On a particularly blustery Friday night in Carbonia, a small but bustling town known mostly for its cheese festival and suspiciously large ferret population, old Mr. Peterson\u2019s legendary Fruitcake Emporium caught fire in what locals would later dub \u201cThe Great Fruited Conflagration of 2023.\u201d Now, while it was a mystery as to how a fruitcake shop could ignite in a blaze that was visible from three towns over, everyone agreed that the greater mystery lay elsewhere. Mainly, in why it smelled like burning lemons and cigars all the way from Main Street.<\/p>\n
Standing at the edge of the flaming chaos, hands on her hips, was Betty Broomsby, part-time post office clerk, full-time amateur detective, and now the only known survivor of what would come to be called \u201cThe Carbonia Conspiracy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMartha, are you seeing what I\u2019m seeing?\u201d Betty asked her best friend, Martha, who was at the time reloading her potato cannon\u2014a hobby she had taken up after her third divorce.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeeing it, smelling it, and, unfortunately, tasting it,\u201d Martha responded, squinting at the thick plume of smoke. \u201cThis fire smells like an expired pi\u00f1a colada and Mr. Peterson\u2019s Eau de Cologne\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe only wears that cologne on Wednesdays,\u201d Betty interrupted, thinking deeply.<\/p>\n
Martha shrugged, hoisting the potato cannon over her shoulder. \u201cBetty, I hate to break it to you, but no one is interested in your ‘Only on Wednesdays’ theory of cologne. We\u2019re looking at a bonafide carb arson case right here, if you ask me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Betty rolled her eyes. \u201cNo one ever<\/em> asks you.\u201d<\/p>\n The two women huddled closer as the firetruck arrived, sirens wailing, with none other than Chief Barry \u201cBuzz\u201d Henderson at the wheel. Buzz was best known in Carbonia for one thing: his legendary mustache, which had its own Instagram account.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat in tarnation are you two ladies doing here?\u201d Buzz yelled as he leapt from the truck, already looking annoyed.<\/p>\n \u201cSolving a crime, Buzz!\u201d Betty hollered back. \u201cMr. Peterson\u2019s shop went up in flames, and I\u2019m ninety-nine percent sure it\u2019s arson. And I\u2019m pretty sure it\u2019s connected to something bigger. Much<\/em> bigger.\u201d<\/p>\n Buzz scratched his head. \u201cBigger than fruitcakes?\u201d<\/p>\n Betty crossed her arms. \u201cBigger than fruitcakes. Way<\/em> bigger. And it all started yesterday when\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBetty, no one needs the whole backstory,\u201d Martha cut in, raising an eyebrow. \u201cLet\u2019s skip to the part where we accuse someone.\u201d<\/p>\n Betty sighed dramatically but nodded. \u201cAlright, fine. We\u2019re accusing none other than Professor Gerard Picklebottom, head of the Carbonia Historical Society and collector of rare, oddly shaped vegetables.\u201d<\/p>\n Buzz looked unimpressed. \u201cAnd your evidence?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d Betty began, looking at Martha for support, \u201cwe don\u2019t technically<\/em> have evidence. But Martha heard him say something weird at the Farmers’ Market yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n Martha nodded vigorously. \u201cI sure did. He told Mr. Perkins from the butternut squash stall, \u2018Some things are better off buried.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n Buzz looked baffled. \u201cAnd you think this means he set the fruitcake shop on fire?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, we also saw him buying an unreasonable amount of lemons,\u201d Betty added, as if that cleared everything up.<\/p>\n Buzz opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a dramatic scream from behind them. Turning, they saw Professor Picklebottom himself standing in the crowd, clutching his prized turnip (a notable finalist in the recent “Largest Root Vegetable” contest).<\/p>\n \u201cIsn\u2019t it convenient that Professor Picklebottom just happens to be here<\/em> at the scene of the crime?