AND I WOULD CALL IT FOUL PLAY BUT YOU CAN CALL AT THAT INSTEAD

II

…but it’s not. Yeah, I can move thru solid walls, which is useful, I s’pose, if you’re too lazy to use a door, but I can’t use the things I wanna use, either, which is a pain when everyone thinks ’cause you’re so magical & powerful & the like that they can ask you for something & you can give it to them on the dime, no problem, e’en if you don’t use US currency, & don’t you dare come close to a maybe no I can’t, ’cause then you’re a devil & selfish & agh, no wonder most o’ us stay ’way from all these jerks. ¿Who needs them? They’ll ne’er respect you like a living being, ¿so why pretend?.

III

That’s not true, Dawn said in response to what was ne’er said: we’re just bursting with clues — just look @ that:.

Autumn followed Dawn’s arm as it pointed out @ the passing train jogging past them with its noodly arms pumping in the foggy November air.

¿We’ve confirmed that the train didn’t do it? That’s good: 500,000 people were ’nough subjects already — we didn’t need a’least 100,000 times as many inanimate objects to worry ’bout, too.

¿How are trains inanimate?.

Lifeless.

But it had noodly arms. ¿Didn’t you read the narration?.

Autumn’s voice became impatient. Artificially living.

Wait, ¿wasn’t I the 1 answering your questions?, asked Dawn.

¿How many mysteries do we have to solve today?, asked Autumn.

All this talk o’ whether or not something is living or whether existence exists reminds me o’ a puzzle…, said Dawn.

To be frank —

But you’re not Frank; you’re Autumn.

After a long pause, Autumn continued, To be honest — which I’m also not, but zip it — I’m not interested in any o’ your puzzles, said Autumn.

IV

As they walked down the sidewalk on their way home from 王秀英’s, Dawn said, ¿See? I told you 王秀英 would fill us with clues like Hazel fed German kids strudel. & you didn’t want us to come.

Without looking up from her sexy feet, Autumn said, I ne’er said I didn’t want us to come. I was the 1 who told him we’d come.

Yeah, but I could see it on your expression: ‘Ugh. Now I gotta do stuff ’gain & maybe get involved in something exciting. No, please, Jeeves’. You ne’er say what’s on your mind — not the most etiquette, ¿huh?.

No, it’s much mo’ polite to put my feet up on people’s tables so they can stare up my jacket.

Says the girl who used to go jumping round everywhere in a short skirt.

I ne’er claimed to be polite.

You know, this reminds me o’ a puzzle….

¿In what universe would I be interested in hearing a riddle from you inspired by the topic o’ panty shots?, asked Autumn.

V

On an evening like this, Autumn & Dawn crept up the stairs to the Wimsey apartment complex, room D505, Autumn holding a gun in her hands & a police badge she’d cadged on her left breast & Dawn holding her heart on her sleeves.

On the count o’ 3….

Immediately afterward, Autumn kicked down the door, waving 4 4s. But it got up ’gain & they were ne’er gonna keep it down. So Autumn brought out her Monster Key & fed it to the door’s lock.

Unfortunately, the door’s loud slurping alerted the man inside. Luckily, Autumn & Dawn entered immediately after, so it was no forewarning whatsoe’er. Autumn shouted, ¡Don’t shoot or I’ll move!, as she trained her gun on the perp’s shirt, which was all there was, in fact, ’cause the perp was a shirt, as am I.

¡I didn’t do it!, the shirt shouted thru its neck hole.

Autumn lowered her gun just ’nough to look mo’ closely @ the shirt, brows twisting @ this new complication.

Howe’er, she kept her gun aimed @ the shirt & said, We have all the evidence we need.

¿& what evidence is that?.

I figured out the broken sudoku o’ your alibi. You claimed you were with Farmer Fred last Saturday; but Farmer Fred has been dead since tomorrow afternoon.

OK, I lied. ¿But how does that prove I killed some random man?.

Autumn twisted her brows @ the shirt, ignorant o’ the fact that she had already been twisting her brows @ the shirt the entire time.

I… I caught you in a contradiction.

¿So? People contradict themselves all the time. We’re only human — well, some o’ us are only humans. I’m only a shirt.

That’s preposterous, Lance chimed in. Everyone knows contradictions don’t exist, & if you find contradictions… ¡you won’t get contradicted ’gain!.

