Two days later, Fluey was down in the garage with Mike. Mike was compiling some kind of search on his computer. He had access to the database on the criminals that were known for vehicle related instances. Currently, Mike had a digital photo of Raphael up on his computer screen and was comparing it to the photos on the SSHQ criminal dossiers.

"Any luck?" Fluey asked.

"Nope," Mike said. "I've looked up all the places where I might've seen him. See, I don't always spend my time here fixin' and buildin' cars. I've been out on assignment dozens of times, infiltratin' crooked garages, tryin' to expose chop shops, that sort of thing. I even tangled with the Devilish Dragster once."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was about a year before you guys were recruited. Even though I'm a mechanic, I do get my share of the action, when Big D needs a car specialist on a case."

"So you think maybe Raphael is a crook you once contended with?"

"No, but I'm not overlookin' that possibility. And until I'm convinced, I ain't givin' up on it. I can't . . . . . I mean, we can't let her get married to this guy."

"Right."

Fluey didn't say anything after that, but that just proved his theory that Mike did like Phyllis. Why else would he bend over backwards trying to dig up dirt on this guy?

Fluey left Mike to do his research. After all, he still had Round Three of "Operation: Sabotage" to work out. He walked upstairs to the science labs to see what Reggie was up to. He was inspecting a jar full of bugs, but he wasn't opening the jar.

"Hey, Reg," he said. "What's in the jar?"

"The rare South American Muncher Beetle," Reggie said, putting the jar on the table. "Whatever you do, do not open that thing around plant life."

"How come?"

"They're known for eating anything plant related. Their scientific name is Insecticus Eaticus Anythingicus."

Fluey just nodded, and watched Reggie open the jar. He quickly grabbed one out with a pair of tweezers and put the lid back on the jar. Then he put the jar in a cabinet, and the beetle he took out on the lab counter.

"Fluey, do me a favor, and put that jar in with the rest of the insect specimens, would you?" Reggie asked.

"Sure," Fluey said, picking up the jar. "What's with the beetle study, anyway?"

"Agent Freund is stationed in South America," Reggie said. "He said there was a bunch of plant life that was being destroyed, and he sent over the beetles because he thinks they're the culprits."

"I don't think I even want to know."

"Well, like I said, be careful handling them. They eat anything and everything plant related. Flowers, grass, trees . . . . ."

"I get it, I get it."

Fluey took the beetle jar over to where the science techs kept their bug specimens. But before he did, he unscrewed the lid, and took one of the beetles out of the jar. Then, he went over to Phyllis's third florist choice, and put the beetle into the air conditioning duct. Then left before someone could spot him.

The next morning, Phyllis was making another set of lists when the phone rang. She got up to answer it, while Fluey grabbed a box of cereal out of the cabinet, and tried to listen in on his sister's conversation.

"What?" he heard her shout. "You're kidding! Oh boy . . . . . how could one little . . . . . all right. Okay. Thanks, anyway. I'm sorry. Bye."

"What's up, sis?" Fluey asked, innocently as Phyllis returned to the kitchen.

"That was my third florist," Phyllis sighed. "They called and said everything in the shop had been eaten."

"Everything?" Fluey shouted, incredulously. He was genuinely surprised at that one. He thought for sure that one little beetle wouldn't eat the florists' entire inventory!

"This just means I have to find another florist," Phyllis groaned. "I knew I should've hired a wedding planner."

"I wouldn't recommend a wedding planner, sis," Fluey said. "They never see your vision the way you see it, and they tend to charge an arm and a leg."

Phyllis ignored her brother.

Two days later, Fluey was scoping out the third bakery with Phyllis and Daisy. The cake was four tiers, and made with yellow sponge cake and white icing.

"Simple, yet stunning," Daisy said.

"I hope it tastes as good as it looks," Phyllis said.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Fluey asked, trying to rub the warmth back into his arms. "I'm freezing! What is this, an ice cream cake or something?"

"No, it's not an ice cream cake," Phyllis said. "They have to keep the temperatures low in here so the cakes can maintain their shape until the big event. If something went wrong with the air conditioning, there could be a major meltdown."

"From both the cake, and the bride," Daisy commented.

"Good to know," Fluey said. "Eeesh! I'm getting out of here before I turn into an ice cube!"