\u201d Betty smirked.<\/p>\n \u201cI live across the street,\u201d Professor Picklebottom retorted indignantly. \u201cAnd what exactly are you accusing me of?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cArson! And treason against the town of Carbonia!\u201d Betty declared.<\/p>\n The crowd gasped.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, come now, Betty, I only brought that turnip because I thought it might be a nice showpiece,\u201d the Professor said with a sniff. \u201cBesides, everyone knows that Mr. Peterson\u2019s Fruitcake Emporium has been a fire hazard for years!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd why would you know that?\u201d Betty challenged, stepping closer. \u201cSeems like only the arsonist would have that information.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOr anyone who\u2019s walked by it,\u201d Martha muttered, but Betty ignored her.<\/p>\n \u201cProfessor Picklebottom, you have a history of obsessing over the town\u2019s secrets. I bet you found out about the lost Carbonia fortune and wanted it for yourself. Admit it!\u201d Betty\u2019s eyes gleamed with the thrill of potential victory.<\/p>\n \u201cLost fortune?\u201d Buzz echoed, completely lost.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, it\u2019s true!\u201d Martha piped up, clearly enjoying the spotlight. \u201cThere\u2019s a legend that Carbonia\u2019s founding fathers hid a massive treasure somewhere in town, and they left clues in odd places\u2014like Mr. Peterson\u2019s fruitcakes, supposedly. That\u2019s why Betty thinks the Professor is out to burn down the whole town. He\u2019s looking for clues!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcuse me!\u201d the Professor protested, clutching his turnip in horror. \u201cI\u2019m not some crazed treasure hunter! I\u2019m a historian!<\/em> And as for Mr. Peterson\u2019s fruitcakes, if there were any secrets in there, they\u2019d probably be fossilized by now!\u201d<\/p>\n The crowd murmured, half in agreement, half scandalized. But just then, a figure appeared through the smoke: Mr. Peterson himself, looking remarkably unharmed for a man whose life\u2019s work had just gone up in smoke.<\/p>\n \u201cNow that\u2019s<\/em> suspicious,\u201d Betty hissed. \u201cMr. Peterson, care to explain?\u201d<\/p>\n Mr. Peterson adjusted his glasses. \u201cI was\u2026uh\u2026attending to my, uh, night yoga class. Didn\u2019t even know there was a fire until I got back.\u201d<\/p>\n Betty wasn\u2019t buying it. \u201cYoga? Since when does anyone<\/em> do yoga at night?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe they\u2019re night yogis,\u201d Martha offered.<\/p>\n Ignoring her, Betty leaned closer to Mr. Peterson. \u201cHow convenient that you\u2019re completely unscathed, Mr. Peterson. Or should I call you\u2026\u201d She paused dramatically, \u201c\u2026The Count of Carbonia!\u201d<\/p>\n The crowd gasped, though not entirely sure why.<\/p>\n \u201cWait, what<\/em>?\u201d Mr. Peterson looked bewildered.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, don\u2019t play innocent with us, Peterson!\u201d Betty shouted. \u201cEveryone knows that Carbonia was founded by a reclusive count who left all his riches hidden in town. And everyone knows that this count\u2019s descendants would do anything to keep it hidden. Which means\u2026\u201d she took a deep breath, \u201cyou set fire to your own shop to prevent us from finding the treasure hidden in those fruitcakes!\u201d<\/p>\n The Professor looked horrified. \u201cThis is outrageous! No respectable historian would ever\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, cram it, Picklebottom. You\u2019re just mad because you didn\u2019t think of it first,\u201d Martha snickered.<\/p>\n As the accusations flew, Mr. Peterson\u2019s face turned beet red. Finally, he threw his hands in the air. \u201cAlright, fine! You\u2019ve caught me. I am<\/em> the Count of Carbonia\u2019s last descendant. But there\u2019s no treasure\u2014it\u2019s all a myth!\u201d<\/p>\n The crowd groaned in disappointment, but Betty didn\u2019t seem convinced. \u201cOh really, Peterson? Then what were you doing buying fifty pounds of lemons yesterday?