Lance, ¿How’d you get here? ¿Where’d Dawn go?.

I’m still here.

I was talking ’bout Dawn, Lance. I’m well aware that you’re here, e’en tho you’re not.

That was actually me who said that, said the shirt.

So I present this mystery to you, my dear reader: ¿who said, “Lance, ¿How’d you get here? ¿Where’d Dawn go?”? ¿Autumn? ¿Dawn? ¿Lance? ¿O’Beefe? ¿The shirt? ¿Me?

VI

Next, our protagonists hired a psychiatrist & were surprised by the swiftness by which they were able to psychoanalyze the murderer by just sniffing the blood pooling round 王秀英 after he’d pleasantly let them kill him ’gain.

The murderer’s Autumn.

Autumn took the cigarette out o’ her mouth & said in genuine curiosity, ¿I am?.

The psychiatrist nodded. You’re giving us lung cancer with that 3rd-hand-twice-removed smoke you’re injecting into all our lungs. ¿What have I e’er done to deserve such bodily defamation?.

Well, for 1 thing, I don’t like that rose you’re wearing on your shirt.

I’m not wearing a rose on my shirt.

¿You’re not? O, shit.

It’s true: I ne’er described the psychiatrist as wearing a rose on his shirt or e’en wearing a shirt @ all.

¿Why aren’t you described as wearing clothes? You’re an animal, said Autumn, accurately describing the kingdom in which resides Homo sapien.

I’m a free man.

Autumn took ’nother puff o’ her cigarette & asked, Anyway, ¿are you done yet?, Autumn continued, e’en tho the psychologist’s prognostradamus was swift.

The psychiatrist pointed round & said, If you look @ the lines I taped round the room — .

You didn’t put any lines round the room yet.

The psychiatrist put lines round the room yet.

There, ¿see? Anyway, as I was saying, you can see the angle @ which the blood splurt out when we stabbed the victim with a knife to emulate the real killer, & from that angle we can see that, ’mong other things, the killer is a homosexual — that is, a homosapiensexual who likes to have sex with humans.

That seems like a long jump to make: ¿How do we know he doesn’t like to fuck animals?, Autumn said as she rolled her eyes.

He does like to fuck animals, as humans are a part o’ the kingdom Animalia. Anyway, the scent o’ the blood also reveals that the killer prefers jazz o’er classical music.

¿How so?.

The shape o’ it. Nothing anyone does is e’er just what they do. Everything has meaning. Grandma’s hat isn’t just a hat she wears to cover her hair, but a symbol o’ her self-absorbed refusal to accept the social changes happening in the Southern states o’ the United States o’ America, which is why it gets destroyed by the Misfit, just as the Misfit destroyed her delusions & fucking destroyed it @ the last rock concert I’d been to. Blood doesn’t just spill in any ol’ shape just ’cause o’ silly things like gravity or projectile forces or toetonics….

¿What are “toetonics”?.

The psychiatrist’s face became solemn, e’en tho I hadn’t described him as having a face yet. You don’t want to know ’bout “toetonics”; it’s a secret kept by only the highest-level physicists — & for good reason.

But you’re a psychologist with some study in biology, not a physicist.

Yes, but I was able to analyze thru top physicists’ blood after I stabbed them to death their knowledge o’ a concept called “toetonics”.

During this whole scene Dawn had gone off to buy McCheesy’s & nobody noticed. How rude.

VII

That was a waste o’ good money, Autumn said as they left the crime scene.

You paid him in Monopoly money, tho, said Dawn.

¿Do you know how much a copy o’ Monopoly costs?.

You shoplifted it.

I could’ve sold that board game to someone else. Think o’ the opportunity costs. This is why you’ll ne’er be an industry baron.

’Twas true, & Dawn realized @ that very moment that she would have to live with that realization for the rest o’ her life.

But then she looked up & said, This reminds me o’ a puzzle….

Jesus Christ…, said Autumn.

No, this is a puzzle ’bout economics…, said Dawn.

VIII

Edgar Winters found Autumn exactly where Dawn said she was: under a fir towering o’er her like a monarch, drowning her in the lefto’ers o’ its rainwater feast. All these drops bounced off her like rubber; the only meal she hungered for was burning cigarette after cigarette, further graying air already crowded with rainy clouds. He could tell she’d had her own feast just by looking ’pon the graveyard o’ soggy butts all round the fir’s feet.

