Andreas Steinhöfel: The Pasta Detectives

Ins Englische übersetzt von Chantal Wright

Mit Bildern von Peter Schössow

Inhalt

Eigentlich soll Rico ja nur ein Ferientagebuch führen. Schwierig genug für einen, der leicht den roten oder den grünen oder auch den blauen Faden verliert. Aber als er dann auch noch Oskar mit dem blauen Helm kennenlernt und die beiden dem berüchtigten ALDI-Kidnapper auf die Spur kommen, geht es in seinem Kopf ganz schön durcheinander. Doch zusammen mit Oskar verlieren sogar die Tieferschatten etwas von ihrem Schrecken. Es ist der Beginn einer wunderbaren Freundschaft … Finally: the highly praised bestseller in English for early readers!

Wohin soll es gehen?

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For Gianni …
from me to you and back again
A.S.

The piece of pasta lay on the pavement. It was fat and crinkled, with a hole right through the middle. Some dried-up cheese sauce and dirt were stuck to it. I picked it up, cleaned off the dirt and looked up past the old windows of Dieffe 93 into the summer sky. Not a cloud in sight. Definitely none of those white stripes that jet engines leave behind. And besides, I thought to myself, I don’t think you can just open an aeroplane window and throw out your food.

I let myself into my block of flats, whizzed up the yellow-painted stairway to the third floor and rang Mrs Dahling’s bell. She had large, bright curlers in her hair, just as she did every Saturday.

»Could be rigatoni. The sauce is definitely Gorgonzola,« she declared. »It’s nice of you to bring me the piece of pasta, dear, but I didn’t throw it out of the window. Why don’t you ask Mr Fitzke?«

She grinned at me, tapped one finger against her forehead, rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Mr Fitzke lives on the fourth floor. I hate him. Also, I don’t think the piece of pasta is his. Mrs Dahling was my first choice because she often throws things out of the window. Last winter she threw out a television. Followed five minutes later by her husband, though he came out of the front door. After that, she came down to see us, and Mum had to pour her a drop of whisky.

»He has a girlfriend!« Mrs Dahling had exclaimed in shock. »And the stupid cow is no younger than I am! Give me another swig of that stuff!«

The very next day, with the telly in smithereens and her husband gone, she bought herself an amazing new flat-screen TV and DVD player. We sometimes watch romantic films or thrillers together, but only at the weekend when Mrs Dahling can have a lie-in. During the week she works behind the butcher’s counter at a department store. Her hands are always red raw because it’s so cold in there.

When we watch television we eat canapés with boiled ham and eggs or smoked salmon. If it’s a romantic comedy, Mrs Dahling sniffs her way through at least ten tissues, then starts complaining about the film. »As if that sort of thing really happens! When a man and a woman get together, that’s when the misery begins, but of course they never show