Free The Mystery of the Mystery Meat by Chris P. Flesh Page A

been listening. You can
not
connect our company with asking questions! I don’t want anyone to be Curious about why
we
want them to be Curious. Imagine the uproar if people realize they’re eating postmortem Curiosity when they sit down to a nice heaping bowl of Mystery Meatios.”
    “Yes, of course,” Mr. Flatterwonder murmured, looking embarrassed. “I should have realized.”
    “We could be sneaky and underhanded,” Ms. Balonee suggested. “We could make asking questions rebellious, trendy, and daring! Like…like extreme sports!”
    “Yes!” Mr. Spew cried. “First we’ll tempt the young people to ask questions. Then their parents will start asking questions. And then their grandparents will start asking questions. That’s the way new trends always start—with the young.”
    “And there you have it,” Henrietta declared. “I have already begun such a plan.” She beamed at each in turn. “Look!” With a flourish, she opened the folder marked SECRET PLOT and picked up the first piece of paper on a small stack. It was a copy of the flyer Freekin had seen at school. She handed it to Ms. Balonee, then handed two more copies to the men. All three began reading avidly.
    “Oh, no,” Freekin murmured. “They’re behind it, just like I thought.”
    “Smarty boy.” Pretty petted him.
    “Why…why, this is genius!” Mr. Spew said, reading his copy. “Forbidden fruit is always the tastiest. My hat is off to you, Miss Snickering.”
    “You take my breath away. Not literally, of course,” Mr. Flatterwonder added hastily.
    “I especially like the part about winning a free trip to the Snarkshires,” Ms. Balonee commented. “It’s a wonderful bit of irony.”
    “It’s a lie,” Freekin whispered fiercely. “All of it.”
    “Make sure these flyers get passed out all over town,” Henrietta said, snapping her fingers. Viggo came into the room, carrying a stack of flyers that reached just below his nose. “Then we’ll arrange a meeting…and spring our trap.”

    Within minutes, the three executives left the mansion with their enormous piles of flyers. Once they had driven away, the rotting corpse of Horatio Snickering III walked from behind the curtain with the bellpull. Mortadella barked at him as he smiled at his niece and clapped.
    “Brava!”
he cried. “Well done, my dear. You’re a credit to the glorious name of Snickering.”
    “Thank you, Uncle Horatio,” she replied.
    “Now all we have to do is fan the flames of Curiosity and wait for someone to keel over,” he said.
    “I hope someone really old starts asking questions right away,” Henrietta said. “No one will ever realize just how close we came to shutting our doors. We’ll go worldwide with this! We’ll sell Mystery Meat all over the globe!”
    They both threw back their heads and laughed. Mortadella barked and licked Henrietta’s face.
    “Viggo!” she shouted, pulling the bell rope. “Bring us some blood orange soda. And some ladyfingers. We wish to celebrate!”
    “Oh, my God,” Freekin whispered. “They’re going to eat some lady’s fingers!”
    The limping, goggle-eyed hunchback shuffled into the room with a silver tray. On it sat two crystal goblets filled with frothy orange liquid and a plate of rectangular cookies.
    “Whew, they’re not real,” Freekin said.
    “Maybe lady’s in batter,” Pretty observed.
    “A toast. To Curiosity!” Horatio Snickering decreed, taking a glass and raising it high.
    “To Curiosity!” Henrietta cried, clinking her goblet with his. Mortadella barked gleefully in her arms.
    Freekin made a face as the two guzzled down their soda, then threw their goblets against the fireplace. The glasses shattered into a thousand pieces.
    The Snickerings devoured their cookies. Henrietta set down the plate and Mortadella gobbled up the crumbs. Viggo returned with a dustpan and swept up the shards, disappearing back around the curtain.
    Henrietta yawned. “Pardon me, Uncle,” she said.