It was a pleasant-enough morning, Gadget figured. Could be worse. Could be raining. Or cold and miserable.
Instead, the sun was peeking out from the clouds, and there was a mild temperature, at least for a deputy’s patrol of the village. Gadget Pinkle did this every day, walking a beat around the lanes of Thimble Down under Sheriff Forgo’s instructions.
“You do this, boy, and you’ll be a seasoned lawman in no time, just like the great Deputy Bosco,” he’d say in his deep, gravelly voice.
The red-haired lad frowned. Honestly, I’m sick of Deputy Bosco, thought Gadget. He was a nice feller, but he’s a saint in Forgo’s eyes and Forgo never stops prattlin’ on about him. I’ll never be good enough.
Aside from having to live up to that impossible standard, Gadget rather enjoyed being a deputy. The hours were easy, and the duties none too onerous, ’cept every once in a while when the Sheriff blew his lid.
But it’s better than lifting heavy barrels or driving a wagon, he figured, plus it put few a few pennies in his pocket every week. Gadget was a creature of simple pleasures.
Suddenly, he heard sounds emanating from his lower stomach.
Thwarrrnnngg! Burrraappph!
They were not good sounds—almost like a musician tuning the lowest string of a bass fiddle. A sharp pain shot through his stomach, and he almost doubled over.
“Ooooch!” was all he could muster to say.
When the pain subsided, he looked up and spied an empty bench under a nearby maple tree whose leaves were golden and ready to fall. Gadget moved as quickly as he could to get to the bench, just in a case he had to lie down.
Brannggwwwhhherrrr!
Another spasm lurched through his gut as he reached the bench and sat down hard. Beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt faint. The deputy suddenly feared that he had the Grippe.
“Don’t worry, Gadget. It will pass soon enough.”
The young lawman whipped his head to the left, only to observe the curious vision of Miss Cheeryup Tunbridge sitting on the other end of the bench. She hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Whorcher say?” Gadget grabbed his abdomen again, wincing in pain.
“I said it won’t last long, Gadget. It never does.”
“What doesn’t last long?” The young man still didn’t understand why this girl was sitting next to him with a strange smile on her face. As if she was enjoying his pain.
“Getting poisoned by appleseed oil. It should stop in just a few minutes.”
“And why, young lady—owwww! [grabbing his gut again]—would I have appleseed oil poisoning? And pray tell, just what is appleseed oil?”
Gadget was annoyed by now. How dare this bratty child talk to him in his hour of agony and taunt him with riddles. And he let her and her ruddy friends break out of gaol a few days ago, too—how’s that for thanks! Maybe it’s time to run this Tunbridge brat back into the clinker, he thought.
“Appleseed oil is the oil made from apple seeds, silly,” laughed Cheeryup in a superior tone. “It has many mechanical uses, of course, but my mother uses it on her sewing apparatus to keep the gears lubricated. It’s completely natural and lethal only in large doses, so don’t worry. You’re only slightly poisoned.”
By this time, Gadget Pinkle’s jaw was hanging loose, and his gaze fixed on the strange girl. But he noticed that the pains were indeed subsiding. “How do you know I was poisoned with this appleseed oil?”
“Because I poisoned you. Last night. Isn’t this too much fun?”
By now, Cheeryup, was tittering, while the deputy felt he was in the presence of evil itself, instead of a tiny, twelve-year-old girl.
“You … What?”
“You heard me, Gadget. I poisoned you and I couldn’t be more delighted. You see, my mother taught me all about appleseed oil when I was young and told me never to put it to my lips—it was strictly for her sewing uses. Still, if I ever did, she said, and it was only a teaspoon or less, I shouldn’t worry, as I’d just get a terrible stomachache and it would go away. But if I drank, say, the whole bottle, I’d be a goner because it has a terrible poison in it. Fortunately for you, you’ve only had a teaspoon or two.”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
Moving closer to him on the bench, Cheeryup smiled and said, “I’m not trying to kill you, you goose. I’m trying to run you to ground. Because I know what a rotten, stinking rat you are.”
