The Mysteries and Adventures of Sebastian Cricket: A Collection of Stories to Delight the Devoted Readers of Crime

By David A. Ringer

This collection of short stories introduces the mysterious and handsome Sebastian Cricket and his loyal lover and life partner, Justin. The unlikely pair seem to attract trouble and often find themselves in the most dangerous predicaments one might conjure. Sebastian is a man of action and few words, and his expeditions are told by Justin, a man

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643459684

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Dedication

I would like to express gratitude to Pat Barnhart at Writing Down Pat for her editorial assistance in writing this book.

The Appetizer

There is no question about it: Sebastian Cricket frequently finds himself in the storm’s eye of dramatic events. Some believe he attracts danger and mayhem; I believe it’s more a case of right place, right time. I have to admit, though, it does happen a lot.

So, yes, my luscious life partner, my tall dark-haired lover, Sebastian Cricket, is getting a lot of attention these days. I find myself having to share him with others, and just between you and me, I don’t always like it. I’d much prefer to keep him all to myself, but when you’re in love with…well…someone so gifted and unique, you can’t be selfish. At least I try not to be, but it isn’t easy.

As I write this confessional, honesty forces me to admit my jealousy of his friends, including the lovely Elizabeth, who you will meet in these adventures. I wonder sometimes if she doesn’t secretly covet my man. He tells me they’re just friends, and she swears so too, but who could not be attracted to such a strong, smart warrior. But I digress.

Since leaving the military under some undisclosed circumstances (which he refuses to share with me, even in our most intimate moments), he has gone into the private security and detective business, for which he is singularly best suited. I can report to you that he is thriving.

His name has appeared in the New York Times at least four times of late, as he finds himself embroiled in murder and mayhem, and the only one present who seems able to solve them. He has been responsible for sending criminals to prison or a meeting with their maker. His accomplishments have been clever and daring, and in many cases so deadly and blood-curdling, that I dread the recalling. I have, however, taken it upon myself, as his beloved, to chronicle his work and keep a journal of these outstanding events that have in many cases gone, until now, unheralded. I have a firsthand view of his amazing abilities, and I intend to keep it that way!

My name is Justin Vanderhauf. You may have seen my family name in several of the write-ups about Sebastian. Now it’s not my life’s ambition to be a writer, nor for that matter a detective. My passion is to be a great French chef, with my own restaurants, and perhaps eventually to create an inspiring cookbook.

At present, I am merely the assistant manager at Le Bon Chef, a small French restaurant near Wall Street, working toward my goals. Oh, how I love the place, with its fresh red roses and blue cornflowers set atop crisp white table linens. The smell of warm, freshly baked bread coming from a small but clean, well-organized kitchen always greets me as I arrive for work.

I have come to admire Chef, the creator of this remarkable little restaurant, although he can be demanding and a bit irascible. He is a large man who all but fills the kitchen with his presence; a single tuft of white hair mocks his otherwise bald head. His curled moustache twitches whenever he gets excited about one of his creations or angry at one of the staff’s screwups. Chef has been my inspiration and rightfully often my agitator but mostly my hope for a career in the art of fine food preparation.

I recently discovered my grandmother’s cookbook, which she brought with her from Europe many decades ago. It is from that cookbook that I have created such wonderful dishes as pot-au-feu (beef stew with flavored sausage similar to bratwurst), gratin dauphinois (a traditional French dish based on potatoes and crème fraîche to which I add andouillette), and coq au vin (a hearty and satisfying chicken and cabernet stew) without which no French restaurant can call itself authentic. My dessert repertoire includes eclairs au chocolat that will make you cry, Petits Pots à l’Absinthe (anise-flavored pudding), and Religieuse (chocolate éclair shaped to resemble a nun) that will absolve your sins.

I am proud of the dishes, prepared with very little assistance from Chef. Several are now served at the restaurant and are always well received, routinely receiving five stars on our Facebook page. To my surprise and delight, Sebastian loves my recreations! All my cooking creativity derives, in fact, from a desire to please him (and Chef, too, of course).

But enough about me; let me serve you a delicious tale or two about Sebastian Cricket and what he’s been up to of late.

Bon appétit!

The Snow Viper

Chapter 1

The massive belching engine, an iron relic forged in a distant century, struggled to pull us up the steep mountainside. With each gasp and lurch, my stomach tied itself into knots, my heart pounded, and my clenched hands dripped with hot sticky sweat. The beast would have been more appropriate in a museum than perched on narrow-gauge tracks, but here we were, nevertheless. It was terrifying knowing we had scant purchase on the steep incline and could plummet to our deaths at any moment. The deafening grind of the train’s wheels as it rounded sharp mountainous curves, inching higher and higher through dense forest and across rocky cliffs, was such a terror I had rarely endured.

