A few weeks later, the Bumblyburg Museum of Historical Fashion and Really Old Hats was abuzz with a generous loan from the eligible billionaire bachelor, Larry the Cucumber. A family heirloom, a ruby necklace from the turn of the century, would be included in the museum's Hall of Jewelry. To commemorate this event, a press conference was called (with the promise of refreshments and free T-shirts). Alfred had personally phoned several news channels, and even Bumblyburg University's newspaper club was invited.

When Larry walked into the Hall of Jewelry with the curator that evening, a crowd of various veggies gathered on one side of a covered display.

"Man, talk about a slow news week," a plum journalist whispered to his photographer as Larry hopped past. "Wish I could have covered some exciting, like another Vogue robbery."

Just you wait, Larry thought.

The curator called everyone to order, going into a pretty speech about how the museum was grateful to Larry for the loan, how the curator hoped this would garner interest in the community to learn about historical clothing, and how donations were important to keeping the museum open.

While she talked, a familiar head of red hair bobbed through the sea of reporters, and none other than Petunia Rhubarb pushed her way to the front, holding up her microphone. Her cameraman, a yellow gourd in a baseball cap, squeezed his way after her. When the curator opened the floor for questions, Petunia directed her attention at Larry.

"Petunia Rhubarb, Channel One News," she said, little realizing she had introduced herself already to the cucumber when she had interviewed LarryBoy before Vogue's last jewel heist. "Can you tell our viewers where these rubies were originally mined?"

"My dad always said they came from India," he told her.

"Impressive." To Larry's surprise, she pulled a loupe from her trench coat's pocket and comically held it up. "May I look?"

Larry found himself laughing. "Why not? Make sure the viewers know they're real."

"My thoughts exactly," Petunia chuckled.

Larry motioned for the curator to lift the glass, and he carefully handed the necklace over to her. Since it was crafted for a cucumber lady's neck, it looked like a miniature hula hoop next to the thin rhubarb. Petunia situated the loupe against her eye, squinting at each ruby in turn.

"Ooh, lovely… gorgeous… flawless," she murmured, gushing over each gem while the other reporters shot her envious looks. When she reached the last, she lowered her loupe and smiled at the camera. "You've heard it here, folks, these are all authentic rubies. Somebody in the Cucumber family spared no expense."

Larry inwardly smiled as Petunia went a little more into detail about the jewelry. If Vogue was watching, she would likely be tempted to check them out. And then…

Petunia suddenly turned back to Larry, returning the necklace to his invisible grasp. "Mr. the Cucumber, would you please tell our viewers how this necklace came into your family's possession?"

Larry replaced the necklace on its stand, reflecting on how his parents had worded the old story.

"My great-grandpa was a self-made millionaire," he began, straightening the necklace with a fond pat from his invisible touch, "way back when you worked a dollar a day, basically. But he didn't want a wife who would just laze around, eating chocolate and spending all his money. He wanted a gal who was a hard worker, like him, a girl who was worth more than rubies, like in the Bible. So he found my great-grandmother, who was a seamstress, and he gave her this ruby necklace for a wedding present. Then their son, my grandpa, gave it to my grandma, who was also a hard worker, and my dad gave it to my mom, and here it is today. Every gal who wore it was the best of the best," he added fondly.

"That is adorable," Petunia chuckled. She gave Larry a smile. "Is there a special lady in your life who can look forward to receiving that necklace as the next Mrs. the Cucumber?"

Larry shook his head, chuckling sheepishly. "Ah, not yet. But someday."

Hopefully, he added silently, trying to ignore the glum sinking in his chest. There had been one girl he wouldn't have minded giving his necklace to, a cute cuke with blonde hair and a photojournalist's eye for action, but Larry had waited too long, and another superhero had earned her affections.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the unwanted memories, and repeated, "Someday."

"And what are your thoughts on that mistress of misdemeanors, the cat's pajamas of cat burglars, Miss Vogue?" Petunia asked with that eagerness typical of reporters on the verge of a great scoop. "Are you at all concerned about your family heirloom falling into her hands?"

"I think she's a very talented lady," he said truthfully, "but it's only a matter of time before LarryBoy catches her. Mark my words."

"That's a vote of confidence from Bumblyburg's favorite billionaire beau," she said, turning back to the camera.

