Would be young detectives have a real mystery.
“What will we do today?” asked Bran Ellis, aged 6.
“We have a mystery to solve,” answered his friend, Malcom Boston, as he pretended to smoke a licorice pipe. Since he was older by a year, Malcom often chose the pair’s activities.
“If we must play Holmes and Watson, can I at least be Holmes for once?” complained Bran.
“Nope, it’s my deerstalker hat, so I play Holmes!” Malcom replied.
“But you always want us to play the famous detective and his doctor friend! Can’t we play something else?”
“This time there really is a mystery! Have you been to the treehouse?”
Bran shook his head.
“I went yesterday just to see if it was still standing after the winter. I know I shoulda waited for you, but you weren’t home.”
“So, what’s wrong with the treehouse?” Bran asked.
“It’s a mess inside! We haveta find out who wrecked it!”
The two boys raced over to the tree that held their precious house. Scrambling up the ladder, they burst inside. Comic books and pages were everywhere, most of them shredded.
“Here’s some teeth marks,” Bran said as he stared through a magnifying glass.
“Ewww, it stinks in this corner!” Malcom said holding his nose.
“Are those footprints?” he asked pointing to marks on the floor. Reaching for the bookshelf, he pulled down a book about tracks.
“I know what these are,” Bran said after a close look at the prints.
“Those little bandits!” shouted Malcom when Bran told him what tracks they were.
“We’ll have to make it more raccoon proof from now on.”
“That’ll have to wait,” Bran said after looking under a pile of paper shred and cloth.
“Raccoon kits, at least six of them! We better not touch them; the mom could reject them.”