“I am not a rat! I’m a deputy!” Gadget felt downright insulted. His pride was wounded.
She reached up and put a kindly hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re a deputy, dear Gadget, and I respect that.”
Gently, Cheeryup reached up, grabbed his left ear, and gave it a hellacious twist.
“Ow-ow-ow! Worcher do that for?” screamed the young man, writhing on the bench and drawing the attention of passersby.
Drawing her face near and whispering, “Because, dear Gadget, you’re the Pie Thief. I know because I put appleseed oil in my blueberry muffins last night and left them all at the Ghost’s Walk. And I hid across the way, that is, until I saw a tall, skinny boy like you come out of the alley, grab a tray of muffins, and verily skip down the Ghost’s Walk with the prize in his hand. In a nip, I gathered up all the other muffins I had hidden and threw them down the well. My only other task after that was to wait until this morning and look for someone who had a terrible stomachache. And that would be you.”
Cheeryup let go of Gadget’s ear and stood back smugly.
“Fine, I ate the muffins, but that doesn’t prove nuffin’! I was out for a walk last night, saw the goodies, and scarfed a few down. Big deal? Don’t mean I’m no Pie Thief.” Gadget beamed back at her proudly. “Now, young lady, I’m taking you down to the gaol where you belong.”
“Oh dear,” said Cheeryup, beginning to tear up. “Now I have to go back to that awful gaol and tell Sheriff Forgo all about how you broke into my burrow and stole back Mr. Bindlestiff’s papers. Well, if we must …”
“Hold on there!” barked Gadget. “You think you’re so clever. How do you know it was me?”
“Because you left pie crumbs everywhere. Is that your calling card? And you also took a lock of hair I’d found in the cave.”
“So?”
“Because it was bright red hair, Gadget—the same color as yours!”
The deputy looked concerned for a minute, but rebounded quickly. “Oh, that could-a been anyone’s hair.”
Seeing that her superior logic wasn’t getting her anywhere, Cheeryup Tunbridge took a different course. “Fine, you win, Gadget. Let me congratulate you before you take me to gaol.”
She held out her hand, which the deputy graciously took in his own and shook. That, of course, was his mistake. For no sooner had Gadget Pinkle shaken her hand than she’d twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him face-first onto the bench—hard.
Just as fast, Cheeryup climbed up on his back and carefully nestled her right knee in his spine, pressing down for maximum effect. The pain was so bad that Gadget couldn’t even make a sound—his face was contorted in a silent scream of agony.
“I’ve had it with you, Gadget. Are you, or are you not, the Pie Thief?”
“No!” he gasped, but that only made Cheeryup knee him harder in the back. “Yes, yes, yes! I am!”
“And did you have a tangle in your hair and cut it out with a knife, leaving it carelessly in the cave?”
The poor deputy could only nod by this point, tears streaming down his cheek.
“Yes!”
She eased up her knee and let Gadget lie there panting heavily for a minute. “This is what we’re going to do, Gadget, unless you want me to hurt you again. First, you’re going to give me Mr. Bindlestiff’s papers. You’re going to go back to the gaol and keep your mouth shut. And last, your thieving days are over. By the way, why did you do it?”
Slowly sitting up, Gadget looked at her like a sad puppy. “Because I was bored,” he sobbed. “Thimble Down is such a slow, quiet little town and I needed something to do. I didn’t even care about the stuff I took. It was just jolly fun taking things and getting away with it—it’s the only real talent I have. I’d have given it all back eventually, I promise!”
Cheeryup looked at him sternly. “You know, I believe you, Gadget. But you will turn to good now and stop your thieving. If you start using your talents to curb crime in the village, you’ll be as good as Bosco any day. If not better!”
“You think so?” Gadget brightened. “You think I can be as good a deputy as Mr. Bosco. You mean it?”
“I do. Now, where’s the papers? We have a deal, remember.”
Gadget Pinkle froze for a few seconds, as if making a decision.
“Come! Follow me!”