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 Twenty-nine.



The silence that greeted El Peludo’s words lengthened. The Ortiz family and Enrique stared at the heavyset mel, startled expressions on their faces. The silence was finally broken when Dorpf’s pencil broke.

Phlute snorted a laugh through his beak. “Sure, why not?” he asked. “Are you gonna serve those little hot dogs in pastry? Those are tasty.”

“El Peludo,” Professor Ortiz said slowly, “is it that you propose to use my daughter . . . as bait?” Diana clutched at Enrique’s arm and her fiancé glared at the wrestler.

“Professor,” the luchador said seriously, “your daughter has been in danger for several days already. My plan is to draw these demons from cover. It is likely that one person at the party will be a chupacabra; we shall uncover their disguise and track them to their lair.” His tone was grim. “When we have them all in one place, they can be destroyed.”

“But . . . Diana . . . “ Ortiz said.

El Peludo nodded. “I plan to have her closely watched, along with the house and grounds, until midnight comes and Diana is no longer in danger. For that, I will prevail upon the good agents of the Minkertons,” and he sketched a slight bow towards Phlute and Dorpf, “along with several of my compatriots who have helped me before in stopping these foul creatures.”

Phlute raised an eyebrow. “So we’re going to repel boarders, eh?”

“How do you repel boarders?” Enrique asked curiously.

The stork shrugged. “Stop changing their bed linen.”

El Peludo said, “Señor Phlute, I do not mean to repel them, but to trap them.”

“Hm, yeah, I getcha.”

“Their Queen would not resist attempting to take Diana, seeing as the time grows short. We must be vigilant.” He looked from the Ortizes and back to Phlute and Dorpf. “Watch carefully this night, my friends.”


***


The stork and the Boston Terrier went out later in the afternoon to a local restaurant that Professor Ortiz had recommended. The food had been pretty good, and the only problem was an elderly canine diner wearing a collarless white shirt and a black suit who declared periodically, “I’m here for the Old Gringo auditions” in English.

As they headed back to the estate Dorpf caught a glimpse of the gardener, Eduardo, slinking away. “Do we patrol together tonight?” Jacob asked.

Bernie glanced down at him before snorting. “What, he sold you on that? Nah, there’s no need. I only hope they’ll invite us in for the party. I hope they’ll have those, what do you call them, hooz doovers.”

“Hors d’oeuvres?”

“Yeah, those. I hope they have some of them at the party.” Bernie Phlute gave Jacob Dorpf a companionable shoulder bump. “Just promise me something, okeh?”

“What?”

The stork leaned in close. “Don’t drink too much tomorrow night.”

Dorpf frowned. “Mother doesn’t hold with liquor. I don’t drink.”

“Really? Wow. Didn’t take you for a Dry, but takes all kinds to make a world, eh? When I was on assignment at the Spontoons, I met up with another agent and we went to this place called Gull Island. They had good rice wine, or was it pineapple brandy? . . . I think.” His smile faltered as he visibly searched for a clear memory unaffected by a haze of potent booze. He gave up the search with a shrug. “Anyway, we’re almost done with our mission.”

“One way or another,” Dorpf agreed as the sun drew closer to the horizon and the shadows began to lengthen.

“You want to take the first walkaround?” Phlute asked when they got into the guesthouse and made sure their flashlights were still working. “I’m going to relax a little after that dinner.”

The terrier thought for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” and he stepped out to begin his patrol as the sun set.

Dorpf went in the opposite direction of the usual patrol pattern. His Minkerton’s training had told him to be random and unpredictable to deny any adversary a pattern they could discern. It was a very sensible tactic. He worked his way through the gardens and around the trees toward the front of the house.

The front door opened, and he shrank back into the shadows as Enrique stepped out and turned as Diana followed him as far as the threshold. He didn’t understand Spanish, but the two goats’ emotions were easily read as the two clasped paws and held a low-voiced conversation. She was close to tears, while his speech was passionate and intense.

Dorpf guessed that Enrique was trying to reassure Diana.

Enrique kissed her paws before gesturing for her to step back, and after she gave him a kiss on the cheek she obeyed. The door closed and the terrier heard it lock as Enrique turned, squared his shoulders, and walked rapidly out of the estate.

Jackson came out a few moments later with El Peludo. The big luchador left, and the tall canine butler locked the gate before going back to the house.

The two goats’ obvious affection for each other reminded Dorpf of the young woman he’d met on the train to Mixteca City. Julia, that had been her name; a schoolteacher and about his age . . . He abruptly shook his head, fished out his pawkerchief and blew his nose, and resumed his patrol.


***


“There you are,” Phlute said as Dorpf entered the guesthouse. “Everything okeh? Seen any ghosties or ghoulies?”

“Not tonight,” the Boston terrier said absently. His ears perked and he asked, “What?”

“Did you see anything?” Phlute asked. Dorpf was a good guy, but he tended to woolgather. Not that Phlute did anything of the sort; he preferred his girls with feathers, not fur. “Okeh, take five, and I’ll take my turn.”

“Okay, Bernie,” Dorpf said as he took off his hat and coat and hung them up. The stork left to start his patrol as the terrier got a glass of water and sat down to read the latest issue of the Journal of Irrational Research.




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