The winds of mystery blew cold…or perhaps it was just the draft in the Smithsnorian from the missing roof.

Maria and I wandered around the exibits on the second floor, scouring the external surface for clues of any kind. The room was rife with paintings from a bygone era before the advent of digital tablets, and they showed a respect for classic beauty that a screen would tarnish.

Cornberry carelessly tapped glass cases with his truncheon.

"Well well," he lisped, observing the powder white skies from inside the museum. "This case really blows the roof off them all!"

I rolled my eyes. Maria cast a harsh glare in his direction. "I don't like your puns, clown…" she said in her sly accent. "I love them!"

"I know right," Cornberry grinned. "I thought of that one this morning when I came into work today."

"Any joke that gets Jacky to roll her eyes," Maria said, tipping her fedora. "Is quality humor to me!"

"Enough, jokers!" I snapped. "Something other than my eyes is gonna roll if you don't take this more seriously!"

"Precisely!" said a voice in an accent I traced to the district of Little Roma . "I am glad someone eez taking this seriously."

A tall man with a hook-like-nose, silver hair and spectacles balanced on that nose strode in. He wore a brown suit with a large tail coat flapping behind him like a penguin. His whispy white mustache curled up in an impressive manner. He played and pinched it, making sure it stayed tight.

"This ceiling was my great, great, great grandmother's life's work and I can't believe I'm leaving this mystery in the hands of jesters!"

He turned to face me.

"Only you, leetle girl, seem to have the proper gravitas for the art scandal of the century."

I couldn't help but grin wide as my two biggest rivals had buckets of ice water dumped behind their ears. "And who are you, good sir?!" Cornberry demanded, pointing his truncheon in the man's direction.

"My name is Mica Angelo!" he said. "The benefactor of the Michelle Angelo estate and the great, great, great grandson of the maestro herself!"

He twirled his nose in the air and stomped over to Cornberry. The proud peacock of man diminished in Mica's presense. "One cursed night!" he cried. "My great, great, great grandmama's greatest work is stolen out from under my nose!"

"And quite a feat that was," Cornbury whispered with a sly smirk.

"Silence," the man cried. "On any other day, I'd take those jeers, but not on the day of this grand theft art-o!"

Trying to remain the voice of reason in the room, I crossed my arms and smiled. "I am quite familiar with the ceiling. We studied this one in art class."

I rubbed my chin. "But who would want it enough to steal it in this manner?"

Mica rubbed his gloved hands together and raised a finger. "Only the family of-a that copycat! Dona Tela! Her and my great-great-great grandmama were bitter rivals! They are probably jealous that eet is-a our family who get the most credit and cash from this museum."

His shoulders slumped in sadness.

Even if that's not what it used to be."

My eyes turned towards Maria who rubbed her chin. "Nice mustache, senor," was all she said.

"Err uh…thank you?" Mica said, flustering like a tomato. "I curl it myself!"

"Is facial hair all you care about?!" I demanded of my rival.

"Not at all, mi amor," Maria said slyly. "Though you may want to wax your lip tonight!"

Before I could explode on her, she spoke to Cornberry in a dry manner. "Perhaps eet's important we pay these Tela's a visit. They seem to be suspect numero uno."

Knowing her (intimately, unfortunately), it was odd for her to jump to such conclusions. But her face told a different story. She looked dead serious for once.

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Little Roma was eastward from the museum. A nice little port of micro vineyards and restaurants. The Family of Dona Telo were one of the most well off and their manor sat at the edge of town where a hydroponic greenhouse grew ripe grapes all year round.

My carriage pulled up beside the police wagon of Cornberry's. Much like its own, it was decked out in garrish colors of vermillion and hot pink. A cuffed Maria exited with the officer.

As soon as we stepped up to the front gates, we were accosted by two, burly wide men. "Why are you here?"

"Police business," Cornerry said, flashing his badge.

The man on the left nodded, accepting his answer. "I just warn you," he said, adjusting his sunglasses. "Our mistress is in one of the throes of art mania."

Now I was an artist myself–crime solving is an underrated art in itself, but I didn't know what the Dickens to expect when I rang the doorbell. It was unexpected to say the least.

A tall, tanned hourglass of a girl answered. Her hair was silver-blond, her face perfectly made up according to the rigid beauty standards of the upper class and a long white gown made entirely of white duck feathers trailed after her. Most disturbingly, the limp head of a duck hung on her shoulder, attached to the gown.

Either she was a fashion designer or totally quacked out of her mind.