Phyllis groaned and rolled her eyes. She knew Fluey couldn't take the cold very well, in either form, but she knew he was just exaggerating.

That night, Fluey went to the bakery in his superhero form, and snuck inside through a vent. Once he was inside, he found the air conditioner controls, and turned the heat up a bit. Once he did that, he slipped out of the bakery as easily as he slipped in.

The next day, it was practically business as usual at the SSHQ. Phyllis was busy at her typewriter when the phone rang.

"Impossible Records," she said (since it wasn't the regular phone that rang). The minute she picked it up, The Impossibles walked in. Skittles barked, and jumped up onto the desk. Phyllis began scratching her ears, while talking on the phone.

"Uh huh . . . . ." she said. "Uh huh . . . . . okay . . . . . well, how long do you . . . . . uh huh . . . . . all right. Thanks. Bye."

Phyllis hung up the phone and groaned. She looked like she was ready to pound something.

"What's wrong now?" Multi asked.

"The cake melted," Phyllis said. "Something happened to the bakery's air conditioning, and every single cake in the store melted!"

"You're not having much luck with this wedding of yours, are you, sis?" Fluey asked.

"No, I'm not," Phyllis said. "I don't understand it. It's like somebody doesn't want me to get married!"

The boys didn't respond. They didn't know what they could say. But Phyllis wasn't going to let it get to her. Yet. After all, there was still her dress. And she went straight to the salon after work, and took the dress home. So far, so good. She brought the box into the kitchen, in order to show it off to Big D and Fluey. Big D was drinking a cup of coffee, going through some paperwork from a case one of the agents was involved in, and having some trouble with. He looked up from his paperwork as Phyllis walked in and put the box from the bridal salon on the table.

"I hope this is the last one," he commented.

"Believe me, I hope so, too," Phyllis said. She opened the box, pulled out the dress, and held it up for her grandfather to see it.

"What do you think?" she asked, twirling a little. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

Big D looked at the dress, and then he looked at the price tag, and tensed. It was about all he could do from keeling over and having a heart attack at the price. Fluey walked in at that moment, while Phyllis was showing off her dress.

"Hi," he said. "That the new dress?"

"Yes, and hopefully, nothing will happen to it," Phyllis said.

Fluey nodded. It wasn't going to be easy with this one, he knew that, but then he noticed Big D's coffee mug sitting on the table. That gave him an idea. Just as Big D picked it up, Fluey "accidentally" backed into his grandfather, causing him to involuntarily fling the coffee out of the mug, and, as luck would have it, it splattered all over Phyllis's dress.

"Oh no!" Phyllis shouted. "Oh, not again!"

"Ooohhhh . . . . ." Fluey said. "Geez, sorry about that, sis. I guess I should've watched where I was going."

"Maybe we can still get it out," Phyllis said, rushing over to the sink.

"Why don't you just stick it in the washing machine?" Fluey asked.

"Are you kidding?" Phyllis shouted. "You can't wash a wedding gown in a washing machine!"

"Sure you can!" Fluey shouted, grabbing the dress. "I'll prove it! Watch!"

Fluey went over to the laundry room, started up the washing machine, and tossed in the coffee stained dress, as well as a couple of cup-fulls of detergent. Then he set the cycle on "delicate."

"You leave everything to me, Phyllis," he said. "I'll take care of the dress for you. Trust me."

"Well . . . . ." Phyllis said, hesitantly. "Okay, I guess . . . . ."

And with that, Phyllis left the room. Once she was out of sight, and out of earshot, Fluey began snickering over the whole thing, but he didn't count on Big D hearing him.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"Chief!" Fluey shouted, whirling around. "Me? Up to something? What makes you think I'm up to something?"

"That devious sounding snicker I heard from you," Big D said.

"I'm not up to anything, chief, honest," Fluey said, crossing his fingers behind his back. Big D gave him a look, and then left to get back to his paperwork. He knew his grandson was up to something, but he didn't know what, exactly.

Once the washing machine finished the cycle, Fluey stuck it into the dryer, set it on the regular setting, started it up, and left it for the time being. It wasn't even halfway through the cycle when Big D, Fluey, and Phyllis all smelled something burning, coming from the laundry room. The moment they noticed, the smoke alarm went off. Immediately, the trio dashed into the laundry room, and saw the dryer smoking. Big D immediately grabbed a fire extinguisher and sprayed the dryer with it. Then he handed Fluey the fire extinguisher, and then walked over to the dryer, and turned it off.

