As I sit in my den waiting for Windows to finish updating itself so I can listen to some music on the computer, Fleegle walks slowly into the small room, nose to the ground, sniffing. He does a circle around the edge of the room, then starts to leave.
I’m almost afraid to ask. “Fleegle, what are you up to?”
He stops sniffing and lifts his head at me. “I’m on a very important case.”
“Yes, get your pen out. This is the case of the missing pickle.”
“A pickle is missing?”
“I’ve been hired by a rather young and stupid blonde to find her pickle.”
Franny pokes her head around the door jam. “I am not stupid, inspector biscuit breath. I just can’t find my pickle.”
Fleegle shoves her out of sight with his rear. “As you know, I don’t normally take on such mundane cases that the local constabulary can solve, but this case is quite fascinating because I swear I saw the pickle only moments ago.”
“We are talking about the green rubber pickles I stuff with treats for you guys, right?”
“What other pickles are there?”
“Never mind,” I say, not wanting him to learn of Clausen’s or sweet pickles verses sour pickles. I’ve really gotten hung up in the pickle aisle at the grocery store trying to decide which to buy. Fleegle will want to taste test all of them, and then he’ll learn of relish. Sweet relish, hot dog relish, and that will lead to sauerkraut and kimchi, and I’m afraid what all of that will do to the quality of the air around him.
“So grab your pad and pen, Watson, and start taking notes so you can accurately record the case of ‘Fleegle Holmes and the Missing Pickle’.”
“Umm… Sure thing. I’m right behind you,” I say, not having the heart to tell him it was me who hid the pickle from Franny up on the top of the bookshelf because I was tired of her dropping it in my lap and asking for refills. Three refills is enough for her waistline.