A Margo Peabody and Winston the Menace Goose Mystery

Chapter One: A Mystery Most Middle-Aged

Margo Peabody’s day began, as all great disasters do, with optimism.

She flung open the creaky doors of The Whispering Tome, inhaled the scent of aged paper and Mr. Fitzgerald’s latest hairball, and declared, “Today’s the day, Fitz! No drama, no chaos, just books.”

The cat, sprawled atop Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, blinked slowly—a gesture Margo chose to interpret as solidarity.

The shop was its usual cacophony of charm and mild hazard. Sunlight strained through dust to illuminate the “Local Lore” shelf, where Margo had staged her pièce de résistance: a pyramid of The Treasure of Laughing Lake, its cover featuring Old Man Henderson winking beside a shovel and a suspiciously shiny set of dentures. The display had taken three hours, two lattes, and one existential crisis to perfect.

“Brenda’s gonna lose her mind when she sees this,” Margo muttered, adjusting a papier-mâché treasure chest. The town’s historical society president had been vibrating with competitive fervor ever since Margo announced the treasure-hunt event. Brenda’s latest email—“FYI, Margo, Henderson’s favorite food was TURNIPS, not BEETS. Do NOT besmirch his legacy with incorrect root vegetables”—still burned in her inbox.

The morning passed in a blur of customers: a toddler attempting to eat a Dickens anthology, a man in a trench coat asking if she carried “books about the void,” and twelve separate tourists cooing over Winston the goose, who terrorized the town square by honking the Jeopardy! theme at pedestrians.

It wasn’t until her lunch break—a granola bar nibbled over a dog-eared copy of Murder She Wrote—that Margo noticed something amiss.

The pyramid was lopsided.

“Mr. Fitzgerald!” she barked, startling the cat off Marcus Aurelius. “Did you knock over a book?”

The cat yawned, sauntered to the “Self-Help” section, and began aggressively licking his nether regions.

Margo counted the books. Twelve. There should’ve been thirteen.

Panic rose like a bad soufflé. The Treasure of Laughing Lake was out of print, riddled with typos, and smelled vaguely of wet dog, but it was the linchpin of her event. Without it, the treasure hunt would collapse faster than Brenda’s attempt to knit a Henderson-themed sweater vest.

“Okay, don’t overreact,” she told a potted fern. “Maybe someone just… borrowed it!”

The fern, wisely, said nothing.

Suspect #1: Brenda “Turnip Tyrant” Whitaker

Margo found Brenda in her backyard, knee-deep in a hole, wearing a tricorn hat and muttering, “Henderson didn’t have gout, you philistines…”

“Brenda,” Margo said, holding up a photo of the missing book like a rookie cop flashing a badge, “where were you at 9:37 a.m.?”

Brenda squinted. “Re-enacting Henderson’s dental hygiene routine. He used charcoal and resolve.” She brandished a stick of licorice. “Want to be my toothless second cousin?”

Margo retreated.

Suspect #2: Gavin “I’m Basically a Ninja” Lee

The teenage intern was hunched behind the register, folding origami bookmarks shaped like tiny coffins.

“Gavin,” Margo said, “did you see anyone skulking around the Local Lore section? Acting… shifty?”

Gavin glanced up, earbud dangling. “I was doing recon on BookTok. See?” He showed her a video titled ”hot book boys ranking Moby Dick as a metaphor for capitalism.”

“That’s not an alibi, that’s a cry for help.”

Suspect #3: Mr. Puddlesworth and His Cat, Agatha

The rival bookseller stood in his shop window, arranging a diorama of Winston the goose solving crimes. His cat, Agatha, typed ominously on a laptop.

“Puddlesworth!” Margo banged on the glass. “Where’s my book?”

“Please,” he sniffed. “I only sell literature. Like Agatha’s latest: The Goose Who Knew Too Much.”

“That’s libel!”

“It’s fanfiction.”

By closing time, Margo had:

- Tripped over a “BEWARE OF GOOSE” sign (courtesy of Winston).

- Mistaken a customer’s Chihuahua for a “possible book thief in a furry disguise.”