Little did I realize even greater perils lay ahead.

*   *   *

To go back a bit, this particular adventure had begun on a day unlike most others: dull and unfilled. My day at the restaurant had been sheer drudgery and uneventful. Chef’s moustache was twitching so hard, it looked as if it might fly away. He was, to put it mildly, in a bad mood. Our customers were unappreciative, and tips were well below my usual take. I looked forward to going home to my lover, but even that was disappointing.

I found Sebastian pacing the floor like a caged tiger, complaining about the investigation he had recently taken on.

Justin, he growled, I took this job for a little extra money, but I swear I’ll never take on another divorce case. Never! Everyone is cheating on everyone and everyone knows it, and all they want to do is punish each other.

Well, I said, as my mood continued to sink, why don’t you go out to Long Island and find that rich lady’s husband for her? You know, Mrs. What’s-her-name. He might have her jewels, as she suspects. That might give you something worthwhile to do.

Wolfston, he snapped, his chiseled jaw clamping shut like a vise. Mrs. Rebecca Wolfston. Why can’t you remember her damn name?

Sorry, man, I said, hanging up my jacket and running my fingers through my hair.

He took a deep breath and looked ashamed for snapping at me. "Justin, I do have something to do. In fact, I’ve been researching poisons from South America. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek but was still in a sour mood. Well, at least until I got involved in this ridiculous divorce case."

Kiss or no kiss, I was devastated. Sebastian has never snapped at me. I was about to run into the bedroom and bury my head in a pillow and cry, but just then the doorbell rang, saving me from a bout of self-pity.

Oh god, I cried out, I hope it’s not another tenant with a friggin’ clogged toilet or leaky faucet. In exchange for our beautiful apartment, Sebastian and I managed the building for my grandfather. Sometimes it hardly seemed worth it.

I was about to kick at a chair in my moment of frustration, but Sebastian was already opening the door.

Uncle Harry! A smile instantly replaced my frown. This was a happy little surprise.

Hello, Justin, and hello there, Mr. Cricket…er, I mean Sebastian. Here, I brought you guys a box of Godiva chocolates, hope you like ’em. His mood seemed subdued.

Sebastian and I thanked him at the same time. We both smiled. We were feeling better. Amazing what a gift of chocolate can do for the spirit, right?

I’m sorry to stop in unannounced like this, but, well, Sebastian, I understand you have been in contact with Dr. Erin Fendel at the Botanical Research Center over in New Jersey.

Yes, yes, I was there just a few days ago. I’ve become interested in poisonous plants found only in the South American rain forest. I understand that some of the poisonous plants are undetectable once ingested. That makes them the perfect murder weapon. Cool, no?

Not to make him sound grim or the least bit frightening, but my Sebastian is working hard to build his detective business, and he finds crime solving fascinating. I don’t share his interest, finding it a bit macabre, but I do appreciate his depth of knowledge. My passion is feeding beautiful food to the living, not figuring out ways to kill them. Each to his own I suppose. As long as he doesn’t poison me, I’m a happy guy.

Some are, Sebastian, and we at the department are aware of such plants and the drugs derived from them. Dr. Fendel has, as you mentioned, been working with such plants. He paused and pointed to a chair at the table. May I sit?

We all sat down, and I offered him a frosted mug of Yuengling, which he gladly accepted. After taking a long sip, he sat it aside and said, I should get to the reason for my visit. Sadly, Dr. Fendel has died. It appears he has been murdered.

Sebastian looked both shocked and saddened as the news registered on his face.

We were all silent for a short time, but I could almost see the wheels in Sebastian’s head begin to churn. If there’s anything I can do… Sebastian began, but before he could finish, Uncle Harry put his hand up.

No, no, Sebastian. The police are on it, we at the department are on it, and uh, the FBI may look into his murder as well.

The FBI? Damn. Sebastian winced.

I knew he had an intense dislike of big-footing federal agencies who swoop in, turn everything upside down, and leave chaos behind. If there’s blame to be had, they push it on others; if there’s glory, they gobble it up like starving buzzards.

Well, Sebastian, this murder is far more complicated and for sure more treacherous than one could ever imagine. I assure you, the murder will never be solved. The police will, of course, do their work. And good work they usually do but leave them at it to succeed or fail.

But, Sebastian argued, your department, the Federal Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Drugs, is involved?