Larry averted his gaze, feeling his face blaze at how casually she called him a 'beau,' and he caught sight of Alfred trying to get his attention. Alfred held a brochure from the museum, and he pointed it toward the side room where the refreshments had been set. Larry nodded.

"That's enough questions for now, everyone," Larry announced to the reporters. "Refreshments are about to be served!"

Cameras flashed. Most reporters looked like they wanted to ask more questions anyway, but they all brightened when Larry added, "And your free T-shirts are ready!"

The press members stampeded away, emptying the room.

Petunia, meanwhile, used her microphone to mime a slicing motion, signaling her cameraman to cut, and the lense lowered on the gourd's shoulder.

"Jerry, why don't you get some footage of everyone getting their T-shirts?" she suggested.

Her partner nodded before hopping off toward a thick portion of the crowd. All that remained by the exhibit was Larry, Petunia and the security guard. Alfred had slipped off to continue preparations for the next part of their plan.

With barely a glance at the guard, Petunia turned to smile at Larry. "That really was a cute story."

"One of my favorites," Larry grinned back.

Petunia gazed at the red gems, and her eyes grew nostalgic. "That thing you said about your great-grandmother being worth more than rubies, that's a reference to the Proberbs 31 woman, right?"

"Yep!"

"I thought so." Her smile grew sad. "My late husband, Ryan, used to read that passage on our anniversaries."

"How nice." He gave her a sympathetic look. "I think you sure got the hard-working part of the description down. I see all that you do with the local news."

An ironic look appeared on her face. "A rich boy like you watches the local news?"

"Sure, Bumblyburg is my home. I'm interested in what goes on here, like that report you did when those crafty BBQ Ranchers were rustling up all the barbecue sauce in Bumblyburg."

Petunia shook her head. "Only in Bumblyburg could there be a gang of evil cowboys stealing condiments from grocery stores."

"They take their Texas barbecues seriously," Larry said with authority. He had had a chance to talk to a few of the Ranchers when he had hauled them to jail. "And the report you did was very informative. My butler learned a lot about the Ranchers from you."

"Oh, you pay a guy to watch the news for you?" she cracked dryly.

"Well, I don't specifically pay him for that," he admitted. Alfred regularly monitored the news in order to help Larry fight crime. It was just part of the role he had accepted after Larry had taken up his mantle as Bumblyburg's superhero.

"Uh-huh." Petunia pointed her microphone at him, almost poking him in the chest. "And what about you? What sort of hard work does a wealthy scion get up to?"

"This and that," he said mildly. Namely stopping criminals, hunting for supervillains, rescuing innocent civilians. "I used to work at a newspaper as a janitor."

"You?" Petunia looked unconvinced. "Mopping floors, changing trash cans, fixing toilets?"

"I'm pretty good with a plunger," he quipped.

"You're pulling my leg."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Hmm." Her eyes trailed over his face before they poignantly met his gaze. "Make a lot of donations to charity?"

Larry hesitated. He certainly donated quite a lot to the local orphanages and soup kitchens, but he always felt weird when reporters tried to get him to go into details about it. His father had drilled it into him from a young age that God wanted true acts of charity to remain anonymous. To brag about one's good deeds in front of others was a form of pride and would not be rewarded in Heaven.

He cleared his throat, grinning sheepishly. "Oh, I think we've talked enough about me. What about you? How's your day going?"

"Oh, you know, doing what it takes to pay the rent and put food on the table," she said, drawing back. "Reporting pays off most of the bills."

"You sure are good at it," he said, wiggling his shoulders. "You got a nose for news.

"I do my best," she said. Her eyes brightened. "Speaking of which, a few guys at the TV station say you're pretty good friends with LarryBoy."

Larry smiled. "We're pretty tight."

She took a tiny step forward. "What's he like in real life?"

"A lot like what you see," he replied, puffing out his chest. "Upholder of justice, defender of the weak, good with kids, kind and true and brave and bold."

"Sounds too good to be true."

Larry grinned. "If you're gonna don a homemade costume and fight bad guys, you have to be pretty extraordinary."

She broke into a laugh. "Good point!" Then, with gleaming eyes, she asked, "Any chance of asking him to swing by for an interview?"

Larry coughed. "I, uh, don't usually call him up for stuff like that."

"I understand," she replied. "A guy like that needs his privacy like everyone else." Her expression grew mischievous. "Do you know his secret identity?"

Larry shuffled his nonexistent feet. "That's not something I'd just admit to a TV reporter."

"It's fine. I get it," she assured him. "If you did know, supervillains would be lining up to try and get you to tell."

"And some of them would be cutting in that line," Larry said knowingly.

"Exactly," she nodded. "I like LarryBoy much better as that tall, dark, mysterious do-gooder who lives to fight another day. I'm kinda looking forward to seeing him again."

Larry tilted his head with a pleased smile. "Yeah?"

"The camera loves him," she laughed. "He makes a handsome addition to the six o'clock news."

Larry's face warmed. "He does?"

"A fashion plate." She waved her microphone toward the necklace. "Will he be helping with the security to protect your heirloom? You know, as a favor for a friend?"

Larry almost answered in the affirmative, but he remembered in time Alfred's warning not to show all their cards to the press in case Vogue caught onto their plan. Instead, he gave an easy shrug.

"Well, LB is busy protecting the city every night, so who can say?"

"He sure is vigilant," she said with noticeable admiration. "I heard this town used to be riddled with crime before he showed up one day, shooting plungers at bad guys."

"He wanted to make a difference," Larry said with a smile.

"I can't imagine Bumblyburg without him." Her eyes grew thoughtful. "Imagine if Puggslyville had a hero like him a few years ago. A lot of things could be different now."

Larry felt a prick of concern. "Like what?"

"Oh, this and that," she said mildly. "We had our own gaggles of supervillains pass through, even if they didn't steal barbecue sauce."

"You used to live there?"

"After I got married," she answered. "I worked at the news station there until I got a better job in Bumblyburg. I saw a lot of crime in my time. Having a superhero would have helped our limited police force."

Larry gave her a sympathetic look. "Unfortunately, LarryBoy can't be in two places at once."

"True," she said resignedly. "Some members of the criminal underground should count themselves lucky because of that."

He did not like how bleak the conversation had turned. Giving his best encouraging smile, he said, "But maybe LarryBoy will inspire other people to step up and become superheroes. Maybe some guy — or some girl — will get their hands on a cool — and fashionable — super suit, and they'll use their talents to fight crime."

She wore a wry smile. "A fashionable suit, like what Vogue the rogue wears?"

"Why not?" he returned. "Maybe she steals because she just doesn't know better."

"She probably knows exactly what she's doing," she said quietly, "but circumstances beyond her control causes her to do what she does."

"But if she knows it's wrong, why steal?" Larry asked. "Why risk going to jail?"

Petunia opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by an electronic tintinnabulation in her pocket. She flashed a quick smile.

"Excuse me. Gotta take this."

Retreating toward a column by the wall, she pulled out a flashing flip phone and opened it.

Larry did not try to eavesdrop, but he had pretty good hearing, and the murmurs of the T-shirt queue offered no cover to muffle her, and she was just close enough for him to catch her side of the conversation.

"Yeah? …Daisy! What's wrong? … No, there aren't any monsters in the closet— Why is your brother telling you— Put him on the phone, right now." Her profile darkened, and if she had a foot, she probably would have tapped it while she waited. A moment later, she reprimanded, "Brian, you know you're not supposed to tell your sister scary stories. …No, I don't like those kinda games. You have to be a good role model for Daisy, not a bully. Families love and protect each other." A pause. "Tell her you're sorry. Right now."

She was silent, no doubt listening to Brian's apology. "That was decent. Do you understand why it was wrong to tell Daisy that stuff? …That's right. She's had a lot of nightmares since Daddy passed away, and we don't need to add to them. …I forgive you, baby."

Her voice grew affectionate. "Listen. If you're both good for Nana, I'll bring home a treat which you can eat tomorrow, okay?" A pause, then a smile. "Good. Now put Daisy back on."

Petunia spent a few minutes reassuring her daughter there were no monsters in their home and that God was bigger than the boogeyman. When Daisy seemed calm, Petunia told her to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, promising to see her in the morning. Petunia then clicked her phone shut and heaved a tired sigh before she turned and came back toward Larry.

"Sorry about that," she chuckled sheepishly. "My oldest is at that age where he thinks girls have cooties, but the only playmate he has on school nights is his little sister, so he teases her sometimes."

Larry gave her a look which mingled admiration and a little sympathy. "So, not only are you a top notch TV reporter, but you're a dedicated mommy of two?"

She nodded. "They're the jewels of my life. Everything I do is for them."

Larry found that cute, in addition to being admirable. "Do you need to get back to them right now?"

