“Oh, sure, heaps,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rebecca returned her attention to the map. “If we’re at the Jardin, facing north...”

“South,” Baloo corrected automatically, looking at the map over her shoulder.

Rebecca turned the map around. “Facing south, then the Eyeful Tower is...”

Just then, Baloo spotted the Eyeful Tower peeking over the treetops to their right. “Uh, Beckers...” He tapped her shoulder. “Becky?”

“Just a second. I think I’m getting the hang of this map. We’re here and...”

Baloo grabbed the map from her and held it over his head so she couldn’t reach it.

“Hey!” Rebecca cried indignantly.

“Honey, the only thing I care ‘bout seein’ on this trip is you.”

Rebecca’s peeved expression softened into a smile. She wrapped her arms around his and snuggled close to him with a happy sigh. “Oh, Baloo...you can say the most romantic things sometimes. If only you said them a little more often.”

“If ya let me rest a sec, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said, returning the map to her.

Rebecca tossed her head and flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t. It depends on the secret.”

“Will this help ya make up your mind?” He pressed his lips to hers.

Marcel, the mime, happened to be walking by. At the sight of the kissing couple, he wistfully murmured, “Le sigh.”

“What’s the secret, darling?” Rebecca softly asked after they broke apart.

Pointing to their right, he whispered in her ear, “See those trees?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, the Eyeful Tower’s right through those trees, over yonder.”

Before he could brush his lips against her ear, Rebecca had already sprung from the bench. “Well, come on, Baloo.”

Baloo groaned, rose reluctantly, and gathered the sacks. “Who knew honeymoons could be so exhaustin’?”

Nesqué Café
Later That Day

Baloo and Rebecca were enjoying a late lunch at one of Pearee’s many outdoor cafés. The couple sat side by side at a white-painted iron table in the shade of a large umbrella. A warm breeze ruffled the umbrella’s canvas as well as the leaves of the nearby pear trees. An accordion player, who wandered around the tables serenading the customers, added to the ambience.

Rebecca dug through one of the many shopping bags. “Do you think the kids will like these berets?”

Baloo, who was poring over the menu, wrinkled his nose in confusion, because he couldn’t understand a word of it. “Kit an’ Molly’ll flip their lids over ‘em. What kid wouldn’t want a genuine ber-et direct from the Eyeful Tower?”

“I could have stayed up there all day, just looking at the scenery.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s no wonder they call Pearee the City of Love, but I know that when the Big Guy wants to eat, he wants to eat now.”

Baloo frowned. “Very funny. Why don’t ya concentrate on somethin’ more important, like figurin’ out what’s on this eats list?”

Rebecca smiled to herself. That statement was typical of the big bear she had grown to love. Impulsively, she threw her arms around her husband and kissed him. “I’m so glad that you’re here and you’re you.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re here and you’re you,” Baloo echoed softly, returning her kiss.

After sharing a long, intimate look, the two bears affectionately rubbed noses, then picked up their menus.

“Does milady wish to order French fries?” Baloo said in his best imitation of a high-society man.

“I don’t think they have French fries here,” Rebecca replied absently, trying to decipher the menu using her rusty college French.

“What?” Baloo cried, astounded. “We’re in Pearee, ain’t we? Surely they got French fries.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Man, what a gyp." He returned to scanning the menu. "What’s es-car-got?”

“That’s escargot,” Rebecca corrected. “Snails.”

Disgusted, Baloo exclaimed, “You’re tellin’ me that people eat those slimy things?”

“Snails and frog legs are considered gourmet delicacies here.”

“Amazin’ that they haven’t all croaked. Get it? Frog legs? Croaked?” he guffawed, slapping the table with his palm.

“Unfortunately,” she replied, shaking her head.

At that moment, Baloo happened to catch the eye of the Peareesian at the next table. The man, who had been staring at him with a shocked expression, looked away quickly. “What in the...?” Then, Baloo noticed that all over the café, people were doing the same thing.

Baloo squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. He leaned towards his wife. “Becky?”

“Mmm?” Rebecca murmured, trying to decide between two entrees.

“How come everyone’s lookin’ at us?”

Rebecca glanced up from her menu only to see everyone hide behind their newspapers. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re talking too loudly.”

“Me? Loud? Never,” Baloo nearly shouted.

“Uh-huh.” Rebecca glanced at the other café patrons out of the corner of her eye. It was true. People were staring at them. When she turned her head, everyone hid behind their newspapers again. “Hmm...”

