“We ran John Doe Number One’s DNA through 206andMe’s database, Chief, and got a match.”

“Holy Moley!”

“Another minced oath, I presume?”

“‘Another minced oath, I presume?!’ You know it is, Mr. Smarty Pants. Now, stop messing with me and get back to the case.”

“We also ran the DNA through Bonecestry’s database and got the same match.”

“What about Number Two?”

“If by Number Two you mean the other left foot, no match in either system. If you mean something else, I can’t help you. I’m a forensic scientist, not a proctologist. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Hmm. Agreed. Best not to probe that one too deeply.”

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Letter from Madame de Boneville, les Catacombes de Paris

October 5, 2018

Sir,

We have received your kind letter from the other day regarding the status of our collection.

I am both sorry and happy to inform you that we have all our bones. In addition, we have no information on the bones recently found in your area in a “crock-pot” of chopped beef and cream cheese.

If, in the future, we can help you in your efforts to find the so-called killer of the “crock-pot” and to bring this culprit to justice, do not hesitate to call or write us.

Faithfully yours,

Françoise de Boneville, Registrar

P.S.: A dish of chopped beef and cream cheese sounds offensive.

“Well, kid, now that we know the feet belong to two different skeletons, we can lay the bad dancer theory to rest, which is probably a good thing considering how many we have in this town. Any luck at the boneyard?”

“I got a monthly bone count from Bin 206, sir. Here it is.”

“Hmm. That October number’s really high.”

“Halloween, sir. It can be hard keeping it together the whole month. The anxiety of finding the right costume and all.”

“True.”

“I made you a copy of that chip beef recipe, sir.”

“Thanks, kid. I appreciate… Wait a minute. What’d you just say?”

“That I have a hard time keeping it together in October because of the stress of finding the perfect costume?”

“No, not that. The other thing you said.”

“Chip beef, sir?”

“Yes. Why’d you call it that?”

“Oh, that. I meant chipped beef, sir. I noticed that some of the cookbooks call it ‘chip’ beef instead of chipped beef. Sounds a bit folksy, if you ask me.”

“Agreed. Go back to Bin 206. See if you can get the daily counts and locations for all of October. I’m going to check in again with Nurse Janet.”

“Do you have a medical question, sir?”

“Sort of, plus she’s asked for a copy of the recipe.”

“We have the DNA results on those bones, Chief. The feet don’t match. They belong to two different skeletons.”

“Great Caesar’s ghost! Two John Does! Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m a CSI. But if it’s a ghost you’re after now, there’s not much more my lab team and I can do for you. We’re forensic scientists, not parapsychologists. We don’t use EVP recorders in our work. That would be against AAFS standards.”

“It’s just a minced oath. Forget I even said it.”

“Is ‘good gravy’ a minced oath as well?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is.”

“I know that, Chief. I’m just messing with you.”

“Can we get back to the case, please? Any positive IDs on the feet?”

“Not yet, but we should have something soon.”

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GhostStop Ghost Hunting Gear

“Bin 206’s the largest boneyard in the tri-state area. We’ve got over 20,600,000 bones at this location alone and a skeleton crew to look after them. Of course, bones could go missing, but you didn’t hear that from me. Good thing for us, the company met the union’s demands last year and reduced the pickups to one day a week. The guys working the graveyard shift up to that time nearly fell apart trying to keep up with the volume, having to number and sort bags and bags of bones each and every night. Yeah, Bin 206 did the right thing in the end. If the company had fought the union and won, I’d probably be numbering and sorting those guys right now. Who wants to be the guy who has to do that to his co-workers?”

“We’re happy to assist in whatever way we can. Bin 206 is the largest and most advanced boneyard in the tri-state area. I’m proud to say we number all our bones. [Cf. Psalm 21:18, Douay-Rheims Bible, 1899 American edition] We do that before putting them in the bins. We’d know if a bone went missing.”

“And how would you know that, sir?”

“Why, we’d have an odd number, of course.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Would it be possible to get a list of your recent pickups?”

“We can do better than that. We can give you our aggregated monthly bone counts for the last year. Here at Bin 206, transparency’s our number one priority. “Our bones are your bones!” That’s our motto, and we live and die by it. If you need any information beyond that, please let me know and I’ll do my best to accommodate.”