No, not officially. Once we were contacted, our agency turned it over to the Department of Health and Human Services, or the National Institute of Health, or perhaps the Agency for Healthcare Research. But, Sebastian, this case hasn’t proceeded to that level. You see, Dr. Fendel was working on a top-secret project. He knew of my involvement in dismantling several drug smuggling operations and thus reached out for my help.

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. Your help?

"Yes, as I mentioned, Dr. Fendel was working on his secret project, and something happened that struck fear in him. He couldn’t go to the police. How do you go to the police when you’re just afraid with nothing to base it on? How do you go to the police when the project you’re working on is so sensitive that you dare not draw attention to it?"

Yet someone did know, Sebastian said, as he got up from the table and began walking around our little kitchen. I could tell he was getting excited; his detective wheels had begun to spin. He had pushed the nasty divorce case well out of his mind, and for me it was a blessed relief. Sebastian was becoming, well, Sebastian again.

Yes, Uncle Harry agreed, as he watched Sebastian stalk about the room like a cat. Someone did know, and someone wanted that secret. They wanted it badly enough to kill for it. Anticipating Sebastian’s next question, Uncle Harry took a long sip of his beer and added, He trusted me, Sebastian, and I let him down. His eyes took on a watery, faraway look that broke my heart.

I felt sad for Uncle Harry. It wasn’t his fault that Dr. Fendel was murdered, and I’m sure Sebastian was thinking the same thing. I was about to offer him another beer or something to eat—I had some great leftovers from the restaurant in the frig—but I could tell that Sebastian didn’t want interruptions.

It was almost comical, Sebastian’s laser-like focus and lack of sympathy; he began shaking his index finger at poor Uncle Harry and said, "And please explain the nature of this help he was asking for and the secret project. You’ve come here to our little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen seeking our help. Somehow you need our help just as Dr. Fendel was seeking your help. So I need details. I need as much detail as you can give me."

Yes, yes…I guess I am asking for your help. I questioned coming here, but I trust you boys as Dr. Fendel trusted me. Yet as far as the true nature of this secret project, I’m not sure. But I do know he had been contacted by the daughter of an herbalist living on the slopes of the Himalayan mountains along the India-Nepalese border. And soon after that, he was murdered.

Then we must find this woman, Sebastian quietly stated, his quick mind obviously whirring like a pastry mixer. The herbalist’s daughter may be the key to this whole thing. As to the herbalist, we should contact him, as he may be instrumental in unraveling this whole business.

Well, Sebastian, it may not be that simple. Chandra Daria, the herbalist’s daughter, is off the radar. She has disappeared, and each authority involved in this mess is looking for her. She is gone. Poof!

Sebastian asked, And the herbalist?

His name is Firuz Daria, and he is well-known among the wealthy, the wives of the wealthy, and the powerful elite in India. I should warn you, Sebastian, he’s an old faker, and he dupes the rich and famous for his own wealth and power. He lives as a hermit in some remote valley above the snow line in the mountains.

And so, how did Dr. Fendel know this herbalist, Firuz Daria, and why send his daughter all the way from India to contact Dr. Fendel?

You see, Dr. Fendel did his graduate and postgraduate work in botany in that part of the world and alongside the herbalist. As a result, he published many papers on the flora of that area and the Ghats mountains further to the south and west. He gave Firuz Daria a great deal of credit for his discoveries.

He took a deep breath and continued telling his story. Sebastian, we believe, that is I believe, Firuz Daria trusted Dr. Fendel, and so he sent his daughter with information that was so sensitive, so secretive, that he wouldn’t dare use any form of modern communications.

Uncle Harry, if I may call you Uncle Harry? It’s all I’ve ever known you as…

Of course, you may, Sebastian. If you boys ever get married, then for sure I will be your uncle.

Well, Uncle Harry, Sebastian smiled indulgently, I think we’ve gone as far as we can tonight. Justin has brought home some wonderful leftovers from the restaurant, and I’m starved. Why don’t we have a cocktail, and then perhaps Justin will prepare a light supper for the three of us. Tomorrow, we should visit the scene of the crime.

That night, my little family and I enjoyed a light supper of thinly sliced chateaubriand, scalloped potatoes, a mushroom casserole, and for dessert, a peach cobbler. I was happy, even though it was death that had brought us together.

Chapter 2

The following morning, we arrived at the Botanical Research Center campus as planned. The property is situated on thirty-two pristine acres bordered by giant oaks and maples. Red brick walkways weave through many varieties of shrubs and flowering beds of reds, oranges, yellows, and hybrid colorations. It was spectacular and appealed to my sense of style and harmony. In the exact center of the complex, there were five massive greenhouses that dominated a space I would guess was about an acre. One of the structures had glowing lights inside; another was shaded and dark.

