The Masked Detective

For this Detective no crime is to small. He’s on the case whether you want him or not.

Nine-year-old Toby Baxter was the black sheep of the family.

Which was unfortunate considering his family worked almost entirely with cows.

Every morning before sunrise, the Baxter family opened Baxter’s Meats, the oldest butcher shop in Lincoln. Toby’s father chopped steaks with terrifying precision. His mother ran the counter and wrapped meat in white paper faster than a magician shuffling cards. His eighteen-year-old brother Dean was learning the business so one day he could take over.

Dean could identify twelve cuts of beef blindfolded.

Toby got dizzy looking at hamburger.

His father often sighed heavily at dinner.

“Someday this business will belong to you boys.”

Dean grinned proudly.

Toby poked at his meatloaf like it might confess to a crime.

Actually, Toby had briefly considered becoming vegan purely as rebellion.

Not because he disliked hamburgers.

He just enjoyed the idea of his father fainting dramatically into a pile of pork chops.

But Toby had bigger dreams.

Toby wanted to be a detective.

Not just any detective.

The Masked Detective.

Every afternoon he transformed himself by putting on a black eye mask, a tan trench coat that dragged the ground, and a brown fedora that slid down over his ears. He carried a tiny notebook in one pocket and three pencils behind his ear.

He practiced squinting suspiciously at people.

Unfortunately, squinting mostly made him walk into things.

Still, Toby considered himself the greatest detective west of the Mississippi.

At present he had four active investigations.

CASE ONE:
THE MISSING CAT.

Mr. Myers’ orange cat, Pickles, had vanished three days ago.

CASE TWO:
THE STOLEN LAWN JOCKEY.

Mrs. Langston’s ugly lawn jockey statue had disappeared overnight.

Frankly, Toby suspected the thief might deserve a medal.

CASE THREE:
THE SECRET BOYFRIEND.

This case consumed him completely.

Julie Mason lived next door. She was sixteen years old, beautiful, and smelled like strawberry shampoo. Toby had once waved at her and nearly fainted when she waved back.

Recently Toby had noticed suspicious behavior.

Julie sneaking out.

Julie whispering on the phone.

Julie smiling at mysterious notes.

Clearly she had a secret boyfriend.

Toby intended to discover the identity of the scoundrel and report him to Julie’s father.

Possibly for a reward.

CASE FOUR:
THE PHANTOM PIE THIEF.

Someone had been stealing cooling pies from windowsills around the neighborhood.

Mrs. Grady lost two apple pies.

Mrs. Fenwick lost a cherry pie.

Old Mrs. Polk lost an entire peach cobbler and threatened to “call the federal government.”

Toby wrote carefully in his notebook:

ALL CRIMES ARE CONNECTED.

He had no evidence of this whatsoever.

But detectives on television always said things like that.

One Saturday morning Toby marched downtown investigating clues while Dean worked at the butcher shop.

Toby paused outside Johnson’s Hardware Store and narrowed his eyes.

A suspicious man exited carrying rope, duct tape, and garden shears.

“Interesting,” Toby muttered.

The man noticed Toby staring.

“What are you doing?”

“Observing criminal behavior.”

The man blinked.

“I’m fixing my fence.”

“Exactly what a criminal would say.”

The man walked away quickly.

Toby scribbled in his notebook:

SUSPECT HOSTILE.

A detective had to think ahead.

Unfortunately, Toby’s investigations rarely went smoothly.

While searching for clues behind the bakery, he accidentally stepped into a bucket of mop water.

While trailing Mrs. Langston’s mailman, he sneezed loudly and fell into a hedge.

And while spying on Julie’s bedroom window through binoculars, he slipped off a tree branch and landed in Mrs. Patterson’s birdbath.

Mrs. Patterson screamed.

Toby screamed.

Three pigeons exploded into the air.

“YOU LITTLE CREEP!” Mrs. Patterson shouted.

“It’s an investigation!” Toby yelled while fleeing.

That evening Toby sat at dinner in gloomy silence.

His father carved roast beef.

Dean looked smug for no reason at all.

Then Toby noticed something strange.

Dean kept smiling at his phone.

Not ordinary smiling.

Weird smiling.

Embarrassing smiling.

Romantic smiling.

Toby narrowed his eyes.

A detective’s instincts tingled.

“Dean,” Toby asked casually, “who are you texting?”

Dean nearly dropped his fork.

“No one.”

“Interesting answer.”

“Mind your own business.”

“There are no coincidences.”

His mother sighed.

“Oh no. Detective mode again.”

Toby continued staring.

Dean suddenly stuffed his phone into his pocket.

Highly suspicious.

That night Toby launched Operation Midnight Shadow.