“Gee, thanks! Monthly counts are fine for now.”

“We’ll have those numbers for you in a few minutes. In the meantime, feel free to look around the yard. We just had it landscaped.”

“I will, thanks! By the way, I like your crown.”

“Thanks. Today’s my birthday. The office team likes parties, so I play along. It’s good for morale and livens up the place.”

“Hello, Chief. The forensic archaeologist dug clear to the bottom of the pot but didn’t uncover any more bones.”

“Good gravy!”

“It’s definitely gravy. You’re right about that. That’s what the science says at least, though I’d say it’s more of a sauce because it has cheese in it. Whether it’s good I can’t say since we’re not in the habit of eating evidence. That would be against the law.”

“Got it. What about the left leg and feet? Any more info on them?”

“I’ll let you know what we know when we know what we know.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“So, what do we do now, sir?”

“Check in with the local boneyard, kid. Find out if anyone there has noticed anything out of the ordinary in recent months. I’ll reach out to our contacts at the catacombs in Paris and Rome. The security at the one in Rome is notoriously lax. The bones there can pretty much walk out on their own unnoticed.”

“What about the one in London, sir?”

“Too obvious. Pretty much every English dish is smothered in a gravy or an unappetizing grayish white sauce.”

“Do you suspect foul play, sir?”

“As sure as hamburger and cheese in chipped beef are foul, I do, kid. I think we’ve got more than a skeleton missing its two left feet.”

“And left leg, sir.”

“Right. And left leg. Remind me to take another look at that recipe in case I forget.”

“For clues, sir?”

“Possibly. And I have to make a grocery list.”

“Sir, I’ve found a number of chipped beef recipes, including this one for crock-pot creamy chipped beef with cheese.”

“How curious!”

“You mean how it calls for ground instead of chipped beef, sir?”

“Yes. That, and how it uses cheese. Neither belongs in chipped beef. Anyway, do you remember what the setting was on the crock-pot when we were there?”

“I think it was set on High, sir, though it didn’t seem hot to me at all. Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure, kid. But hold onto that recipe. It might come in handy later.”

“You mean for the Policeman’s Ball, sir?”

“Possibly, and for clues that could help us with this case!”

Creamy Chipped Beef and Cheese Recipe (PDF)

“Sorry to bother you all while you’re filming, Nurse Janet, but I’m looking for someone with two left feet who might have gone missing recently. Any chance you or another cast member might know someone fitting that description?”

“So nice to see you, Birdy, and no bother at all. We don’t have any dancers here on Days, least of all bad ones. Only us thespians. The last time we had any hoofers on the set, we had to replace half the furniture and some of the scenery afterwards. They crashed into and broke so many things, including Red Glassman who was filming Ornament of Champions next door.”

“I see.”

“Have you tried Boners? The pole dancers there are ghastly, apparently. Especially that one with the locked knees. What’s her name? Mutant Ballerina from Hell or something like that? They say she lives up to her name.”

“As does Amazing Grace.”

“I’m sorry. What was that, Birdy? They’re calling us back on the set.”

“Oh, nothing. Thank you for your time.”

“Anytime. Ta-ta.”

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Ornament of Champions – Maybe returning later this fall – Still in negotiations

“Yes, officer, that’s right. Carina Celina Cristina Margarita Sabrina Mutante y Bailarina del Infierno. But most people call me Chica Mutante. Grace—she’s the one on the pole right now—she’s AMAZING. She and I are the only Boners Girls left. The pedos viejos who used to stop in on their way home from the office, they’re mostly gone. A dying breed. It’s almost all direct-to-video or live streaming now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Chica. Anyone with two left feet in the area you might have seen on a regular basis but haven’t recently?”

“Not that I can think of. Other than the pole here, these legs don’t get around very much. My patellar aplasia makes sure of that. Have you checked in with the cast of Days of Our Past Lives? If their acting’s any indication, their dancing’s probably pretty awful.”

“Thanks, Chica. I’ll check in with them. I hope business improves.”

“So do I. Even if it does, though, it’s still lights out for us this Christmas.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’ll need them for the tree.”

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