At nine o’clock sharp, an elderly guard in a crisp blue uniform was unlocking the gate as we arrived at the main entrance. He greeted us and smiled the moment we walked into the large entranceway. You must be Harold Vanderhauf! Ms. Anika is expecting you. She said you’d be here sharp, and she was right as rain.

He laughed and continued with his opening routine, as he ushered us into the facility. Hold right here, she’s on her way, I’m sure. She’s never wrong and always on time. Just hold right there. He again laughed, and we smiled.

Hearing the soft tap of sandals against the polished floor, I looked up and there she was: a pretty, dark-skinned, young woman with long black hair thrown back over her white lab coat. I could not immediately place her ethnic origins, but she looked Middle Eastern, perhaps Pakistani? She smiled and extended her hand to Uncle Harry.

Mr. Vanderhauf, she said. I, well we, at the research center appreciate your concern in this awful matter. But we’ve been over this so many times with the police and various alphabet agencies. I wish we could just move on. It’s been so trying. I’m sure you understand?

Yes, of course, Anika…sorry, I don’t recall your last name?

Oh, just call me Anika, there’s no sense trying to be formal in times like these.

Well, Anika, this is my nephew Justin and his friend Sebastian Cricket. If you don’t mind, we have a few questions for you, and then we will, as you say, move on.

Oh, yes, Sebastian Cricket. She nodded knowingly. Her voice weakened in sadness, her black eyes moistened. I recall your visit here several days ago when you spoke with Dr. Fendel. He was impressed. You asked some intelligent and probative questions.

Yes, yes, said Sebastian, becoming impatient. I’m saddened for his loss of life and saddened for the research center. I’m sure he was a tremendous asset and will be missed greatly.

Why don’t we walk back to Doctor— It was sad the way she caught herself. "I mean to my small lab. It will be private there."

We followed her to her lab, which was situated next to a small greenhouse. No one spoke.

But then I couldn’t help myself. I was amazed at all the flowers, plants, and even prickly cactus in this small space. You work with all these flowers and stuff? This is just amazing. What are they all for?

I could tell, Uncle Harry and Sebastian were somewhat miffed at my getting off topic. We were investigating a murder and I was asking about flowers. But Anika gave me a kind smile.

Justin, our research center has many functions. I’m sure you noticed the large greenhouses as you came in this morning. One, for example, is designed for extreme heat or desertlike conditions, another for a tropical rain forest. We’re even experimenting with conditions where all light, hydration, and nutrition is artificial. This could be useful if we ever colonize another planet, such as Mars. With climate change and dramatic increases in population on this planet, we don’t know what to expect for Earth’s long-term future.

Sebastian was quick to get the conversation back on topic. Dr. Fendel, I thought, was researching poisonous plants. Tell me about that. As an afterthought, he added, Please.

Oh yes, yes, he was, and their possible usefulness and benefits in other applications, such as, I’m sure you know, foxglove to digitalis.

Sebastian nodded in agreement. He was stabbed, and yet he was working around all this poison and—

It was Anika’s turn to be abrupt. His…his, he… she began to sob and placed her hands over her face. Sorry, I can’t…

Uncle Harry leaned close to Sebastian and whispered, Sebastian, he was disemboweled.

Anika, now somewhat composed, said, It was awful. The images haunt me. I’m the one who found him collapsed on the floor, there by the lab sink.

I was sickened by such thoughts and yelled without thinking, Oh, what a horrible way to die!

Oh, I thought everyone knew the details. The medical examiner said he was dead before he was, how did Sebastian say it? Stabbed.

So, then the cause of death was poison? Sebastian questioned. I could tell he was uncertain, probably wondering why someone would poison the victim, then inflict stab wounds as well. It was overkill. His pointed questioning was borderline rude, but of course, I understood where he was coming from. He always focused on the answers, not the questions.

Anika seemed annoyed as Uncle Harry moved about the lab, curiously inspecting several of the plants. "This room is filled with poison. Look, here’s thorn apple and over there, hemlock, so any one of these could have been forced on him. But why would anyone force poison down him and then…stab him?"

And there it was: the elephant in the room.

Anika leaned against one of the lab stools, and her black hair cascaded over her face. She pushed it back and that somehow gave her strength. Mister Vanderhauf, she began, "you are correct. Most of the flora found in this room is poisonous, and