Which sounded impressive.

In reality it involved hiding behind azalea bushes.

At 10:13 PM Dean quietly climbed out his bedroom window.

Toby gasped.

“A-ha!”

Dean crept across the yard toward the Mason house next door.

Toward Julie’s house.

Toby nearly swallowed his tongue.

No.

Impossible.

Not Dean.

Not his own brother.

Dean tossed a pebble at Julie’s window.

A moment later Julie appeared.

She climbed out laughing softly.

Then—horror of horrors—they held hands.

Toby’s world shattered.

His crush.

His brother.

Together.

Toby ducked lower into the bushes.

This was devastating.

Also slightly itchy.

He watched them walk away down the sidewalk together.

Toby pulled out his notebook with trembling hands.

PRIMARY SUSPECT IDENTIFIED:
DEAN BAXTER.

MOTIVE:
DISGUSTING ROMANCE.

The next morning Toby could barely look at Dean.

Dean noticed immediately.

“What’s your problem?”

Toby folded his arms.

“You know what you did.”

Dean froze.

“Oh no.”

“Yes.”

Dean glanced around nervously.

“You saw us?”

Toby looked wounded.

“You betrayed me.”

Dean blinked several times.

“You’re nine.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“You can’t possibly think you and Julie—”

“LOVE HAS NO AGE LIMIT!”

Their father lowered his newspaper slowly.

“What in heaven’s name are you two talking about?”

“Nothing!” Dean shouted.

“Everything!” Toby shouted.

Dean dragged Toby outside before further damage could occur.

In the backyard Dean crouched down.

“Listen carefully, Private Eye. Julie and I like each other.”

“I know.”

“And if her father finds out, he’ll kill me.”

“He might reward me.”

Dean groaned.

“Toby, please.”

Toby crossed his arms dramatically.

“A detective cannot be bribed.”

Dean reached into his wallet.

“How about twenty bucks?”

Toby hesitated.

“A detective can occasionally be negotiated with.”

Dean handed him the money.

“Keep your mouth shut.”

Toby stuffed the cash into his trench coat.

Then he paused.

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“You admitted guilt.”

Dean stared.

“You make everything sound like a felony.”

Toby smiled smugly.

That afternoon Toby returned to his investigations.

He began with the missing cat.

Pickles belonged to grumpy old Mr. Myers, who insisted the cat had been kidnapped.

“Pickles would never run away,” Mr. Myers declared.

Toby examined the yard carefully.

Then he noticed muddy paw prints leading toward the alley.

“A clue,” Toby whispered.

He followed the tracks behind several buildings until he heard loud meowing.

Pickles sat happily behind Luigi’s Pizza eating pepperoni scraps.

The cat was so fat from free pizza he could barely stand.

Toby wrote triumphantly:

CASE CLOSED.

Mr. Myers cried with happiness when Toby returned the cat.

“You really found him!”

“A detective always gets his man,” Toby announced.

“It’s a cat.”

“Same principle.”

For his reward, Mr. Myers gave Toby five dollars and a butterscotch candy.

Toby felt unstoppable.

Until CASE TWO exploded in his face.

Mrs. Langston’s lawn jockey mystery grew stranger by the hour.

Several neighbors reported seeing teenagers carrying the statue down the street after midnight.

One witness claimed the jockey had glowing eyes.

Another insisted it sang “Camptown Races.”

Toby suspected neither witness was reliable.

Late Sunday night Toby hid near Mrs. Langston’s yard waiting for clues.

Around midnight he heard rustling.

A shadowy figure approached.

Toby’s heart pounded.

The figure grabbed something near the porch.

Toby leaped dramatically from the bushes.

“FREEZE, CRIMINAL!”

The figure screamed.

Toby screamed.

A flashlight clattered to the ground.

It was Mrs. Langston herself.

“What are YOU doing?” Toby cried.

Mrs. Langston looked embarrassed.

“I was putting the lawn jockey back.”

Toby blinked.

“You stole your own lawn jockey?”

“I got tired of looking at it,” she admitted. “But then everybody started making such a fuss I felt guilty.”

Toby stared in disbelief.

“You caused a neighborhood-wide panic because your statue was ugly?”

Mrs. Langston sighed.

“It really was ugly.”

Toby closed his notebook.

CASE CLOSED.
MOTIVE:
TERRIBLE TASTE.

But the Phantom Pie Thief remained at large.

The crimes escalated.

A blueberry pie vanished during a church picnic.

A lemon meringue disappeared from a church windowsill despite witnesses nearby.

Rumors spread through town.

Mrs. Polk accused teenagers.

Mr. Myers accused raccoons.

Dean accused Toby.

“You smell like cinnamon constantly,” Dean said.

“That proves nothing.”

Then Toby received his biggest break yet.

At dawn Monday morning he discovered pie crumbs leading behind the butcher shop.

His own family business.

He followed the trail cautiously.

The crumbs ended near the storage freezer.

Toby gasped.

Could his own family be involved?

He crept closer.

Then he heard chewing.

Slowly Toby opened the freezer door.

Inside sat his father.

Eating pie.

Three pies.

His father froze mid-bite.

Blueberry filling covered his mustache.

Silence.

Toby stared.

His father stared.

A cherry pie slid off a box and splattered onto the floor.

Finally Toby spoke.

“You’re the Phantom Pie Thief?”

His father sighed deeply.

“Your mother put me on a diet.”

“You stole pies from the neighborhood?”

“I was hungry!”

“You committed dessert crimes!”

His father pointed a fork at him.

“Listen here, Detective Dingbat. You tell your mother and I’ll deny everything.”

Toby’s mind reeled.

The Phantom Pie Thief…

was his father.

The terrifying butcher.

Pie criminal mastermind.

Then another shocking realization hit him.

“All the pies disappeared near your delivery routes!”

His father nodded sadly.

“I lost control around peach cobbler.”

Toby slowly pulled out his notebook.

“This is the greatest case of my career.”

His father stuffed half a pie into his mouth.

“You’re not writing any of this down.”

“Oh yes I am.”

“No you’re not.”

“Justice demands it.”

His father glared.

“I buy your comic books.”

Toby considered carefully.

Justice was important.

But so was Issue #48 of Captain Meteor.

Finally Toby closed the notebook.

“Perhaps this investigation requires discretion.”

“Good boy.”

Then Toby squinted suspiciously.

“Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“You couldn’t have stolen the church pie.”

His father frowned.

“Why not?”

“The church picnic happened while you were at work.”

Both of them froze.

Somewhere out there…

was a second pie thief.

The next day Toby organized a full-scale sting operation.

Which mostly involved hiding under tables with binoculars.

At the church bake sale Toby waited patiently among folding chairs while pies cooled nearby.

Hours passed.

Nothing happened.

Toby nearly fell asleep.

Then he saw movement.

A figure sneaked toward the dessert table.

Small.

Fast.

Wearing—

a black eye mask.

Toby’s jaw dropped.

The thief grabbed a pie and sprinted away.

Toby charged after him.

“STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!”

The masked figure darted through alleys and jumped fences.

Finally Toby tackled the criminal behind the library.

The pie flew into the air and landed splat on both of them.

Toby ripped off the mask.

And gasped.

“Mom?!”

His mother sat there covered in banana cream pie looking furious.

“You broke my good blouse!”

“You’re the OTHER pie thief?!”

His mother groaned.

“Your father wasn’t the only one on a diet.”

Toby stared in disbelief.

“You two have secretly been stealing pies all over town?”

“We were stressed!”

“You robbed a church bake sale!”

“It was coconut cream!”

Toby sat speechless.

His entire family was apparently insane.

His mother adjusted her hair angrily.

“You are absolutely not telling anyone about this.”

Toby crossed his arms.

“I’m a detective. I cannot be silenced.”

His mother reached into her purse.

“How much?”

Toby considered.

“Twenty dollars and complete immunity from vegetable side dishes for one month.”

“Done.”

They shook hands solemnly.

That night Toby sat in his bedroom reviewing the strangest week of his life.

He had solved four mysteries.

Recovered a cat.

Exposed lawn jockey fraud.

Uncovered a forbidden romance.

And dismantled a pie theft ring run by his own parents.

Not bad for nine years old.

Then someone knocked softly on his window.

Julie.

Toby nearly fainted.

He opened the window dramatically.

“Yes?”

Julie smiled.

“I heard you know my secret.”

Toby nodded grimly.

“Dean confessed.”

Julie laughed softly.

“You’re not going to tell my dad, are you?”

Toby looked at her carefully.

She genuinely liked Dean.

And Dean—even though he was annoying—looked happiest when he talked about her.

Toby sighed heavily.

“A detective must sometimes show mercy.”

Julie smiled.

“You’re sweet, Toby.”

Then she kissed his forehead.

Toby’s brain completely shut down.

Julie climbed back through her window.

Toby stood frozen for nearly five minutes.

Then Dean quietly appeared outside below.

“Well?”

Toby looked down at him.

“You owe me another twenty dollars.”

Dean groaned.

“You’re a terrible detective.”

“No,” Toby said proudly. “I’m the Masked Detective.”

Then he paused thoughtfully.

“Also your blackmail is due every Friday.”