Edgar itched with guilt as he saw this. He said in a soft but slow voice, Autumn, ¿is everything all right? You shouldn’t feel bad ’bout not solving some murder. Life’s not like some yarn well-sown by careful, crafty writers; reality is so twisted, so arbitrary… it’s basically impossible to figure things out. I have no idea why Dawn thought — .

Edgar shook & felt his heart race.

¡Idiot! You’ve been with Autumn all these years & you can’t keep from drooling out everything in 1 second?.

Autumn took a cigarette out o’ her mouth long ’nough to say, ¿When did you become such a nihilist? I stopped giving a shit ’bout Dawn’s dumb game hours ago. I bet it’s all a hoax, in any case. ¿Did you figure it out in your own secret-squirrel investigation?.

Edgar’s nerves forced him to look ’way; his nerves forced him to glance back & saw Autumn staring right @ him. She made a silent chuckle & as she stubbed out cigarette #28, she mumbled, That’s what I figured.

It came from Dawn’s cranium…, mumbled Edgar.

O, elementary, it did. Thick smoke ’scaped Autumn’s mouth. ’Twas an unsolved mystery whether ’twas ice air or cigarette smoke. Only she would be the class to construct such a dumb game. ¿Will you tell me the answer to this riddle?.

Edgar stared down @ the colony o’ cigarette stubs, grisly gray ’pon gray concrete in a gray world o’ rain. Dawn thought if you figured it out you’d feel better ’bout….

¿’Bout being a failure? That’s sweet. ¿What’s the answer to the riddle?.

You’re not a failure. Dawn says it’s probably her fault — .

The riddle. ¿Who killed the rando who called us? ¿Did he e’en die? I think he showed us proof o’ being revived, but you can’t vouchsafe that that can’t be faked.

He truly died & was truly revived, said Edgar. Autumn’s brows narrowed. She wasn’t sure if his shivering was just his thin bones’ weakness to the cold or the chill o’ guilt.

¿Who killed him? ¿Did Dawn make a deal with him & have him killed just to make me feel better? ¿Who has the bleaker humor now?.

I — I was the 1 who hired someone.

Autumn smiled. Birdshit. Get the fuck outta here. ¿You have connections with the mob now?.

With peak nervousness, Edgar mumbled, ’Twas actually a ghost….

O, well that makes mo’ sense.

As a skeleton, it’s easy to convince them to help me in need.

That’s convenient. Too bad we couldn’t use that trick the thousand times we needed it mo’ before. Autumn picked up ’nother cigarette. Today was a’least a 29-cigarette day, if not a 50.

Edgar shuffled his feet. I ne’er thought ’bout it @ the time. The idea just struck me, like magic.

Magic. ¿How’d you find this ghost? ¿Do skeletons have the power to conjure ghosts whenever they want?.

He was actually my twin brother.

I guess the idea ne’er struck you till now to mention that you had a twin brother all this time.

Edgar raised a finger. In my defense, I did mention having a twin brother; nobody noticed tho, — including the Programmers themselves — ’cause I whispered it very quietly.

Fair ’nough. I’m still surprised your victim was so cool ’bout the whole ordeal. ¿Did you a’least murder him in a soothing way?.

Edgar nodded. We used a special potion that Dawn made — she just figured out the recipe recently. It just makes you pass out & give up the ghost, as they say in the ghetto, which is far sweeter than real poisons, which usually have all kinds o’ complications & taste like acorns. Dawn gave me the paper that explains its entire chemical composition if you want to see it.

Autumn took a deep drag o’ her 29th cigarette. I’m cool.

I’m sorry I let you down so much, Edgar said with a glum hunch o’ his shoulders. Dawn thought it’d give your puzzler quite a boulder to smooth your sharp edge on so they don’t grow back into you or some words.

I feel much better knowing this was just a way to gaslight me into feeling better, said Autumn. ¿What e’er happened to a good ol’ punch in the head & a, ‘Quit moaning or we’ll give you a good reason to moan’. Though I s’pose that’s what you did.

Edgar couldn’t look @ Autumn anymo’. E’en in the sun he felt like he was lost in a fog round her, & Summers’ smiling light failed to illuminate it. & it’s been creeping on him that this fog was only growing thicker.