Filmore Ribbet unlocked a paneled door in his mahogany sideboard, and removed a rectangular box. “This is part of my treasure, detective Clapp. My home is historical, and listed on the historical register. However, in its heyday it was the location of a thriving cigar manufacturing business.
Ribbet stood in front of the policeman and extended the open box. There’s a vault room in the basement, stocked to the ceiling with boxes of cigars. My contractor came on it when we renovated the place. The price for these today is prohibitive to most people, and I got enough for a third of stock in the vault to pay off my mortgage. Would you care for one, detective?
The detective shook his head, “No thank you Mr. Ribbet. They’d be wasted on me, I’m sure.”
Ribbet held the box toward Winchester, who nodded his head and said, “Thank you, you’re very kind.”
The homeowner turned away, and the android bit the cigar in half, chewed, and swallowed. Detective Clapp shook his head vehemently.
“No Winchester. That’s not food, and you needn’t analyze it. A cigar is a tightly rolled roll of tobacco designed for smoking. And that’s precisely why we’re here, Mr. Ribbet. We tracked the aroma of cigar leaves from the Library of History to here, this place. There must be some connection.”
Ribbet looked across the room at Winchester, “Really? You can smell my cigars all the way from town?”
Winchester’s left eye narrowed, his lips tightened and parted slightly, “Braaaap.”
“Excuse yourself, Winchester, Mind your manners. That’s what you get when you eat a cigar. My apologies Mr. Ribbet.”
“No problem at all, detective. Now tell me, how do my cigars play a role in a case you’re investigating?”
Author’s note: The above is from a work in progress.