Lemon Curry?
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

Bernie Phlute ©  eocostello
Titles by  marmelmm
Music by Ferde Grofé
Suits by ‘Rick’ of Altoona

Thumbnail art by  rockbaker

Part Fifteen.



The dining room was dominated by a table capable of seating twelve but was set for six, and a matching sideboard, with a chandelier suspended from the ceiling over the center of the table. The Professor helped his wife into a seat to the right of the head of the table, while Enrique seated Diana to her father’s left before taking a chair beside her.

Both detectives reached for the chair to Mrs. Ortiz’s right, the stork and the terrier each laying a paw on opposite ends of the back of the chair. A brief tug of war ensued before Dorpf released his end of the chair and Bernie almost collided with Mrs. Ortiz. The two sat down as Diana chuckled behind her paw.

“I trust you two are hungry,” Professor Ortiz said.

Bernie said, “Sure thing, yessir.”

“Yes, please,” Dorpf said.

“Good,” the goat at the head of the table said. “I have engaged a well-known chef, Señor Colin Chapman, to serve only dishes you may be familiar with from America.” Ortiz smiled. “I acquired a certain fondness for American cuisine while I was studying in Harvard,” he added as Dorpf’s ears perked slightly.

“That’s real neighborly of you, Professor,” Phlute said. “I had a little trouble with dinner in, um . . . “

“Veracruz,” Dorpf supplied.

Phlute snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s the place, Veracruz. Had a . . . well, an uncomfortable train ride here,” the stork said, realizing where he was and who was listening, and cutting his story short.

There was a brief silence as the maid brought out the first course, bowls of piping hot oyster chowder with attendant crackers. Dorpf sniffed at the soup appreciatively and dropped in several crackers, eyeing the bowl as he did so, as if he expected a clam to surface and snatch the cracker away. No such cheeky bivalve appeared, and after sampling a spoonful the Boston terrier tucked into the first course.

Bernie was eating his soup with gusto, obviously enjoying the taste despite the occasional splash of broth onto the tablecloth while the Professor and his family ate theirs quietly. As the empty bowls were removed Diana smiled at Enrique before asking Bernie, “Excuse me, Agent Dorpf?”

The terrier set his napkin aside. “Yes, Miss?”

“Have you any stories to tell us about your service with Minkerton’s?”

Jacob’s ears dipped in a blush and he looked down at the tablecloth. “Um, well, this is my first case.”

“Your first?” the young goat femme echoed. “I’m certain that you’ll do a very good job,” she said as the terrier mumbled something.

“So, you are the senior member of the team, Mister Phlute?” Enrique asked. At Phlute’s enthusiastic nod, Enrique said, “I am sure you have many tales to tell us.”

“Well, I don’t want to brag or anything,’ the stork said, “but I’ve seen things and done places – er, seen places and done things.” He thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. “I got called in on a case about two years ago, out in the Spontoons.”

“The Spontoons?” Diana asked. “That’s out in the Pacific, yes?”

Bernie nodded. “Exactly. Well, I get called in – well, it was a little like this assignment, but instead of making sure you’re safe for – how many days?”

“Six,” Enrique said, edging his chair closer to his fiancée’s.

“I was hired by this one guy, big Spanish buck, to see if this guy’s daughter’s making time with a fellow.”

“’Making time?’” Diana asked.

“Um . . . “ Phlute gave Professor Ortiz and his wife a sidelong glance. “Making sure that they aren’t doing anything . . . out of wedlock?” Diana’s mouth sagged open in an O as the penny dropped, followed by a giggle she concealed behind her napkin. The look on her parents’ faces was one of wary relief that the stork was keeping the narrative clean.

“Anyway, I hook up with another agent and we start following the guy around. I tried some of the native drinks, and they really didn’t agree with me. Gave me a headache.”

“So,” Mrs. Ortiz asked slowly, “was this man and the daughter - ?”

“That’s the strange thing,” Phlute said. “He wasn’t doing anything. Completely innocent. Strange thing, though, when I told her father he went crazy and started chasing me around the island. Wasn’t a big island, either, and I got a workout trying to stay ahead of him.”

“How did you escape?” Enrique asked.

“He started to get tired, and I found a pickle barrel to hide in,” Phlute replied as the next course, roast beef with carrots and baked potatoes, was brought in. The goats all chuckled at the story while a maid refilled their drinks, and Phlute looked up as Jackson placed a bottle of ketchup beside the stork’s plate. “Oh! Thanks, Jepson.”

The butler glowered as he stalked away, and the group began to eat.

The dinner went on without further incidents or anecdotes, and after the dishes were cleared away Professor Ortiz said, “Our chef, the great Colin Chapman, has made a beautiful dessert,” and the goat smiled as small dishes were distributed to each person at the table.

Bernie eyed the serving appraisingly. It was a slightly off-white custard with a thin caramel topping but had been artfully cut into a concentric series of ‘petals’ with a single cherry at the center.

Professor Ortiz said, “Señor Chapman calls this a Lotus Flan!”

“It looks good,” the stork said. Turning to Dorpf he said, “Hey, Jacob, what do you – “

Jacob’s nosepad had gone pale and his ears were down. “Um, I w-wish t-to be exc-c-cused,” and he quickly pushed back from the table and left the room. Not at a run, but at a fairly fast walk.

“Huh. I wonder what’s eating him,” Bernie remarked before trying a spoonful of the custard. “That’s delicious!” he said after he’d swallowed the morsel.


***


The Ortiz’s gardener, a thin wolf, watched the Boston terrier head for the guesthouse. The canine was muttering something, but he couldn’t understand it.

Still, word had reached his ears from one of the maids that these two norteamericanos were visiting to watch over Diana Ortiz until she reached twenty-one.

The wolf finished putting his tools away and left the estate, headed home.

The Queen must be told of this development.





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