Chapter 1
Waterford, California. Monday morning. The sun peeked over the almond groves like a shy neighbor, casting a golden glow on a town that was anything but ordinary. Here, cows had more opinions than the local newspaper, the diner's "mystery meatloaf" was considered a culinary adventure (and a biohazard), and the most popular radio station was literally a guy named Earl shouting weather updates through a megaphone from the roof of City Hall.
Colonel Mustard stood at the corner of Main and "Wait, That's a Street?" wearing his trademark military hat, a grin that suggested he knew secrets no one else did, and a notebook filled with clues that were sometimes helpful, mostly sarcastic, and always saucy.
"Lieutenant Pickle!" he called, spotting his sidekick struggling to open a bag of chips with his wrinkled green fingers.
Pickle saluted with a chip in his mouth. "Sir! Status report: The town is behaving normally, which, in Waterford, means we're all about three steps away from a full-blown pickle jar explosion."
Colonel Mustard nodded sagely. "Asa backwards as it gets. Look over there." He pointed to a man mowing his lawn with a vacuum cleaner, sucking up more grass than he cut. "Normal? That's just a setting on the dryer. And in Waterford, even the dryers are confused."
Pickle squinted. "I tried the 'normal' cycle once. My socks came out as mittens. I wore them anyway. Got a lot of strange looks at the council meeting."
"Council meeting?" Colonel Mustard raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a recipe for disaster."
"Oh, it was," Pickle said. "Especially when the mayor declared Thursday 'Monday 2.0' and everyone showed up in pajamas. Trash pickup was canceled for a month. The seagulls took over the streets."
Just then, the mayor herself appeared, waving a ribbon proudly. "Welcome to the grand opening of Waterford's third parking space!" she announced. "Because parking is a human right, and apparently a spectator sport."
Colonel Mustard muttered, "If parking spaces were wisdom, Waterford would be a desert."
Across the street, the BK Lounge was buzzing with confused patrons staring at empty trays. "Where are the BJ's?" someone whispered. It was a question that had haunted Waterford since the Great Condiment Shortage of '23.
"Pelosi with the Clues!" Colonel Mustard exclaimed as the town's enigmatic riddle master floated by, trailing a cloud of lemon-scented mystery and cryptic crossword puzzles.
Pelosi leaned in, eyes twinkling. "The answer, dear Mustard, is neither ketchup nor mayo. It's always been Dijon." She winked and disappeared into the post office, leaving a faint scent of conspiracy and freshly stamped envelopes.
Pickle scratched his head. "Dijon? Sounds spicy."
"Exactly," said Colonel Mustard. "Which is why we question everything. Normal is just the town's way of saying 'I give up.'"
Just then, the town's hotline phone booth rang. Mustard picked up, expecting help. Instead, a robotic voice greeted him: "Welcome to the Waterford Help Line. Press 1 for confusion. Press 2 for more confusion. Press 3 to speak to a cat."
He pressed 3. A cartel cat meowed cryptically, then hung up.
"See, Pickle?" Mustard sighed. "Even the hotline's gone to the cats. And not the friendly kind."
Pickle nodded solemnly. "So what do we do, Colonel?"
"Simple," Mustard said, flipping his notebook closed. "Trust your gut. Question 'normal.' And never, ever follow a vacuum cleaner mower."
Pickle saluted. "Sir, yes sir! But what about the missing BJ's?"
Mustard winked. "That, my friend, is a mystery for another day. For now, let's spread some common sense—and maybe a little mustard—wherever we go."
As they marched off into the sunrise, the town's cows mooed in approval, the mayor tried to park in her new spot (and failed spectacularly), and somewhere, the cartel cats plotted their next condiment caper.
Because in Waterford, where "normal" is just a setting on the dryer, you need all the common sense you can get. And a good sense of humor.
Colonel Mustard's Clue:
If everyone's marching off a cliff, don't follow—unless you're into extreme sports. Then at least wear a helmet.