “Did you have to shiv anybody?” asked Charlotte.

  “No shivving, fank goodness,” Sammy chuckled. “Though I did ’ave to hit a bloke wiv a soup ladle once.”

  “Oooh,” the octuplets murmured in awe.

  Just then, the ornately carved main doors opened, and in stepped Arthur’s mother and older siblings—followed by the entire Goldwin family.

  Arthur’s father gave a heavy sigh—and promptly downed his drink.

  “And this,” explained Mrs. Whipple, “is where we shall be dining this evening: the Sea-Level Ballroom, converted some years ago from the ship’s original gun decks.”

  “Good to know we’re on a pleasure cruiser and not a warship,” smirked Rex Goldwin. “Left our muskets and cutlasses back at the house, I’m afraid.”

  Arthur’s eye immediately went to the rear of the group, where, trailing behind the others with her nose planted in an old, cloth-bound book, strode Ruby. Though he had been trying to get the girl’s attention ever since she and her family had boarded the boat a half hour earlier, his efforts thus far had proved bafflingly unsuccessful.

  “Ah—and here he is,” declared Mrs. Whipple as the group approached the bar, “our man of the moment: Sammy the Spatula Smith! Sammy, meet the Goldwins.”

  Rex stepped forward and took the chef’s hand. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Sammy,” he beamed. “Congratulations on your recent unfettering. So glad you could be here tonight—instead of elsewhere.”

  Sammy nodded enthusiastically. “So am I, Mr. Goldwin—so am I. Pleasure.”

  “Yes,” added Arthur’s mother, “and not only is Sammy our guest of honor this evening, but—at his own insistence—he’ll also be our chef for tonight’s feast. Again, Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin, thank you for allowing us to combine these two gatherings into one. With Sammy being discharged this morning, we wanted to be sure to give him an unforgettable release party, but then, we’d already asked your family to dinner tonight. Seemed the perfect time to take the family frigate out for a cruise. I do hope you don’t mind.”

  “Please, Lizzie,” cried Rita Goldwin, “don’t say another word about it! What an honor it is to be included in such a personal and momentous occasion. How truly gracious of you and your husband!”

  “Really, Mrs. Goldwin,” said Arthur’s father, his buoyant demeanor having flattened considerably since the Goldwins’ entrance, “all credit must go to my wife.”

  Mrs. Whipple gave a subtle elbow to her husband’s ribs.

  “But of course,” he added, forcing a smile, “we are all pleased to welcome you aboard the Current Champion.”

  “Ah,” said Rex, “now there’s a name for a ship, eh Charlie? I only hope you aren’t forced to change it on our account—given our performance this past weekend at the Unsafe Sports Showdown. Everyone knows what bad luck it is to rechristen a boat.”

  Mr. Whipple’s smile faded. “Your concern is most appreciated, Mr. Goldwin. I assure you, we shall do all we can to avoid such a blunder….”

  “Yes, well,” his wife said with a nervous chuckle, “I know I could do with a bit of dancing. What do you say, dear—shall we reconvene on the lower deck?”

  Not waiting for a reply, Arthur’s mother ushered the party to the railing at the front edge of the ballroom. There, a flight of stairs descended through an unenclosed atrium onto an expansive mirrored floor. When she flipped a switch at the top of the staircase, however, the mirrored floor suddenly became transparent as rows of lights beneath the ship lit up the sea below.

  Shimmering schools of fish darted past lumbering sea turtles and slowly drifting seahorses, against a backdrop of plump corals and purple anemones.

  Arthur glanced at Ruby, and found her mouth hanging open at the sight. The instant she noticed his gaze, however, the girl clamped her jaw shut and snapped her eyes back to her book, leaving the boy more baffled than ever. Though it seemed he had been right to question her commitment to the investigation, he couldn’t help but be a bit taken aback by her sudden iciness toward him.

  “And here we have the Glimmer Gallery,” Mrs. Whipple declared, “our newest addition to the Current Champion—whose crystal keel effectively makes her the Largest Glass-Bottom Vessel on the Sea. And makes a rather fine dance floor as well.”

  “Ooh,” Rex said, dazzled. “Most impressive. Seems this old wooden dinosaur just might be worth keeping around after all, eh Charlie?”

  Before Mr. Whipple could respond, his wife hastily interjected. “Very well then. Let’s get these festivities properly under way, shall we?”

  As Cordelia played the pipe organ built into the ship’s wall, Henry and Simon challenged Rosalind and Roxy Goldwin to a flamenco dance duel, while their families swayed and twirled about them. Arthur, joining in the festivities with an improvised Irish step dance at the corner of the floor, peered through the dancers to the opposite corner, where Ruby stood alone, still reading her book. Strangely, the more he watched his brothers twirl her sisters across the dance floor, the more he felt compelled to go approach Ruby herself.

  And so, when he had worked up the necessary nerve, he strode around the floor’s perimeter to where the girl stood, and promptly addressed her.

  “Oh—hi, Ruby,” he said over the music as nonchalantly as possible. “Funny, I don’t think we’ve said two words to each other tonight. And, well, after the talk we had the last time—you know, after the GGDG incident—I sort of figured—”

  Ruby looked up from her book. “I suppose you’ve come to ask me to dance then,” she said curtly. “Typical.”

