The Birth of the Great Pun Detective! (Part 8)

Come again? Did gramps just say that I have the power of a master equivoquer? That basically meant I was good at puns, right? I mean, yeah, I was kind of developing a sort of knack for them, I guessed. Greg and Evan had said as much at lunch, too, so it wasn’t just my imagination. But still, the way grandpa said it bothered me, made my body go tense. Just when I was beginning to get used to the tight coil around my torso and arms too. I didn’t even care about my neck pain anymore.

“What do you mean by ‘miraculous effects of radiation?’”

“U-uh!! O-oh, well, about that…” Grandpa laughed again, nervously this time. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. I could tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands now.

It was a rare sight to see him get so flustered. Which meant something was seriously wrong. I gulped hard.

“It’s just, uh, you see. Erm. How do I put this? Remember when I came to visit over the summer?”

I did. Grandpa and I lived apart from each other now, which meant I had the house all to myself most of the time. Over summer break, though, he had paid me an unexpected visit, showing up at my door one day wearing a lab coat, a bowtie, and the evilest, wickedest grin you can imagine.

And he was looking for beans. He had a hankering — that was what he said at the time, a “hankering” — for grandma’s chili recipe and was going to attempt to make it himself. The only problem was that he didn’t have the beans he needed to do it.

So instead of going to the store like a normal person, he came to me.

I didn’t mind too much though. Anything to get him off my back. And I certainly didn’t want to be there when the actual cooking went down. Grandpa cooked the same way he conducted his experiments: like an absolute madman with a severely deficient moral compass. I didn’t need to see the disaster the meal was sure to be to believe it. I’d probably hear the explosions from halfway across town, I wagered.

“Well, the truth is,” grandpa told me now, “I actually had what you might call… How do I put this? Ulterior motives.”

I knew it. I knew he hadn’t come over just for some lousy beans. “Ok. Out with it. Spill the beans you didn’t months ago.”

And it was true. He hadn’t spilled a single bean. I’d never seen anyone balance legumes like he had. If the whole mad scientist and principal thing didn’t work out, and the latter evidently wasn’t working out given he’d sold the school for a cape and a crown and a crappy lightshow, he could always become the world's greatest waiter.

Grandpa let out a long sigh. “I needed storage space. Your house has a basement. A basement you’ve never even used, for anything. So why let it go to waste, right? I figured I could use the space, so I came over with the intention of storing some old belongings down there. I secreted them in while you were pawing around the pantry for the beans.”

“Old belongings? Like what?”

“...you know. The, uh, usual. Some old books. Some gizmos and gadgets I’d been tinkering with. Your grandma’s dead minifridge Oliver. God rest her soul. But not his, frigid bastard. Some nuclear waste. The 236 pounds of dog food I accidentally bought online. The—”

“Wait. What?” Hold on. Did I hear that right? “What did you say you were storing in my basement?”

“What, the dog food? Huge mistake on my part, I must adm—”

“No, no, before that.”

“The minifridge?”

“After that.”

“The, uh… the nuclear waste…?”

“Yes! That! What in the hell? You were storing nuclear goddam waste underneath my house!?”

“Well, uh, ‘were’ is certainly one way to put it.”

“You mean it’s still there!?”

“And about that other term you just used. Err, ‘storing,’ I think it was?”

“And just what does that mean?” I was mad. I was irate. Furious even.

“Ahahaha, weeeeeeeeeeell, that’s a funny story actually, now that you bring it up. What if I told you that some of the biohazardous material may have hypothetically maybe possibly not been contained in the containers it was supposed to have been contained in, theoretically?”

“Like a leak,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “You’re talking about radioactive material. Leaking. In my basement.”

Grandpa bobbed his head up and down in a nod so sheepish you could’ve called it Shaun.

“And so, like, now, thanks to this nuclear waste, I’m some kinda mutant radioactive pun machine.” Seriously, could this day get any worse?

“Wallace, Wallace, Wallace,” he said again, wagging a gnarled finger. “No wonder you’re so unpopular. Don’t look so glum. Instead, look on the bright side. Just think of all the possibilities. You’ll be a hero.” He’d slipped right back into his typical attitude. Which meant his smug air of self importance had returned in full force. Plus, he had his fake, woe-is-me pseudo-sobbing routine going on, the full-on winning combination of ego trip and pity party.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Wallace, puns have been wreaking all manner of havoc here at school lately. Surely you heard about the kidnapping out on the field last week?”

“There was a kidnapping out on the field?” This was the first I’d heard of it.

“He woke up.”

I groaned.

“My sentiments exactly,” grandpa said. “Not a knee slapper by any stretch of the imagination.”

For once, I agreed with him. Not that I was in any position to judge, what with my arms tethered tight to my sides like this. I couldn’t slap my knees even if I wanted to.

He continued. “So you’ll work for us as a RED, put your radioactive powers to good use. Wordplay runs rampant and leaves us ragged as we speak, Wallace! It’s all up to you. Solve the puns, and you solve the problems. You said you were bored, right?”

Wait a second. Something wasn’t right. In fact, something was very, very wrong. There was something about all of this that wasn’t sitting well with me. It was either grandpa’s explanation or the mint jelly I’d put on my sandwich, and I was pretty sure it was the former. Only I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, and it was bothering me, gnawing at the back of my mind.

“Well, now’s your chance for some real excitement,” grandpa continued. “Get to the bottom of the puns that plague us and make my school a better place.”

I shot him the nastiest glare I could muster. “Not a chance. Yeah, puns sucks, but I don’t care about your FPI or your RED or your pun scourge or whatever. It’s got nothing to do with me. It’s your problem, so you solve it. Now untie me.”

“Oh, Wallace,” grandpa said, returning my daggers with pity, annoyingly. “Bound and, until a minute ago, gagged and you’re still barking orders? I don’t think you quite realize the position you’re in. You will join us. And of your own free will, no less.”

“And why would I do that?” If he thought he had any leverage over me whatsoever, he had another thing coming. At least that’s what I thought in the moment. Turns out my entire world was about to come crashing down.

Or rather, sliding up with a clean mechanical whir and the tasteless sheen of plexiglass.

“Lily!” grandpa said, turning from me and calling to what appeared to be the empty back corner of the room.

The curtains, hanging gaudy and gold like a dollar store version of the sun they’d been pulled back earlier to reveal, shifted ever so slightly, glowing in the slowly diminishing light.

Then, the woman behind the curtain stepped out.

She was about my age, face framed by dark bangs above which rested a frilly headdress. She wore an apron, white and spotless, that trailed all the way down her long skirt, ending just above tightly laced boots, and long dark sleeves that blossomed from billowy shoulders, clouds of fabric in bloom.

I almost couldn’t believe it. It was her. The girl from before. The Victorian maid lunch helper.

And her name was Lily.

The end of The Birth of the Great Pun Detective! (Part 8)!
To be continued in Part 9!