"Be prepared, Fluid," he said. "I'm going to open the door."

"Check, chief," Fluey said, holding the fire extinguisher ready, just in case the dryer had accidentally caught on fire. Thankfully, it didn't, but Phyllis's dress had somehow disintegrated in the dryer, and it was scorched beyond repair.

"Oh no!" Phyllis shouted.

"Ooohhh . . . . ." Fluey grimaced. "Man, I thought for sure I'd be able to wash and dry it in the washing machine and the dryer."

"I knew that wouldn't work!" Phyllis groaned. "Maybe I should just call the whole thing off. This is getting frustrating and expensive!"

And with that, Phyllis left the room. Fluey smiled sneakily.

"Mission accomplished," he said.

"What did you just say, young man?" Big D asked, giving Fluey a weird look.

"Uhh, nothing, chief," Fluey said.

"Mm hmm," Big D said, eyeing his grandson suspiciously. "Do me a favor and clean up this mess, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Fluey said. "No problem."

Big D left the laundry room, but paused at the doorway, and watched his grandson clean up the mess for a moment. He wasn't positive on this, but he could swear he could hear Fluey laughing under his breath.

Two days later at the SSHQ, while Big D was going through a couple of cases, his intercom buzzed.

"What is it, Phyllis?" he asked.

"Agent Zei is here to see you, sir," Phyllis said.

"Send him in," Big D said, wondering what in the world Agent Zei wanted. He wasn't on assignment.

"Hiya, boss," Agent Zei said (he had a bit of a Brooklyn accent). "Look, I'm sorry to bug ya, but . . . . I haven't seen Fluey around, and I was wonderin' if you knew where he was. I'd call him myself, but Reg's fixin' my communicator. It's on the blink."

"He's out rehearsing for some concert or another. I can't keep the boys' schedules straight anymore, since they're always off rehearsing for one tour after the other. In any case, I don't know his exact whereabouts, why?"

"Well . . . . . it ain't too important. I just need that chef outfit back, that's all."

"Chef outfit?"

"Yeah, he borrowed one from me a couple of days ago. He wanted some advice on sneakin' into a French restaurant or somethin'. I didn't ask what it was for, though."

"I see. Well, if I see Agent Fluid before you do, Zei, I'll give him the message."

"Okay, great. Thanks a mil, chief."

And with that, Agent Zei left the office. No sooner than he had left, Reggie came into the office.

"Sorry to barge in on you, boss, but we've got a problem," he said.

"What kind of a problem?" Big D asked.

"One of my beetles escaped. You know, the specimen Agent Freund sent from South America. The Insecticus Eaticus Anythingicus."

"How did that happen, Johnson?"

"I don't know. I just took one out to test it and I asked Fluey to put the jar in with the rest of the bug specimens a couple of days ago, and nobody went near the jar since."

"So Fluid was the last one with the jar."

"That's about the size of it."

Big D nodded, and went over to his intercom, pushing the button on it.

"Phyllis, could you come in here, please?" he asked.

"What is it, chief?" Phyllis asked, walking into the office.

"The florist that you went to, the one that said a beetle devoured her entire inventory," Big D said. "Did she happen to say what it looked like?"

"Yeah, she said it was big, and it was purple with green stripes and red spots on it's back," Phyllis said.

"Well, Johnson?" Big D asked.

"Yeah, that's the South American Muncher Beetle, all right," Reggie said. "Phyllis, I swear, I don't know how that thing got out, but . . . . ."

"Insects can squeeze in and out of even the tightest places, Reggie," Phyllis said, shrugging. "If I were you, I'd double check the insect specimens to make sure no more of these South American Muncher Beetles can get out."

"I'm on it!" Reggie shouted, and he raced back to the labs.

"Don't worry about a swarm, Big D," Phyllis said, as she was leaving the chief's office. "The florist said she squashed the beetle once she found it."

Big D simply nodded, but didn't say anything. He was stuck on the fact that Fluey had been the last one with the beetle jar. That evening, Big D went home, and looked at the mail. The phone bill was there. He opened the envelope, and looked at it.