  Arthur frowned in confusion. “Oh, no,” he said, “I thought we could talk detective work—you know, about the case. Perfect time with everybody else out dancing, don’t you think? Not much of a dancer myself—I mean, I once attempted the Longest Continuous Box Step, but I ended up breaking my ankle a couple of hours in. Haven’t really tried it since.”

  “Oh,” said the girl, her face falling slightly. “Well go ahead then. What did you want to tell me?”

  “Oh, right,” said Arthur. “Okay. So, um—I don’t know if you’ve heard—but, well, I sort of made the break in the case that got Sammy out of jail. I mean, he’s only out on bail, so he’ll still have to stand trial—and, of course, we still haven’t managed to capture the real dwarf and giant—but, you know, some people think it’s a pretty big deal, actually.”

  “I see,” said Ruby. “So I guess we’re working alone now then, are we?”

  “What?” said Arthur, scrunching his brow. “No—”

  “Funny, I’d have thought partners would include each other in missions utterly vital to the case they’re working on.”

&
nbsp; “No. That’s not what I was…. It was the witness—Mr. Lowe—he told me to come alone. I didn’t think I ought to argue with him—I mean, he was pretty clear on the matter.”

  Ruby closed her eyes halfway and shook her head. “They always tell you to come alone, Arthur—but no good detective ever actually does it. I mean, what if it had been an ambush? He could have been waiting there to tie you up and lower you into a vat of boiling acid or something, and nobody would have been there to rescue you—or at least to identify your remains.”

  “A pair of hammer-wielding dwarf-thugs did try to beat the living daylights out of me,” Arthur admitted.

  “My point exactly,” said Ruby. “Wait,” she added, “Mr. Lowe, or the ‘dwarf and giant’ dwarf?”

  “Neither, actually. Two associates of Brian Carmine, the GGDG co-president. Both of them were too tall to be our man. Believe me, I checked.”

  “Gee. It’s a full-time job just keeping track of the dwarves in this case—let alone avoiding being murdered by them. Another reason no good detective in your position would ever leave his partner behind.”

  “Hard to argue with you there,” said Arthur.

  He scratched the back of his head and shuffled his feet, while Simon and Roxy whirled past in the background. “But, well,” he added, “besides all that—I mean, I have to admit: I might still have been kind of worried about Smudge catching us working together.”

  “What?” Ruby gasped.

  “I know, I know,” replied the boy. “But even if he is a bit of a swine, he’s still one of the most respected record breakers of our time—and I just don’t think I can cross him.”

  Ruby sighed and shook her head again. “You’ve got to get past this, Arthur. I mean, just because somebody’s given Smudge a few gaudy trophies—”

  “Four hundred and two, actually,” corrected Arthur, “the Highest Number of Trophies Ever Received by a Law-Enforcement Agent.”

  “Whatever,” scowled Ruby. “The point is: a man’s trophies don’t make him any more qualified to judge what is right and wrong. And from what I can tell, they might even make him less so.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Arthur as Henry landed a front aerial behind him, followed by a triple back tuck from Rosalind. “But I see what you’re saying. It’s possible I maybe shouldn’t follow every order of Inspector Smudge’s—despite his amazing collection of world records….”

  “Honestly, Arthur—all the records in the world couldn’t buy him the instincts you’ve got. You just have to learn to trust them, that’s all.”

  “You think so? Okay, I’ll try. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the meeting. Afraid I wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s all new to me, you know, this detective business. I, um—I won’t let it happen again.”

  “You’d better not.”

  “I won’t,” Arthur insisted. “Honestly—I didn’t realize you cared. But now, I give you my word: next time I’m summoned to a graveyard at midnight by a mysterious stranger who turns out to be the dwarfish descendant of the World’s Creepiest Undertaker—as well as the target of pygmy thugs hired by a corrupt union boss—I’ll be sure to invite you along.”

  Finally, a hint of a smile crossed Ruby’s lips. “Fair enough, Detective Whipple,” she said. “Man. I can’t believe you went to a graveyard at midnight without me. That’ll be a tough one to beat.”

  Arthur held out his hand. “Partners?” he said.

  Ruby gave a melodramatic sigh, then took the boy’s hand in hers. “Partners,” she replied.

  As the two shook hands, Ruby looked to the center of the glass floor they were standing on, and the dancers busy upon it—while a pod of dolphins glided past underneath.

  “Really is beautiful, this dance floor,” she said. “Like we’re citizens of Atlantis or something. Sure you don’t want to dance?”

  Arthur scrunched his brow again. “What? Like together? With you? Really?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Ruby.

  Arthur shrugged. “All right. If you really want to.”

  “Well, come on then,” said the girl, leading him out onto the floor. “Show me this box step I’ve heard so much about.”

  When she had found an available spot, Ruby turned back to Arthur and gave a smile and a curtsy. The boy bowed in response, then raised his elbows in the air—but before he could proceed any further, the music abruptly ended.

