The Fantastic Family Whipple (22 page)

But it was clear that Sammy had no fight left in him. Dazed, disgraced, and helpless, the ordinarily gruff chef spontaneously began to weep. It was the most heartbreakingly pitiful sight Arthur had ever seen.

Inspector Smudge led the way as D.S. Greenley escorted a shackled Sammy the Spatula toward the black car in the Whipples’ gigantic circular drive. Looming gray clouds blocked the sun overhead. Arthur, who had not left the chef’s presence since his arrest, was gradually joined by other members of the Whipple family and staff as word of the confrontation made its way across the grounds.

Emerging from the front door and seeing his friend in handcuffs, the brave butler, Wilhelm, reflexively rushed forward but was halted by a gesture from Mr. Whipple’s raised hand. Nothing could undo what had already been done.

The gatherers simply stood and stared, their faces full of surprise and sadness.

Still following a few steps behind the captive, Arthur caught a glimpse of Sammy’s sniffling face and red, swollen eyes as the chef turned to D.S. Greenley.

“Sorry ’bout that business back there, mate,” said
Sammy, his eyes darting between Greenley’s face and the ground. “Nuffing personal.”

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Smith,” the sergeant smiled. “You know, I’ve never been taken hostage before. It was rather exhilarating, actually….”

“Greenley!” shouted Inspector Smudge, turning to face his assistant. “Don’t ever converse with a criminal in custody! I mean, honestly, what
are
they teaching you at the academy these days? Now get the criminal in the car, and no matter what he says, not another word to him. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Terribly sorry, sir,” D.S. Greenley stammered as he quickly ushered Sammy into the back of the car then sat himself at the steering wheel.

Inspector Smudge paused outside the open passenger-side door and addressed Arthur’s parents as they looked on in disbelief. “You are no doubt delighted, Mr. and Mrs. Whipple, to witness such timely justice here today. As promised, I have apprehended the mastermind behind these detestable acts of sabotage—in under twenty-four hours, no less—and I assure you, it will only be a matter of time, and perhaps a bit of rigorous interrogation, before Mr. Smith leads us to his accomplices, thereby bringing the case to a swift and tidy conclusion. Thank you all for cooperating during this investigation. Oh, and a special thanks to your son, there—what’s his name—Angus, is it?”

“Arthur?”

“Yes. Arthur. It was his observant eye that ultimately led to Mr. Smith’s arrest. I couldn’t have done it without your help, my boy. I’m sure you’ll make a fine detective some day.”

Arthur had waited his whole life for this kind of recognition—but it did not have the effect he had expected. Instead of feeling proud or joyful or satisfied, he merely felt ill. Without even turning to look at them, Arthur could sense his family’s disappointment searing into his temples.

“Now, do let me know if you find anything else that might help us track down Mr. Smith’s henchmen,” concluded Inspector Smudge as he removed his coat and entered the car. “I shall keep you posted from our end with details of the interrogation as it progresses. I can hardly wait to get started! I must say, this has been a monumental day for law-abiding citizens everywhere. Rest assured, dear Whipples—there is one less criminal free tonight to contaminate the world for the rest of us!”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Mr. Whipple said emptily.

“No thanks necessary, my good man.
Justice
is my reward…. Well, justice and that figure we agreed upon when I was hired. I’ll have Doris, my secretary, send out a bill…. Good day!”

With a final tip of his hat, the inspector pulled the door shut, sealing himself in with his prized captive. After an awkward moment and a muffled shout of “Drive, Greenley!” the car jerked into motion and headed down the long drive.

The row of stunned Whipples stood and watched the car until it turned the corner and vanished from sight.

“Do you really think Sammy had a part in all this?” Arthur heard his mother ask his father. “I mean, I know he has a bit of a dubious past, but this just doesn’t seem like him at all!”

“I know, dear,” Mr. Whipple sighed, “but it’s hard to argue with Inspector Smudge’s track record. He does hold the record for Most Solved Cases in History. I’m…I’m afraid he’s done it again.”

“Oh, Charles—it’s all like some awful nightmare. I feel so betrayed, so heartbroken—it almost would have been better to never have discovered the culprit’s identity at all than to find out it was our dear Sammy….”

With that, Mrs. Whipple broke into tears.

Wrapping his arms around his wife, Mr. Whipple’s face was solemn and weary as spontaneous sobs sprang up from their surrounding children.

Arthur had imagined quite a different outcome for his first case as a junior detective. One that included an honorary badge from Scotland Yard—or at least a proud word from his mother and father. The last thing he had expected was to see the trusted family chef hauled away in handcuffs, his family left traumatized and brokenhearted.