- Accidentally live-streamed her search to the town’s Facebook group (”Margo, honey, we can see your bra strap” – Doris, 82, commented).

Defeated, she slumped into a beanbag chair labeled “For Display Only (Seriously).”

“Face it, Fitz,” she groaned. “We’ve got a literary felon on the loose.”

The cat padded over, dropped a half-eaten jelly donut on her lap, and stared at her like she’d missed the obvious.

“No,” Margo said, “this isn’t a clue. This is just sad.”

But as she locked up, she spotted something glinting in the “Self-Help” aisle—a trail of edible glitter leading to the gardening section.

“Oh, it’s on,” Margo whispered, grabbing her deerstalker hat. “Mr. Fitzgerald! We’ve got a sparkly lead…”

The cat flicked his tail and walked away. Some things, his posture implied, were beneath him.

Chapter Two: The Glitter-Glue Gambit (That Stuck)

Margo Peabody’s idea of a “foolproof plan” had historically included such gems as microwaving ramen without water (“It’s deconstructed!”) and dyeing Mr. Fitzgerald green for St. Patrick’s Day (the cat’s fur now had a perma-emerald hue). Today’s scheme, however, was her magnum opus.

“Behold,” she whispered to Gavin, unveiling the decoy book: a battered copy of Gardening with Ghosts slathered in enough glitter glue to blind a disco ball. “The culprit will be drawn to its shimmering siren song, grab it, and boom—we’ll catch them red-handed. Or… glitter-handed.”

Gavin frowned. “What if a normal person touches it?”

“Then they’ll learn a valuable lesson about coveting books.”

“That’s not ethical.”

“Neither is charging $18 for avocado toast,” Margo countered, wedging the book between Bigfoot’s Guide to Composting and Zen and the Art of Lawn Care. “Now hide. And don’t TikTok this.”

The stakeout began at dawn. Margo crouched behind a shelf labeled “Cozy Mysteries (Actual Murders Not Included),” armed with a net meant for butterflies, a walkie-talkie tuned to a polka station, and a thermos of coffee strong enough to resurrect Hemingway. Gavin manned the security camera—a 2007 webcam duct-taped to a taxidermied owl named Gerald.

Hours passed.

Customers came and went:

- A woman debating whether to buy War and Peace as a “doorstop.”

- A man in a squid hat asking if the store carried “audiobooks whispered by ghosts.”

- Winston the goose, who waddled in, honked the Jaws’ theme, and stole a bookmark shaped like a shrimp.

Then, at 11:47 a.m.—movement.

“Gavin, it’s go time!” Margo hissed into the walkie-talkie, as a shadowy figure reached for the decoy.

She lunged, net swooping—and immediately face-planted into a rolling cart of Harlequin romances. The figure yelped, flinging the book skyward. It arced, glittering, before landing squarely on Margo’s head.

“Gotcha!” she wheezed, glue already cementing her hair to Passion’s Purple Promise.

“Ms. Peabody?!” squeaked the figure.

Margo blinked through a haze of glitter. “Mayor Thompson?!”

The mayor, a jolly man with a weakness for baked goods, clutched a slice of treasure-hunt cake. “I just wanted dessert! The glitter called to me!”

“You’re not the book thief?”

“I’m a stress-eater, not a criminal!”

Gavin’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie: “Uh, boss? The camera caught someone else sneaking into the gardening section.”

Margo peeled the book off her forehead, leaving a sequined bald spot. “What?”

The gardening aisle was a war zone.

Potted herbs upended. Decorative gnomes toppled. And there, in the middle of the chaos, was Brenda—covered in dirt, wielding a trowel, and hyperventilating over a copy of Cacti: The Prickly Truth.

“Brenda,” Margo growled, glitter crackling off her like confetti. “Explain.”

“I didn’t steal your book!” Brenda hissed. “I’m digging for Henderson’s treasure! The cacti chapter says he loved succulents! SUCCULENTS, MARGO!”

“That’s not even a clue—”

“You’re the one who glued Nietzsche to the ceiling fan yesterday!”

“That was aerodynamics research!”