"What the . . . . ." he started, and he saw two long distance charges to Hollywood, and another one to New York. He dialed the operator to find out what exactly these numbers were. One was to the producers of Fabulous Fashion, another to the offices of Stephan Spitzberg, and the third to the booking agent of Lyza Minestroni. Then, he called up Jean-Claude at La Boulangerie des Grands.

"About that cake you created for my granddaughter's wedding," he said. "Where in the world did you get an idea like that from?"

"Zee famous Pierre Francois," Jean-Claude said. "He said eet was zee toast of Paree."

"I've never heard of him."

"Well, he was kind of young looking. Like he was zee teenager. He was sort of medium height, black hair, pencil mustache . . . . . matter of fact, the mustache looked like eet was drawn on wiz zee eyebrow pencil. It looked a bit . . . . . smudgy."

"I see. Thank you."

Big D then hung up the phone, and drummed his fingers against the table. He knew something was up. As he was pondering that, the front door opened, and Fluey walked in.

"Hiya, Big D," he said.

"Fluid, I have a message for you from Agent Zei," Big D said, calmly. "He wants that chef costume he loaned you back."

"Uhhh, chef costume?" Fluey asked.

"Yes, chef costume," Big D continued, and he turned around to face his grandson. Fluey cringed once he saw the look on Big D's face.

"The one you borrowed to masquerade as the famous French chef Pierre Francois?" Big D continued.

"Really, chief, I don't know what you're . . . ." Fluey began.

"And what about this phone bill, young man? Three long distance calls here, two to Hollywood, one to New York . . . . . the producers of that television show Phyllis's friend was accepted for, the director that shut down Main Street to film a movie, and Lyza Minestroni's booking agent. Not to mention Dr. Johnson informed me you were the last one with a jar of ravenous beetles, and one happened to get out."

"Umm . . . . I . . . . uhhh . . . . ."

"I heard you muttering under your breath the other day, young man. You knew putting that dress in the dryer would ruin it, didn't you?"

"Uh oh. Something tells me the jig is up."

"What's going on?" Phyllis asked, coming down the stairs.

"We've solved the mystery to your wedding crises," Big D said, handing Phyllis the phone bill. "Apparently, your brother was going behind your back causing mischief."

"What?" Phyllis shouted, and glared at Fluey. "You mean to tell me, you convinced the Fabulous Fashion people to get Sammi on their show, allowed Skittles to run into an exclusive dress shop covered in mud, and everything else?"

"Hey, come on," Fluey said, trying to weasel his way out of this. "I mean . . . . uhhh . . . . that is . . . ."

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Big D said. "Go to your room this instant!"

"But chief, I was just trying to . . . . ." Fluey started.

"This instant, young man!" Big D shouted. Fluey then beat a hasty retreat up the stairs. He knew better than to press his luck when Big D started shouting at him.

"I'd better call Raph and tell him what's going on," Phyllis groaned. "I can't believe Fluey would do that sort of thing."

"I wouldn't have thought to suspect him, myself," Big D said. Then he sighed. "I'd better go up there and have a word with him."

"Okay, but try to keep your temper," Phyllis said. Big D nodded, and walked up the stairs and down the hall to Fluey's bedroom. He opened it, and found Fluey sitting on his bed.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Fluey asked.

"You bet you are," Big D said. "What on earth possessed you to try to sabotage your sister's wedding plans?"

"I thought if I could get her so fed up with spending all this money and having things go wrong, then she'd call the whole thing off."

"Do you realize what could have happened with all the stunts you pulled? Especially the incident with the dryer? You're lucky nothing caught on fire, young man!"

"I'm sorry, chief."

"Sorry is not going to cut it, young man. You are going to pay for the flowers you had sent to Lyza Minestroni, as well as the damages to the stores you've wrecked. And don't you dare tell me you can't afford it. I'm fully aware of how much rock and roll singers are paid, and I know just how much is in your account. I'm aware you don't like Phyllis's fiance, but that does not excuse your behavior. I do not want to see, or hear about you causing this kind of trouble again! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir."

Big D nodded, and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Fluey flopped down on the bed and sighed. He didn't blame Big D for laying down the law like he did. He knew he deserved it, and he was sorry about it, but he had to get rid of Raphael. He just couldn't let his sister get married to him. He had to come up with a different plan of attack, and fast!