Joe Sherlock Kid Detective 2 The Neighborhood Stink by Dave Keane Page A
Authors: Dave Keane
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voice.
After staring at me for a long time, he says, “Sherlock, have you given any thought to joining a sports team? Fresh air and exercise might be good for you.”
“Oh, just forget it,” I mumble.
When my mom hangs up the phone, I call Lance to see if he can come over and help with the case.
“No, thanks,” says Lance.
“I have to watch TV.”
“You don’t have to watch TV, Lance,” I say. “You can come over now and watch TV later, after we solve the case.”
“Well, I have to watch this educational show about flying squirrels with my grandma before I can play a video game,” Lance says 18
very slowly, because he’s watching the flying squirrel show while we’re talking.
“Thanks for helping me out, friend,” I say.
“Hey, you’re getting good at that sarcasm stuff,” he says. “Grandma, did you see that crazy squirrel miss the tree? Uh . . . see ya, Sherlock.”
“Bye,” I say, hanging up the phone. Lance is my best friend, but he is extremely lazy for someone his age.
When I notice Hailey watching the same show about soaring tree squirrels, I sigh like a train that’s come to a complete stop and squirts out steam. “This is something I must do alone,” I say to no one in particular. Before I head out the front door, I do the single most important thing a detective must do to solve a crime. . . .
‧ Chapter Six ