"Who killed my sister?" the green-faced witch said, searching dozens of Munchkin faces for signs of guilt before noticing a new face - the face of a foreigner - in the crowd. "Was it you?" she said, glaring at Dorothy, who took a step back and denied killing anybody.

The screen suddenly froze as Sigismund clicked the remote. "Do you see what a great opportunity they missed?" he said to his son Lanny, who had come for the afternoon.

"What opportunity?" Lanny exclaimed. "It's just an entertaining movie. A classic."

"But it doesn't go anywhere, Lanny! Instead of trying to get back to Kansas, Dorothy could have tried to find the Witch of the East's real killer, set herself up as the grandest sorceress in Oz, and turned the silly Wizard into an also-ran."

"Dad, you're too much," Lanny scolded, picking up his hat and coat. "Last Sunday, you wanted to know why Bambi didn't hire a private investigator to track down whoever set the forest fire that killed his mother. The week before that, you were convinced that "The Sound of Music" should have been an investigation into the death of Baron Von Trapp's first wife."

"She was healthy enough to give birth at least eight times," Sigismund retorted. "The Baron was just bored with her. He wanted to start over with someone younger and prettier. People have killed for less."

"Fine!" Lanny exclaimed, buttoning his overcoat. "I think you read too many murder mysteries with wildly improbable plots. Maybe it's the Covid-19 quarantine that's driven you crazy. Why don't you get out into the real world a bit more?" He started to open the door, but thought of something more to say. "If you had ever been a real detective, you wouldn't see murder in the background every time you watch a classic movie."

The door closed behind him. This was followed almost immediately by the sound of a car being started, and a bit of screeching as the car pulled away. Lanny only lived half a mile away, but his patience was sorely tested by his Sunday afternoon visits to his aging father's condo at Lake Serene Retirement Village.

Sigismund shrugged his shoulders and clicked his remote one more time. "I didn't mean to kill anyone," Dorothy protested on the screen. "It was an accident."

"An accident, my eye," Sigismund muttered. "A veritable crime wave, and none of these characters realizes it." Trouble was, real detectives were too busy solving real crimes to bother with the plot lines of great movies. Sigismund would have loved to solve murders himself, but the opportunity never presented itself when he was young, and now it was too late to start. Thirty-five years of carrying trays in the family restaurant had left him with sagging arches, aching calf muscles, and a bad hip. Happily, the family restaurant had been highly profitable, and Sigismund didn't mind the tradeoffs, one of which was this beautiful condo with a good view of the lake. Granted, the Summer's drought had lowered the water level, but the weather service had been talking about hurricanes, which might bring enough rain to raise it again.

There was a clinking sound in the next room as Renfrew mixed the afternoon drinks. Lanny had left, so the second one would not be needed. Sigismund wavered for a moment. "I'll drink both of them," he decided.

Renfrew creaked as he walked into the living room, but this was to be expected, as he was an android. And not just any android, he was Sigismund's greatest invention. The only good thing about the pandemic was that Sigismund had been left alone long enough to create a manservant who could not infect him with Covid. Androids didn't carry human viruses. When Instacart delivered the groceries, Renfrew met them at the door and carried all the bags into the kitchen. Sigismund hated masks, so not interacting with people meant he could avoid wearing them.

Say, maybe Renfrew could be sent out to do detective work. Nah, it would take too long to explain what a detective was. Still, it was the germ of a good idea that could develop into something.

"Er, Sigismund, has Lanny stepped out?" Renfrew wondered, holding the other drink in his hand.

"Yes, but I'll drink it for him. Say, Renfrew, have you ever considered becoming a private eye?"

"What is a private eye?"

Drat. Sigismund should have put something about detective work in Renfrew's memory banks. Well, as Glinda said, it's always best to start at the beginning.

Paulh