The elegant woman stomped her feet. "Oo are you people? Can't you see I am perfecting a exquisite gown."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh and here I thought you were strangling a mallard."

The girl hissed at me, in a similar manner to an angry goose. "This a-dress is 100% fabric. No animals were harmed in the making of it."

"Hey," I said, "No harm, no waterfowl. Care to tell us who you are?"

The woman struck a fabulous pose. "I am Dona Tela Versailles the Fourth, the wondermind of fashion design. But now I can see why you don't know that. Your outfit is tres ugly!"

I turned redder than a ripe rasbery. "Look lady," I said, "I'd love to shoot the breeze about fashion all day, but we are detectives and we have urgent questions for you."

"Mmm mmm mmm," Dona Tela Versailles said, shaking her head. "I want *her* to question me."

Cornberry and I turned out heads to Maria. I gasped. "Why her?"

Dona Tela Versailles sighed. "She is the only one with any fashion sense around here. I'd love to host her in my next fashion show."

A suave smile spread across Maria's face. "Finally, a muchacha of taste. I'd love to strut my stuff, chica," she said, raising her handcuffs. "But alas, I am a prisoner of the law."

Dona Tela only grew in enthusiasm. "That's no matter to me. Everyone loves a fashion show that's simply scandalous."

I cleared my throat.

"Mi apologies," Maria said, her chocolate eyes shifting towards me. "Jack is just jealous that a pasty stick like her is not a fashion icon!"

"That's not true," I howled. "Just ask her the question already!"

"Very well," Maria said. "Senorita Dona Tela, do you know anything about the disappearance of a painting from the family of Michelle Angelo?"

I surmised Maria asking a question like that would really make Dona Tela's head erupt like a volcano. But instead, she merely scoffed.

"Oh it'sa bout zat? I don't know about the Angelo's themselves, but I've put my great, great, great grandma's feud in the past. We couldn't beat them so I just did something I excelled at instead."

"Wow," I said. "That's suprisingly non petty of you "

"Exactamente!" Dona Tela exclaimed and followed it with a deep chortle. "I am unrivaled in the field of fashion "

"So…uh," Cornbury said. "How do you explain being at the Fine Art Expo the night before."

Dona Tela threw her manicured hand forward. "Family matters, darling. Keeping up appearances. We are still a patron there.

"That…" I said. "Suprisingly checks out, and you didn't see anything suspicious?"

Dona Tela glared at me, causing Maria to ask. "You didn't see anything suspicious, senorita?"

"Oh," Dona Tela said, pursing her lips. "There was a very strange lady there. I deed not know who was was. No one did "

A mystery woman, I thought. Now this fashionable diva was speaking my language.

"And what did this muchacha look like?" Maria asked, equally intrigued.

"Her head," Dona Tela began. "Was wrapped eena scarf and she wore sunglasses. And she gaped at the ceiling all night long."

I rubbed my chin with the tip of my vape. Now we were getting somewhere. At last.

Dona Tela Versailles turned her gaze skyward. She tapped the head of the duck on her shoulder. "There was something familiar about her. But at the same time. Not. I can't put my finger in it.

My eyes shined brightly. We had found our lead. All we had to do was find out who she was.

"Senor Cornberry?" Maria asked. "Do you have the guest list. I do believe we can figure out who this mystery muchacha is."

"How so?" I asked. "Neither you nor I get invited to art parties, so I wouldn't know any of these high riders."

Maria smirked. "You really have to ask mi? I though you were a prodigy, Jack Senor Cornberry, give Senorita Dona the list and have her tell us who she doesn't know. She clearly is the life of the party."

Cornberry removed a copy of the guest list from the Fine Art Exposition and handed it to Dona.

"My fair lady," he asked and handed it to her. "Can you identify the name you don't recognize?"

Dona scanned the parchment and shook her head. "I have no idea who Ms. Helena Elm Logic is."

"Helena Elm Logic?!" Cornberry lisped. "I've had a lot of strange names applying to my personal ads, but this one really takes the cake."

Helena Elm Logic, I repeated in my head. Helena Elm Logic.

I giggled to myself. Both Maria and Cornberry widened their eyes. I entered the name into the Flow app. "Oh you don't know this one, Maria. And here I thought you were a master criminal."

Maria's eyes flared back at me. I had hit her where it hurts. She was also a prodigy after all, and somehow she missed the boat.

"I though you'd be aware of fake names and angrams. And this one is a very simple one."

I put my hands on my hips and revealed the anagram on my comphone screen. Good old Flow had done the work for me.

"Michelle Angelo," I grinned, "was at the museum last night…In the flesh!"