The Adventures of Detective Fred Bunn - The Indonesian Butter Mystery

I’m Detective Fred Bunn and these are, The Adventures of Detective Fred Bunn, at least until I find a more creative title.

As soon as I walked into The Muffin Pan, a quant little bakery in the better part of town, I knew this was going to be an unusual case. A case like no other. The place was a wreck. I mean there was so much flower and sugar all over the walls and floors, it looked like someone had caught the Pillsbury Dough Boy and Little Debbie in an affair and murdered the both-of-them.

I looked around making mental notes. I noticed a trail of butter leading from the back all the way up to the front door. Funny, this butter wasn’t melted, it seemed to hold it’s shape the whole way.

“You must be Detective Bunn.” The lady’s voice made me turn quickly, stepping in a pile of flower, covering my black wing tips, turning them into white wing tips. It was worth it when I saw the woman attached to the voice. My kind of woman. Short and plump with bright red hair. Kind of like Lucille Ball, only shorter and plumper.

Her face gave away the fact that she’d been crying. “You the owner of this place?”

“Yes, Virginia, Virginia Verbooth. I own The Muffin Pan. I’ve owned it for eight years now and this is my first break-in”

I could tell she was really shook up. I would be too, if this were my store and someone had torn it up like this place. “Can we go in the back and sit down, so I can take some notes?”

She nodded and I followed her, stepping through the mess on the floor.

We sat on a high table with a long wooden top, meant for chopping and doing whatever else you do in a bakery.

There were three double-wide refrigerators, one with a lock, two large ovens, and lots of silver trays. A few shelves of various kitchen equipment surrounded us.

I opened my small notepad and cleared my throat, “So, tell me what happened?”

“Can’t you see? The place was ransacked, and something especially important was stolen. Something that was going to assure my victory in the annual bake off, bringing prestige to our bakery.”

“Sounds dastardly. What was stolen?”

She lowered her head and exclaimed, “Butter.”

I wrote the word down in my book then looked up inquisitive like. “Butter? You mean someone came into this place, tore it up to pieces and all they took was butter?”

She began to cry.

“Hold on lady. I’m sorry, I just…”

“It wasn’t regular butter! This was the finest butter in the world. From Indonesia. You must order this butter in a 24-hour period on November 28^th every year. If you don’t have that year’s passcode, you can’t order any. And if you can’t get a hold of the buyer by phone, you also lose. It’s so hard to get it, I stay up for 24 hours every year, with at least 5 of my employees, trying to get in line. This was the first year, I made it. This was going to be my shining moment.”

“So, when did you discover this magic butter missing?” I inquired.

“This morning at 5:00 AM when I opened the shop. The butter had just been delivered the night before. I had it in the walk-in fridge over there.” She pointed to a large silver door, with a silver handle. “After tasting a little, I put it in a box and labeled it.”

I stood and walked to the unlocked door. There I noticed a glob of chocolate on the handle.

“Was this door opened when you came in?” I inquired.

“Yes, it was wide open. And the only thing gone, was that box labeled Indonesian Butter.” As she answered this, I looked at her hands, noticing they were clean, really, clean.

I opened the door and saw where the box had been. Next to it, was an open box of semi-sweet Chocolate Chips. I turned back around and headed back to the table.

“So, is this butter really that good?” When I turned around, I notice she had two muffins on a tray.

“Try both of these, and you’ll taste the difference.”

I bit into a chocolate chip muffin. It was tasty, reminded me of something my grandma would bake on Thanksgiving.

Then she handed me another Chocolate chip muffin and I took a bite. The place began to move away quickly, as if I were a time-traveler experiencing a flying sensation. I heard Ella Fitzgerald scatting and felt free of all responsibility of the world. I laughed as if I had heard the funniest joke ever told. Slowly I closed my eyes and I saw children sliding down a mountainside, laughing and carrying on. I felt like I was born anew, shedding all of the bad things in life.

“Well?” I opened my eyes suddenly and Ms. Verbooth stared at me like I had been there for a couple of hours.

I was embarrassed. As if I were caught doing something naughty.

