The Case of the Missing Mobile

I was eating a tall stack at Bertha’s Breakfast Nook when a peculiar smell assaulted my nose. Instead of syrup, ketchup and grease—the three kings of breakfast aromas—I sensed cabbage. Cabbage!

I glanced over at the guy next me—a pencil of a man in a beige raincoat—and discovered a plate
covered in last night’s dinner: fried mashed potatoes, baked beans on toast and vegetables that looked like they came from a pot roast.

“Interesting breakfast you got there, friend.”

“Bubble and squeak,” he said with a tongue wearing the Queen’s crown.

“I beg your pardon!” I leapt up, my face alit with rage, wondering if he just insulted my manhood.

“Calm down, chap. It’s just the name of my English breakfast. Bubble and squeak, a bunch of leftover vegetables served with cold meat and pickles. Bertha here serves the best full breakfast in town.”

I surveyed his plate with a new perspective, and it didn’t look half bad—except for a piece of sausage that appeared to be blackened with blood.

Seeing the question marks in my eyes, the bloke said, “it’s called blood pudding.” Then a frown claimed his frame. “My sister makes the best. I’d love to call her, but I lost my mobile.”

The question marks remained. “How does one lose a mobile home?”

“No, you twit. My mo-bile. Phone. Mobile phone. Oh, what do you bloody Americans call it? My cell phone. And oh what an insurance hassle it’s been.”

First he engaged my sense of smell; now he aimed at my sense of insurance justice.

“I’m in the insurance game, pal, so maybe I can help.”

“My mobile was stolen while I was on holiday, and I didn’t realize that it was missing for a few days. So I called to cancel the phone with my provider, who informed me that a substantial bill had incurred since the phone went missing: approximately $4,000 from calling 1-900 numbers.”

“Four grand? That’s a lot of charges! Were they to party girl numbers? Because I know a few that only charge…”

“No, you wanker. It was to a psychic astrologer…some Miss Willameena. Now I’m responsible to pay. So I submitted a claim to cover it under my homeowners policy, but it was denied by my carrier. Do they have the right to do that?”

I took one look at his breakfast platter and said, “You may not like the way this tastes.”

Why was Ace questioning his taste buds? For help solving this mystery and to check your solution against Ace’s, click here.

Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contributing editor.