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLemons?\u201d Mr. Peterson blinked, confused. \u201cWhat do you mean? I\u2019m allergic to lemons.\u201d<\/p>\n The plot thickened.<\/p>\n \u201cThen if you<\/em> didn\u2019t buy the lemons, who did?\u201d Betty demanded.<\/p>\n A shrill cackle broke the silence, and out from behind the firetruck stepped none other than Old Missus Clemons, the local psychic and professional cat herder.<\/p>\n \u201cI bought the lemons, Betty Broomsby, and I\u2019ll tell you why!\u201d she declared, grinning wickedly. \u201cI\u2019ve been sitting on the secret of the Carbonia fortune for years,<\/em> and I\u2019m sick of it! I figured, why not bring the whole town down and take the treasure for myself?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMissus Clemons!\u201d Betty gasped. \u201cYou\u2019re behind the fire?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot just the fire,\u201d she said with a cackle. \u201cThe whole thing! I\u2019ve been planting clues all over town just to mess with you. All these years, I\u2019ve been leading everyone in circles, watching you fools run around chasing shadows, while I had the treasure hidden in plain sight!\u201d<\/p>\n She reached into her handbag and pulled out a very dusty, very ancient fruitcake. \u201cThe treasure,\u201d she announced, \u201chas been here all along!\u201d<\/p>\n The crowd looked at the fruitcake in awe.<\/p>\n Buzz stepped forward, frowning. \u201cSo you\u2019re telling us that this old fruitcake is the treasure?\u201d<\/p>\n Missus Clemons smiled slyly. \u201cMore valuable than gold. It\u2019s an antique, passed down for generations, made from a recipe that\u2019s been lost to time. It\u2019s made from the rarest ingredients ever known, gathered from all corners of the earth!\u201d<\/p>\n Betty narrowed her eyes. \u201cAnd you think it\u2019s worth\u2026something?\u201d<\/p>\n Missus Clemons grinned, eyes gleaming. \u201cOh, it\u2019s worth plenty. Worth enough to fake my own death, move to Barbados, and live like a queen!\u201d<\/p>\n With that, she took off running toward her van, but Martha was quicker, shooting a potato from her cannon that knocked the fruitcake from her grasp. The town watched in horror as it flew through the air, landing with a splat right in the middle of the blazing fire.<\/p>\n \u201cNo!\u201d Missus Clemons shrieked as the fruitcake began to melt, releasing a strange, foul odor that filled the air.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks like your plans are toast,<\/em> Missus Clemons,\u201d Betty said triumphantly, as the townsfolk cheered.<\/p>\n Missus Clemons shook her fists in fury. \u201cYou think you\u2019ve won, Betty Broomsby, but mark my words: the treasure of Carbonia will rise again!\u201d She was promptly escorted to the back of Buzz\u2019s police car, muttering to herself about revenge and antique fruitcakes.<\/p>\n As the fire died down and the crowd dispersed, Martha turned to Betty, grinning. \u201cWell, I guess that\u2019s that. But I can\u2019t help wondering\u2026was there ever a real treasure?\u201d<\/p>\n Betty looked thoughtful. \u201cMaybe. Or maybe the treasure was the friends we\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you say \u2018the friends we made along the way,\u2019 I\u2019m launching another potato,\u201d Martha interrupted.<\/p>\n They laughed, watching the last embers smolder. In the distance, a lone ferret scurried across the road, dragging a lemon behind it. Betty squinted. \u201cYou don\u2019t think\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n Martha shrugged. \u201cAfter tonight, Betty, I\u2019m ready to believe anything.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" On a particularly blustery Friday night in Carbonia, a small but bustling town known mostly for its cheese festival and suspiciously large ferret population, old Mr. Peterson\u2019s legendary Fruitcake Emporium<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mystery"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19\/revisions\/20"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}