"Oberon, we are all out of sausages for breakfast. How about some ham?" The Druid stood in front of the refrigerator as he gathered the ingredients for an omelet.

What? That's impossible. You brought home pounds of sausages yesterday.

Atticus looked over his shoulder and laughed. "I got groceries last week buddy. We are getting a little slim now."

I jumped up and began pacing the kitchen. No you are mistaken. Obviously our sausages were stolen for some nefarious purpose. Possibly by the cats who are working with the people who make those smoked sausages that taste like plastic in an evil plot to overthrow the world. I must investigate.

Atticus muttered something about knowing that "The Hound of the Baskervilles" was not a good story for bath time yesterday but my mind had moved on to a more pressing matter.

I need a pipe.

"No Oberon. Pipes are disgusting and they led to millions of people dying from cancer." The Druid could be so oblivious to the sartorial demands of a detective's profession.

Well I obviously can't find a deerstalker hat that would stay on my head while I am tracking! Therefore I must have a pipe. Or else how will I look like a detective?

"In the stories they never said that it was a deerstalker hat. That is just something the illustrators came up with. Sherlock would never have worn that in town." Atticus was at the stove now mixing perfectly good bacon with vegetables and eggs. That awful racket that he liked to listen to was on the radio. Honestly cats screeching sounded better to me, not that I would tell them that. "How about we find you a nice vest and a cravat? Sherlock always wore those when he was investigating."

Fine. But can I develop a dangerous drug habit that I use to escape the pressures of my genius?

Atticus started laughing. "I will stop and get you a Red Bull when we go to the bookstore today. It does the same thing."

I ignored the surly Druid and began scanning the papers littering the table for information that could lead me to the perpetrator of this horrendous crime. The words were of no interest to me, not being of the literary persuasion, but the smell that came off them was terrible. The man who delivered the papers in the morning left the lingering smell of Old Spice and bran flakes. Obviously he was a criminal mastermind that should be investigated further once this case was solved.

"Are you ready to leave Oberon? Granuaile is going to meet us at the bookstore and then we are heading to the woods today."

Do you think Granuaile will be wearing the same pants that she wore last time we worked at the cabin? Because honestly Atticus, I don't think she would mind if you sniffed her butt a little. Maybe then you would stop staring at it every time she walks in front of you.

Atticus's ears turned a little red, just as they did every time I teased him about his apprentice. "I sincerely hope not. Student / teacher relationship, remember? But just in case bark at a big rock like there is a snake if you think I might be in danger of sniffing, ok?"

All right, but human mating habits are dumb. And when we get back you have to take me to the widow's house so I can question her cats about the case of the missing sausages.

Atticus grabbed his backpack and headed to the door. "Deal."