I set the Chocolate Chip muffin down and pushed it to the center of the table. I lifted my eyes and smiled slightly.

“You make an amazing Chocolate Chip Muffin Ms. Verbooth. I mean, really amazing.” She nodded her head and smiled.

“I wish I could take credit for it. That was made by my assistant, Reginald Furwaller. Well at least my assistant for now. He’s moving out of town this week. But they were made with the butter from Indonesia. Only three cows in the world can produce that butter. They each have their own room and at least ten servants who wait on their every need. That’s what was stolen.”

“Does this butter have an unusually high melting point?” I asked, having watched my share of Julia Childs.

“No, actually it’s rather low. It’s extra rich and creamy so it melts really fast.” She replied, looking curiously interested in how much baking knowledge I have.

I stood and paced a couple of times, then stared out to the front and looked at the un-melted butter trail. I grabbed a spatula hanging on the wall and picked up a clump of the butter, then went back to the tall wooden table and slapped it on an open spot.

“I don’t know much about baking Ms. Verbooth, but I do know fake butter when I see it.” I took my finger and ran it through the un-melted blob then tasted it with one swoop. “Just as I suspected, it’s Crisco with yellow food coloring!”

“What? But why would someone do that?” The genuine look of shock on her face told me exactly what I needed to know.

Just then, the small bell on the front door rang, taking both of our attention to the front.

“Oh my God! What happened?” a man’s voice exclaimed from the other room.

Virginia and I stepped out of the back and saw a man dressed in a chef’s outfit.

She stepped in front, “Detective, let me introduce you to…”

I interrupted her, “Reginald Furwaller, I presume.” As I said his name, I stuck my hand out to shake his, then turned mine over to see a smudge of melted chocolate. I licked my hand and tasted an explosion of flavor. Quickly, before he took his hand back, I grabbed the handcuffs in my back pocket and placed them on his wrist.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he exclaimed.

“You’ll know soon enough when we get downtown. I’ll be back to explain everything, Ms. Verbooth.”

We exited, leaving Virginia with her mouth wide open and her head full of questions.

Later that day, I walked in to see Virginia as she wiped away the last bit of flower from the counter. Everything sparkled clean. The place was nice and quant without all the mess.

“I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly, but justice doesn’t wait for anyone, especially a no-good wanna’ be baking champion. Follow me.”

We walked into the back of the store once more, where I headed straight to the main walk-in refrigerator door. There I ran my hand over the handle, then showed Virginia the chocolate now covering my palm.

“When I first saw this walk-in, I noticed the melted chocolate chips on the handle. When you told me, your assistant was the one who made the incredible chocolate chip muffins, I knew he was the last one in the walk-in and the last one with access to the butter. Then…” I turned to the locked refrigerator and held up the lock.

“I noticed this locked refrigerator also had melted chocolate. Do you have the key?” She handed me the key and I opened the locked fridge. I took out a box labeled Crisco.

“If my suspicions are correct, this should be the last of your Indonesian Butter.” I set the packs on the long table as Virginia gasped.

“Knowing someone planted yellow collared Crisco as a trail to the front door, I surmised they were trying to get us to think that the butter had left the building, or at least that’s what Mr. Furwaller wanted us to think. Then he could come in here later and retrieve the rest of the magic butter. He had a trunk full of cupcakes he made last night and was going to turn them in for the annual bake off to win the prize money and start his own bakery, The Cupcake Pan.” I pulled out a newly printed flyer with Furwaller’s smiling face.

“Ah! The fiend!” She ripped up the flyer and tossed it in her trash can. “You are amazing, Detective. How did you figure it all out so quickly?”

“I have to chalk it up to the Indonesian butter in that muffin I ate. As soon as I tasted it, the world seemed to fall away, and everything became clear.”

That night, as I sat in, the Muffin Pan’s kitchen and sampled all her baked goods, I couldn’t help but think this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship and about how this would affect my waistline, and how much I didn’t care. I knew things would be butter…er, better, from here on out.

Until next time, this has been, The Adventures of Fred Bunn, until I find a more creative title.