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
60
“WHEN DID YOU SEE HER LAST?”
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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ALL THE WRONG QUESTIONS
“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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