Their showdown was interrupted by a crash from the front desk. Mr. Fitzgerald streaked past, chasing Mr. Puddlesworth’s cat, Agatha, who clutched a USB drive in her teeth.

“Espionage!” Margo gasped.

“Genius!” Gavin yelled, filming.

By dusk, the shop looked like a craft store explosion. Margo sat slumped in the “Self-Help” aisle, picking glitter out of her ears, when Doris the librarian shuffled in, clutching a tote bag that read “Shhh… Or Don’t.”

“Rough day?” Doris chirped, eyeing the glue in Margo’s hair.

“Someone stole my book, Doris. My event—”

“Oh, I’ve been there!” Doris clucked. “Why, last week, I ‘borrowed’ a first edition of The Hobbit to settle a bet about elf height. But I always return things!” She winked, dropping a gardening magazine into the returns bin.

Margo froze.

The magazine’s cover: Laughing Lake’s Secret Flora – What Old Man Henderson REALLY Grew!

Inside, a note fluttered out:

“Margo – Stop looking. You’ll thank me later. – D.”

“Doris…?” Margo whispered.

But Doris was already gone, her trail marked by a single sequin—matching the glitter on the decoy book.

That night, Margo Googled “how to unglue your soul from capitalism’s crushing grip” (the self-help section had opinions), while Mr. Fitzgerald batted the USB drive Agatha had dropped.

“What’s on it, Fitz?” Margo mumbled.

She plugged it in.

A single file: goose_truth.pdf.

The screen flashed.

“The treasure isn’t Henderson’s. It’s WINSTON’S. – A. Cat”

Margo spit out her wine. “Fitz, this changes everything!”

The cat sneezed on the keyboard and left.

Chapter Three: Fowl Play

Margo Peabody had faced many indignities in her forty-three years: being outwitted by a motion-sensor door, accidentally endorsing a pyramid scheme via Group text (“It’s NOT a cult—it’s essential oils!”), and that one time she mistook tofu for feta. But nothing prepared her for interrogating a goose.

“Alright, Winston,” she muttered, crouching behind a bush outside the town square, binoculars dangling around her neck. “Time to sing like a canary. Or, y’know, a… slightly more honest goose.”

Mr. Fitzgerald, perched on her shoulder like a disgruntled parrot, dug his claws into her cardigan. His expression screamed, I could’ve napped through this.

Winston waddled past, tail feathers high, honking a tune that sounded suspiciously like Baby Shark.

Operation: Goose Whisperer (Phase 1):

Margo lobbed a peace offering—a gourmet kale-and-quinoa muffin (“Henderson’s favorite!” per Brenda’s newsletter). Winston sniffed it, side-eyed her, and projectile-shredded it with his beak.

“Okay, Phase 2,” Margo said, pulling out her phone. “I’ve got a podcast on ‘Avian Communication.’ Let’s try… friendly goose sounds.”

She played a recording of honks. Winston froze.

Then he charged.

Result:

- Margo: 0

- Shrubbery: 1

- Mr. Fitzgerald: (Witnessed the entire ordeal. Judged accordingly.)

Meanwhile, back at Brenda’s Hole:

Brenda had excavated a crater the size of a minivan in her backyard, strung with “TURNIPS OR BUST” bunting. She waved a metal detector over the dirt, shouting, “Henderson’s dentures are MINE, Margo! Mine!”

Nearby, Gavin filmed her for his new TikTok series, Boomers Gone Wild: Archaeology Edition.

“This is gold,” he whispered, zooming in as Brenda unearthed… a rusty spoon. “Literal garbage!”

Interrogation, Take Two:

Margo, now strategically hiding in a dumpster, watched Winston waddle toward the post office. She’d read online that geese “respond to vulnerability,” so she’d donned a feather boa and a hat shaped like a breadcrumb.

“Winston,” she cooed, emerging slowly, “let’s talk treasure. I’ll split it with you. Sixty-forty. Seventy-thirty? Fine, you greedy waterfowl, just—”

HONK.

Winston lunged, boa in beak, as Margo stumbled backward into a stack of mailbags.

“CONFIDENTIAL!” screeched Postmaster Carl, sprinting outside. “That’s federal property!”