“Hey, look, honey.” Baloo shoved his menu under her nose. “They got pain.” Seeing a waiter, he gestured him over to their table. “Gar-con, is this swift or slow pain?”

The waiter seemed startled at the question. His eyes shifted from the newspaper sitting on a nearby table to Baloo. He muttered under his breath, “Le voleur!” and hurried into the café.

Baloo shrugged. “Musta not understood English.”

Meanwhile...
Pearee Police Station

Inspector Deuseau was talking on the phone. While he listened to the caller, he eagerly jotted notes on a notepad. “Oui...oui...merci.”

He returned the receiver to its cradle and ripped the piece of notepaper off with a satisfied smile. “Got him.”

One Hour Later

After stopping briefly at the Sea Duckto unload their sacks of souvenirs, Baloo and Rebecca strolled along the murky Sane River, enjoying the scenery and watching barges filled with people drift by.

Yawning, Baloo patted his stomach with contentment. “I don’t know what I ate, but it was tasty. These Peareesans sure know how to live. Long, leisurely lunches followed by a nice, long snooze.”

Rebecca, possessively hanging onto Baloo’s arm, remarked wryly, “We could have stayed home for that.”

“But if we had stayed home, we wouldn’t have seen this.” Baloo made a sweeping gesture, as if to include all of Pearee.

“You’re right...for once.”

“Yeah.” His grin turned to confusion. “Huh?”

Rebecca giggled mischievously.

Baloo pouted a little. “See if I go along with your next crazy scheme, Becky.”

“Crazy? Crazy?” Rebecca bristled with indignation and released his arm.

“Yup,” Baloo replied with an infuriating smirk. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, much to the dismay of the people behind them. “Crazy with a capital ‘K’.”

“I’m not crazy!” she cried, crossing her arms and turning his back towards him. After a few strained moments, she said reluctantly, “Well...maybe I’m crazy about one thing.”

“What’s that?” He thought that he knew the answer, but wanted to hear her to say it anyway.

She gave a backwards glance at him over her shoulder. Her heart was in her eyes. “You.”

Baloo beamed and wrapped his arm around her slender waist. They started off down the sidewalk again.

“But you’re just as crazy as I am, Baloo,” Rebecca pointed out.

“That’s us. A coupla crazies.” He made a funny face.

Rebecca laughed and relaxed against him.

They were too caught up in each other to notice a figure trailing along behind them at a discreet distance.

The Tampered Chef
Veniece, Italee

A large man carrying a briefcase pushed open the door of the modest store, causing the bell to jingle. Flinging back his cloak, he revealed a pair of pea green overalls with ‘Georges’ stitched on the left breast pocket. He gave a disgusted glance about the store. If he had had his druthers, he would have spent the night somewhere else, but he knew better than to question the Furor’s orders.

The room was filled with cooking utensils of all kinds: from pots and pans to salt and pepper shakers. But the cutlery was the most prominent. Razor-sharp knives of all sizes proudly gleamed in the display cases. Cleavers hung in bunches from brackets mounted from the ceiling.

From a back room came the rhythmic sound of scrape, scrape, scrape of metal against a whetstone.

He carefully picked his way through the innocent-looking, yet deadly, merchandise until he reached the customer service counter. He snarled at the sight of the store’s proprietor sitting behind the counter, tallying receipts. He knew Hans well by reputation. He also knew that beneath his mild-mannered butler-type demeanor was the heart of a murderer.

Upon seeing the customer, Hans sprang from his stool and smiled warmly, as if greeting an old and dear friend. “Herr Baldrik von Bruinwald, welcome to our humble store.” He then called into the back room, “Helga, come greet our illustrious guest.”

The scraping stopped, creating a tension-filled silence.

Baldrik’s muscles tensed as he saw something reflected in a row of copper-bottomed pots: a plump possum with a large cleaver in her claw-like hands approaching him, ready to strike.

He whirled around swiftly.

Helga smiled innocently and hung the cleaver on hook. “Herr Baldrik, we were expecting you later. Were you successful?”

Baldrik snarled, “Drop the act, both of you.” He glared at Hans. “I know what your father did to my father, the twelfth Baron of Bruinwald.”

A faraway, almost wistful, look came to the racoon’s shady eyes, as if he was reliving a fond memory. “Ah, yes. It was Father’s favorite story. As I recall, the

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