And yet, he now heard the call of his imaginary detective badge even louder than before. Despite Smudge’s dogged insistence and his father’s reluctant but eventual concession—not
to mention the undeniable evidence—Arthur could not bring himself to believe Sammy the Spatula capable of such a bitter betrayal. And he would do whatever it took to prove it.

Even if it meant another encounter with a certain pair of clowns.

W
hen the din of stomping feet
and clattering chairs had grown to an almost unbearable peak, a booming, disembodied voice arose from the loudspeakers, reverberating through the outdoor arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls…welcome to Unsafe Sports Showdown Twenty-Seven!”

The crowd issued forth a ground-shaking cheer, sending tangible vibrations through Arthur’s bones as he paused to soak in the scene before joining in the clamor himself.

Eventually, the tumult began to fade, and the booming voice continued.
“Kicking off this year’s Showdown, Cameroon battles Nepal for the Rhino Polo Intercontinental Cup!”

Banners from both countries shot up across the stands as face-painted fans blew into faux rhino-horn trumpets and beat on drums resembling rhinoceros feet.

“And now, to perform the national anthem—along with the anthems of Cameroon and Nepal—the Youngest Singer Ever to Open the Unsafe Sports Showdown…Lenora Whipple!”

The crowd continued their applause, then hushed as Arthur’s little sister approached the microphone at the center of the field.

But before Lenora could take her position, a small yet concentrated chorus of boos erupted from the stands.

“What in good Grazelby is
that
?!” cried Arthur’s father.

“There!” shouted Simon, pointing to the stands below.

Arthur and the others turned to see a dozen people in the front row standing on their chairs and holding a banner that read:
W
HIPPLES
+ R
ECORD
B
REAKING
= M
ENACE
2 A
LL
I
NNOCENT
B
YSTANDERS
!

“The beasts!” cried Arthur’s mother.

Just then, a team of security guards rushed in below, dragged the protestors from their seats, and escorted them back up the aisles.

The crowd cheered.

Being far too shrewd a performer to be put off by a few angry picketers, Lenora promptly stepped up to the microphone and started to sing.

The voice that filled the arena sounded more like a seasoned soprano’s than a five-year-old girl’s, as Arthur’s sister belted out high notes with beautiful vibrato, transitioning effortlessly between three different languages.

On the last note of the Nepalese national anthem, the crowd roared in admiration of such a perfect performance, now frenzied with anticipation for the match to come.

Lenora bowed, humbly.

“And there you have it, folks—we are now officially under way! Absolutely mesmerizing voice that Lenora’s got, eh, Chuck?”

“Positively, Ted. How anybody could boo an operatic angel like her is beyond me.”

“Yep—hate to see it, Chuck. Quite a rocky time it’s been for the Whipples as of late, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, no question, Ted. First, there was that mishap with the World’s Largest Piece of French Toast—and then the catastrophe of their birthday cake exploding and nearly making pancakes of their party guests. Just confirms my policy to never hire an ex-convict for a cooking position. Seems this Sammy ‘the Spatula’ Smith character was motivated by a record-breaking gambling debt, of all things. Luckily, due to the extreme nature of the crimes and the undeniable physical evidence, he has been denied bail and must await his trial behind bars.”

“Luckily indeed, Chuck. And yet, even though these incidents have both been traced to their former chef, the Whipples have still managed to draw considerable fire from bystanders’ rights groups and other assorted safety nuts for their supposed negligence.”

“Indeed they have, Ted. Thankfully—apart from the odd protestor—you’ll not find many of those types here.”

“Thankfully not, Chuck. Still, the Whipples need to prove this recent run of bad luck is nothing more than a fluke if they hope to have a smooth championships season. The Unsafe Sports Showdown marks the final international world record tournament before the start of the World Record World Championships in just two months’ time. It’s vital that they go into the championships with as many records and as much confidence as possible, and this is their best chance to do that. If they can make a strong showing here today, as they’re expected to do, their troubles may all be behind them.”

“I certainly hope so, Ted…. Oh, and here we are, folks—I believe I see the arena gates opening now!”

Having since recovered from the minor pre-match incident, Arthur and his family watched from their private box as four unruly rhinoceroses emerged onto each side of the field, stamping their way into position. On the back of each rhino sat a rider holding the reins in his left hand—doing his best to control the bad-tempered beast beneath him—while grasping a long-handled mallet in his right.