“So’s my will to live!” Margo yelled, fleeing with Winston in pursuit, feathers flying.

The Plot Chickens:

That evening, Margo limped into the library, hair full of goose down, clutching the USB drive. Doris sat at the front desk, knitting a sweater that read “Librarians Do It with Dewey Decimals.”

“Doris,” Margo rasped, slamming the USB down, “what’s ‘goose_truth.pdf’? And why is Winston in a mob boss phase?”

Doris didn’t look up. “Winston’s family guarded the treasure for decades. Henderson didn’t bury gold—he buried their heirloom: the Golden Egg.”

“That’s a metaphor, right?”

“It’s a Fabergé egg. From Tsarist Russia. Henderson won it in a poker game. Winston’s ancestors pecked anyone who got close.” Doris smiled. “I may have… borrowed your book to protect you. Geese hold grudges.”

Margo’s eye twitched. “So you stole it?”

“Borrowed. And solved it. The egg’s in the library.”

“WHERE?!”

Doris gestured to the “Historical Fiction” shelf. Margo yanked a copy of War and Peace, triggering a click. The shelf swung open, revealing a vault labeled “Winston’s Winnings.”

Inside: a glittering egg… and a note.

“Nice try. – W. Goose”

The egg was plastic. A hollow Walmart special filled with jawbreakers.

Doris shrugged. “He moves it every week. It’s a game.”

Margo inhaled sharply. “I’m being gaslit by a bird.”

Epiphany via Cat:

Back at the shop, Mr. Fitzgerald presented her with a “gift”: Winston’s favorite stolen bookmark (the shrimp). On the back, in tiny print:

“Real treasure in History section. P.S. You’re welcome. – A. Cat”

Margo flipped open The Treasure of Laughing Lake (now mysteriously returned) to page 213. A margin note read: “Check Henderson’s dental records. – D.”

“Doris!” Margo hissed. “You chaotic dinosaurus!”

Midnight Break-In:

Margo and Fitz sneaked into the town museum’s “Henderson Exhibit” (one dusty mannequin in long johns). Inside a display of “The Hermit’s Dental Journey” sat Henderson’s dentures… with a map etched into the porcelain.

“Bingo,” Margo whispered.

Then—lights on.

“FREEZE!” Brenda yelled, trowel raised, covered in turnip peels. “That’s MY legacy!”

Mr. Fitzgerald yawned.

Chapter Four: Trowel, Error, and Taxidermy

Margo Peabody had faced many adversaries: gluten-free cookie dough, automatic-flush toilets, and the existential void of a blank Word document. But none compared to Brenda Whitaker wielding a trowel and a grudge.

“Hand over the dentures, Margo!” Brenda hissed, her tricorn hat askew, a turnip peeler strapped to her thigh like a cutlass. “I’ve dug six holes and memorized Henderson’s grocery lists! I EARNED THIS!”

Margo clutched the dentures to her chest, Mr. Fitzgerald poised on her shoulder like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle. “These aren’t just dentures, Brenda—they’re a map to the treasure! A map I decoded!”

“LIES!” Brenda lunged, trowel glinting. “You think Henderson wanted his legacy to be a bookstore gimmick? He was a TURNIP MAN, Margo! A VEGETABLE VISIONARY!”

The ensuing scuffle was less "epic showdown" and more "two middle-aged women playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with history."

They ricocheted off exhibits:

The Hermit’s Hickory Chair: Splintered.

“Winston’s Ancestral Feathers”: Scattered.

Gerald the Taxidermy Owl: …Blinked?

“Did that owl just move?” Margo panted, dodging a trowel swipe.

“Don’t distract me with your nonsense!” Brenda yelled, knocking over a diorama titled Henderson’s First Bath: 1903.

Unbeknownst to all, Gerald had been Gavin’s “upgrade” to the bookstore’s security system—a motion-activated camera hidden behind glass eyes, live-streaming to the town’s TikTok.

As Brenda and Margo rolled past, Gerald’s head rotated with a creak, capturing:

Frame 1: Margo hitting Brenda with a placard (“Henderson’s Favorite Rock”).

