Chapter Twenty and More: The Case of the Disappearing Pies

     "What in the world is going on down here, girls? All I wanted was a little peace and quiet out in my toolbox until everybody else got back home, but lately this been nothing but hooting and hollering up here every single night!" Argyle jabbed his pipe at Ordealya, sending a flotilla of tiny bubbles up to the ceiling.  "Who the heck is that supposed to be, and where are the rest of those little pies you've been keeping out in the pantry on Thursday nights?"

    "Papa! Flossie burst out, waving her hanky with joy. "Dear Papa!" exclaimed Perle. "Why, you're not Gone!"

    "Of course I'm not Gone, but it looks like all the baked goods are. I'm going to ask you girls one more time, who - or what - is that?" Argyle pointed at Ordealya, who was still rolling around trying to shuck herself out the chair. "And why does it smell like something's burning?"

    "No no no no NO!" Ordealya shrieked. Dozens of tiny socks had appeared out of nowhere, and were climbing Ordealya's frame with the joyous zeal of goats turned loose in an alpine meadow.  One pair of socks kicked off Ordealya's turban and while another tweaked her ears. A half-dozen pairs of stockings had formed a conga line on her head, which we could now see was furred rather sparsely, and getting sparser by the minute as invisible fingers plucked out hairs by the clump. 

        Several of the Bridgettes were standing on chairs by this time. Perle and Flossie were delightedly clinging to their Dear Papa, who was of course no longer Poor Dear Papa, since he was very obviously not Gone and never had been, in spite of what Madame Kravatszky would have had everyone believe. Argyle was still carrying on about all the noise and trying to get Flossie and Perle to tell him what in the name of holy knitwear was going on his stocking studio.  

Gabby and Josephine were standing on a chair, too, presumably to get a better view. Batters and Sparky were already ahead of Clovis and me, wading through the wake of  

Ordealya was moulting veils like a dandelion shedding seeds in a high wind and screeching every time the invisible creamtures