"Not quite yet," she answered. "I wanted to get a few more shots of the museum exhibits. A nice reel of the halls, exhibits, security guards, doors. Stuff to get the people interested."

"Going above and beyond the call of duty, huh?"

"Something like that," she said. "Guess I've always been detail oriented. You never know what little tidbit can be useful."

"Yeah," said Larry, thinking he understood. "Like those video games where you have to pay attention to random things the NPCs say, because those have clues to the mystery."

A smile appeared. "Oh, you like video games?"

"Sure do!" he grinned. "Moby Blaster, Cactus Roundup, you name it. Alfred says games are great for developing reflexes and quick thinking."

"I think I can attest to that," she laughed. "Back when Laser Cycle was only an arcade game, I used to spend hours on weekends in front of a machine, trying to stretch a token as far as I could. I noticed after I started playing I grew more observant in real life."

"You should check out my game room sometime," he said without thinking. "I'm always adding new titles, including stuff not released in the US yet."

Petunia's smile remained, but the glow in her eyes slowly diminished. "Must be nice to have that kind of spending money."

Larry rolled his shoulders, realizing the sudden awkward turn of the conversation. "Well…"

Petunia, however, gave him a polite look and maneuvered around him. "I should probably get my free T-shirt before they run out. Excuse me."

Larry grimaced, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. He hadn't been trying to brag; he thought he was just geeking out with another gamer, but evidently Petunia had gotten offended.

As Petunia marched out of the hall, Larry thought he heard her humming "If I Were a Rich Man."

While the reporters and journalists nibbled on triangular sandwiches and cookies, Larry and Alfred watched them from the museum's security office. They had offered to watch the camera feed while the guards snuck down to fill their own plates of snacks, and this gave the duo a chance to speak freely, if quietly.

"Every news outlet in the tri-state area is here," Alfred declared. "Unless Vogue decided to use her ill-gotten loot to sneak away to Hawaii, she must know about the necklace by now."

Larry gazed at the screen. Among the chatting veggies in the snack queue, he spotted Petunia's braided hair peeking out behind a broad-shouldered celery man. The celery moved, and Larry caught sight of the miniature tower of cookies she was assembling. When she finished, she covered her snacks with a paper napkin and carried it to a table where her cameraman sat, but she did not eat a crumb. Gazing at Petunia's temporarily ignored plate, Larry pictured a pair of little green faces resembling Petunia's that would light up once they saw what their mother had brought home.

He flinched to remember the dry way she had responded to his video-game collection. A widowed mother who juggled work and family life probably didn't have a lot of extra money to spend on expensive games for herself, or her kids for that matter. She might have had to hunt through bargain bins and secondhand stores, and the titles there were not always guaranteed successes.

Piggybacking off that observation, he found his mind drifting back to Vogue, who claimed she stole priceless jewels because she was in need, if she could be believed.

"Alfred, do you think Vogue was telling the truth about stealing because she was hungry?"

"Somehow I doubt she's spending two-million-dollars worth of jewels on groceries."

"Okay, so maybe she's not 'hungry,'" Larry returned. "But what if she's in need in some other way? Like… she needs the money because her grandma is sick, and the doctor's bills keep piling up?"

"It's possible," Alfred conceded, "but there are other ways to handle the situation."

"But what if it seems like there is no other way?"

"People will find different ways to justify disobeying God, Master Larry," Alfred pointed out, "even if they have to take Scripture out of context. We can show these people compassion. We can demonstrate God's love. We can try our best to help them do right, but it's their choice. We can't make it for them."

"I guess you're right," Larry sighed, "but I can't shake this feeling that we're missing something. Like, one puzzle piece, and then everything will make sense."

"We are unfortunately still in the dark about a lot of things regarding Vogue." Alfred thinned his lips. "If she really is as destitute as she implies, her possession of a supersuit grows more disconcerting. We must again ask where she obtained it. If she did not have the funds to procure or build it herself, then the other options are that she stole it, or someone gave it to her."

"And why use a super suit to steal jewelry in such a risky way?" Larry put in.

"Precisely." His eyes narrowed. "Once we capture Vogue, we may be able to find all our answers. For now, let us focus on the task at hand, Master Larry."

Larry nodded reluctantly, trying to satisfy himself with the possibility of talking to Vogue directly.

"Vogue's got a date with destiny," he told himself.