Frame 2: Mr. Fitzgerald batting the dentures into a ventilation duct.

Frame 3: 1,872 viewers commenting “GO GERALD!!!!”

Enter: The Goose

Winston waddled in, honking the Mission: Impossible theme, and zeroed in on the dentures now wedged in the duct. With a flap, he launched himself onto a chandelier, which swayed ominously.

“NO!” Margo and Brenda screamed in unison, temporarily allied against avian chaos.

Too late.

The chandelier crashed, the duct burst, and Henderson’s dentures sailed into Winston’s beak. He honked triumphantly and fled, leaving a trail of glitter.

Chapter Five: The Real Treasure Was the Friends We Annoyed Along the Way

Margo Peabody stood in the rubble of her dignity, surveying The Whispering Tome. The “Solve-the-Mystery” event was hours away, and the shop resembled a post-apocalyptic craft store: glitter glue stalactites, half-inflated treasure chest balloons, and a banner that read “CONGRATULATI NS BRENDA” (Gavin had run out of Os).

“This is fine,” Margo lied, stapling a photo of Winston to a dartboard. “Everything’s fine.”

***

Act 1: The Calm Before the Storm (But Mostly the Storm)

Brenda arrived at noon, hauling a wagon of turnips labeled “Henderson’s Bounty.”

“I’ve restaged his final meal,” she announced, plopping a casserole on the counter. “Turnip Surprise!”

“What’s the surprise?” Gavin poked it.

“There is no surprise. It’s just turnips.”

Margo eyed the casserole. “Is this a peace offering or a biological weapon?”

“Yes.”

Act 2: The Event Begins (Chaos Ensues Immediately)

At 2 p.m., the townsfolk arrived, lured by promises of “treasure,” “cake,” and “a chance to finally pet Mr. Fitzgerald” (a lie). Doris manned a booth titled “Ask a Librarian (No Ethical Questions),” while Mr. Puddlesworth sold “I Survived Winston” merch next door.

Margo climbed a podium cobbled from encyclopedias. “Welcome, suckers—ahem—friends! Follow the glitter clues to find Henderson’s treasure!”

The crowd surged, knocking over a life-sized Henderson cardboard cutout. His dentures flew off, hitting Mayor Thompson in the eye.

“I’m suing!” he whimpered, stress-eating a turnip.

Act 3: The Hunt (Spoiler: Everyone Loses)

Clue #1: “Where knowledge rests, dig with zest!” led to the library.

Doris greeted hunters with a shovel and a smirk. “Dig here!” She pointed to a planter labeled “DANGER: CACTI.”

Five bandaged hands later, they uncovered a note: “Psych! Check the bakery.”

At the bakery, Winston had barricaded himself with the treasure-hunt cake, now 90% goose saliva. The clue on it? “Nice try. – W. Goose.”

Act 4: The “Treasure” Revealed (Again)

Margo herded everyone back to the bookstore, where Brenda had rigged the ceiling fan to rain turnip coupons.

“The real treasure,” Margo shouted over the vegetable downpour, “is… uh…”

Ding! Gavin’s TikTok alert blared. Gerald the owl’s livestream had gone viral, capturing Doris sneaking into the museum the night before. The video showed her swapping Henderson’s dentures with a key taped to… How to Win Friends and Influence People.

“The key!” Margo gasped. “It opens the ‘treasure’!”

The crowd stampeded to the self-help shelf. Behind Eat, Pray, Love was a lockbox. Inside: a VHS tape titled Henderson’s Home Movies: A Thrilling Saga of Turnip Gardening & Existential Dread.

Brenda wept. “It’s… beautiful.”

Act 5: The Real Treasure (It’s Not a Metaphor. Okay, It’s a Metaphor.)

As the crowd dispersed—some satisfied, others demanding refunds in cake—Margo found Doris sipping punch by the fiction section.

“Why’d you do it?” Margo asked.

Doris grinned. “The library needed a new roof. Viral owl footage pays well.” She handed Margo a receipt: $10,000, donated by “Anonymous Goose.”

“Winston funded it?!”

“He’s a silent partner. Also, he beaked me.”