Lemony Snicket - When Did You See Her Last?

“Hello,” I said to the needle.

The needle didn’t say anything, and neither

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“WHEN DID YOU SEE HER LAST?”

did anybody else. I slipped the needle out of the tire. It didn’t smell like anything, but you wouldn’t have to inject a tire with laudanum. Flattening it would be enough. Carefully, so I wouldn’t get punctured, I put the needle in my pocket and stood up and looked this way and that. No one was around. Like most blocks in town, this block was nothing but boarded-up shops and homes and flyers with Cleo Knight staring back at me. But there was also someplace I’d been meaning to visit since my arrival in town. Why not now? I thought.

Hungry’s was a small and narrow place, and a large and wide woman was standing just inside the doors, polishing the counter with a rag. “Good afternoon,” she said.

I said the same thing.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“Well, you’re probably in the right place.”

She gave me a frown and a menu. “No, I mean

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ALL THE WRONG QUESTIONS

I’m Hungry. It’s my name. Hungry Hix. I own this place. Are you hungry?”

“No,” I said. “You are.”

“Don’t be a smart aleck,” Hungry said.

“But it cheers me up,” I said.

“Sit anywhere you want,” she said. “A waiter will be right with you.”

There were a few booths alongside one wall, but I always like sitting at the counter. There was a boy a few years older than I was, leaning against a sink full of dirty dishes with a book in his hand and shaggy red hair in his eyes. I had not heard of the book, but I liked the author.

“How’s that book?”

“Good,” he said, without looking up. “A guy named Johnny takes the wrong train and ends up in Constantinople in 1453. This guy’s books are always good.”

“That’s true,” I said, “but there’s a bunch of books that he didn’t really write. They put his name on them anyway. You have to check

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carefully to make sure you don’t get one of those.”

“Is that so?” he said, and put down the book and poured me a glass of water and shook my hand. “I’m Jake Hix,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I’m Lemony Snicket and I’ve never been in here,” I said. “Are you Hungry’s son?”

“Hungry’s my aunt,” Jake said. “I work for her in exchange for room and board.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “I’m an appren- tice myself.”

“An apprentice what?”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“I have time.”

“No you don’t,” Hungry grumbled, squeez-ing by Jake and swatting him with a towel. “Take his order and do the dishes.”

“Never mind her,” Jake said, when his aunt was out of earshot. “She’s cranky because busi-ness is bad. Few people come in here anymore. This town is draining like somebody pulled the

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plug. You’re the first paying customer we’ve had all day.”

“I don’t have any money,” I said.

Jake shrugged. “If you’re hungry, I’ll make you something,” he said. “It’s better than doing dishes. You like soup?”

Never say you’re hungry until you learn what they’re fixing. “I like good soup,” I said.

“Good soup it is,” Jake said with a smile. “With dumplings.”

Jake busied himself at the stove, and I put the flyer down on the counter. “Have you seen this person?” I asked.

Jake looked quickly at the photograph and then looked away. “Of course,” he said. “That’s the Knight girl. Those flyers are all over town.”

“I’m looking for her,” I said.

“Everybody is, it looks like.”

“You said few people come in here,” I told him. “Was she one of them?”

Jake turned away from me and chopped

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something very hard and very quickly before throwing it into a pan to sizzle. “I don’t talk about my customers,” he said.

“If she’s in trouble,” I said, “I can help.”

Jake turned around then and gave me a look like I was a fifth wheel after all. It didn’t look like he really meant it, but I still didn’t like getting it. “You?” he asked. “Some stranger who just wan-dered into the diner?”

“I’m not a stranger,” I said, and pointed to his book. “I read the same authors you do.”

Jake thought about this for a minute, and the food started to smell good. “Miss Knight was in here yesterday morning,” he said, “about ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty?” I asked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Sure I’m sure,” he said.

“Did she have breakfast?”

“Tea,” he said. “It helps her think.”

“Did she say anything?”

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Jake gave me a curious look. “She said thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Snicket, but Miss Knight’s not a friend of mine. She’s just a customer.”

“What was she wearing?”

“The same as in the picture.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Then she got into a taxi.”

“A taxi?” Jake repeated with a laugh. “You really are a stranger. Cleo in a taxi! Miss Knight’s got a brand-new Dilemma that’s way better than any taxi.”

“There’s no need to insult us, Jake,” said a voice from the door.

Two boys had walked into Hungry’s, and they were two boys I knew. Their names were Bouvard Bellerophon and Pecuchet Bellerophon, which explains why everyone called them Pip and Squeak. They worked as taxi drivers when their father was sick, and it looked like he was

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sick today. I said hello and they said hello and Jake said hello and we figured out we all knew one another.

“I’m making Snicket here some soup,” Jake said. “You two want some?”

“Absolutely,” Pip said. “Business is slow today.”

“Then can you give me a ride after lunch?” I asked them.

“Sure,” said Squeak in the voice that matched his nickname. “We’re parked right outside. Going to see your friend again, in Handkerchief Heights?”

“She doesn’t live there anymore,” I said, not wanting to say Ellington’s name, “and I don’t know if I’d call her a friend, exactly.”

“That’s too bad,” Pip said. “She seemed nice enough to me.”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I said. “How’s your father?”

“We’d rather not talk about that,” Squeak said.

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“Well, then what should we talk about?”

“Books,” Jake said, and served up soup. After one bite I knew where I’d be eating for the dura- tion. The dumplings had the flavor of paradise, and the broth spread through my veins like a secret that’s fun to keep. I wanted to tell the secret to my sister, who would have enjoyed the soup, but she was back in the city, doing the wrong things while I was asking the wrong questions, so I couldn’t share it with her. Pip and Squeak probably wanted to share the soup with their father, and I had a feeling as to whom Jake would like to share it with. But we didn’t talk about that. We talked about the author of the book he was reading. It felt good. I finished my soup and wiped my mouth and asked if there was anything else he could think of to tell me about Miss Cleo Knight. He said there wasn’t. He wasn’t telling me the truth, but I couldn’t get sore about it. I wasn’t telling everyone my busi- ness either. I stood up, and Pip and Squeak stood

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