  At the center of the floor, Henry, Simon, Rosalind, and Roxy struck their final poses, and everyone cheered.

  Just then, a loud booong rang out from above, and the party turned to see Sammy standing at the top of the staircase with a dinner gong in his hand.

  “Ladies and gents,” he grinned, “if you would like to join me upstairs, dinner will be served shortly.”

  Ruby turned to Arthur. “Guess you’ll just have to save your famous dance moves until after dinner.”

  Arthur gave a good-natured scowl. “I’m pretty sure you’re mocking my dance moves now.”

  When the party had moved back to the dining area, Wilhelm poured champagne and ginger ale for the guests, while Sammy grabbed the bottle of milk from behind the bar and addressed the crowd.

  “Before we eat, I’d just like to say a few fings. First of all, fanks to the Whipples for paying me bail and springing me from the clink—and for frowing me this fabulous party ’ere. Absolute class, you lot. I couldn’t be prouder to be your ’umble chef. You keep letting me in your kitchen, and I’ll keep cooking for you…. And as for you Goldwins, well—any family who can give the Whipples a run for their money must be a fine family indeed. I’m pleased to know you.”

  Sammy then turned to the bar and retrieved an empty glass. “And now,” he said, “let me pour a drink for the true man of the hour—me best mate, Arfur.”

  As Sammy filled the glass from his bottle of milk, Arthur couldn’t help but be reminded of the milk bottle he had balanced on his head during one of the most heartbreaking failures of his life—and marvel at all that had happened since.

  Looking to Arthur with sparkling eyes, Sammy handed him the glass of milk. “Fanks for believing in me, mate. Not only ’ave you proved yourself a brilliant detective, but a true friend as well. In honor of your dedication and ’ard work, we’ll be ’aving your favorite pasta dish tonight: cannelloni colossale. A bit of a challenge, I must say, preparing thirty-foot pasta on a boat—but it were well worf it, mate. What you done for me were nuffing short of extraordinary—and, well—it means more to me than I can say…. So there you ’ave it.” He wiped the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm and raised his milk bottle. “To old friends and new ones. And to Arfur Whipple—the truest friend of all.”

  The others hooted and whistled, and everybody drank.

  As Arthur savored his glass of milk, Sammy’s words echoed in his mind—and for the first time in his life, he felt he had truly succeeded in something.

  Unfortunately, the feeling would not last long.

  Thrusting the milk bottle back into the air after his first drink, Sammy then added, “Take that, Lyon’s Curse! ’Ave to do a good bit better if you want to do away wiv Sammy and the Whipples!”

  The others cheered and raised their glasses in salute.

  “Hear, hear!” shouted Rex Goldwin.

  Though Arthur’s father raised his glass as well, the boy noticed he did not do it quite so enthusiastically.

  “Cheers!” cried Sammy, and tipped back his milk bottle.

  “Cheers!” replied the others, and tipped back their glasses.

  When Sammy had had several gulps of his drink of choice, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and declared, “Right then—to dinner. Let me just pop into the galley and see what’s keeping Mrs. Waite. Should be out any—”

  But before the chef had even finished, the main doors flew open, and the Whipples’ housekeeper burst into the room.

  From where Arthur stood, he could see the woman’s face was pale and splotched with pink—a detail Sammy apparently fai
led to notice.

  “Ah,” the chef smiled, “there you are, luv. Where have—”

  “We’ve been boarded!” cried Mrs. Waite. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whipple—I tried to stop him, but—”

  At that moment, a tall, beak-nosed man pushed past her and barged into the ballroom.

  The smiles fell from the Whipples’ faces. Sammy’s eyes filled with terror.

  “Well, isn’t this a lovely little soiree?” Inspector Smudge grinned. “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Mr. Whipple stepped forward. “Well…of course not, Inspector,” he said cautiously. “Though I must say your entrance comes as a bit of a shock. I trust nothing is the matter? Surely Sammy could not have infringed upon the judge’s orders so soon….”

  “Please, Mr. Whipple,” the inspector grinned, “why should you think anything was the matter? I have merely come to deliver a bit of news—news so good, in fact, that I simply could not wait for your return to share it.”

  Mr. Whipple’s cautious scowl deepened. “And to what exactly does this news pertain, Inspector?”

  “Why”—the inspector beamed—“only to the solving of every crime against your family—and to the utter restoration of the Whipple name!”

  Mr. Whipple glanced at his wife, then back to Inspector Smudge. “Well then, Inspector—please go on.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Whipple. But I wonder if the news might be more potent coming from someone besides myself. I trust you will not mind if we invite a few more guests to our party?” The inspector stepped to the left side of the doorway then shouted into the dimly lit corridor behind him, “Gentlemen—send in our guests!”

  At this, the voices of what must have been Smudge’s men echoed out in the darkness. “Go on then!” one of them called gruffly.

  Arthur peered into the corridor. It seemed the shadows themselves were moving toward him.

  Slowly, inexorably, a giant figure emerged from the doorway.

  Arthur’s breath froze.

  The figure wore a plain gray suit and tie—but its face was smeared with thick pasty makeup and a cracking crimson smile.