THE WRONG QUESTIONS
It made no sense that Miss Knight would drive to Partial Foods and then take a taxi someplace else. She would never need a taxi at all, with an automobile like that. But she did. But she wouldn’t. But she did. Stop arguing with your-self, Snicket. You can’t win. I looked down at the ground and wished I’d looked there earlier. One of the tires of the Dilemma was deflated, so instead of looking round, it looked like an old potato. You couldn’t drive far like that. A Dilemma with a flat tire was a reminder that no matter how splendid and shiny the world might be, it could be spoiled by something you didn’t notice until the damage had been done.
I leaned down to get a closer look and found myself staring at a needle. It was the kind of needle doctors like to stick you with, and it was sticking out of the flattened tire.
“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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“WHEN DID YOU SEE HER LAST?”
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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ALL THE WRONG QUESTIONS
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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“WHEN DID YOU SEE HER LAST?”
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,”
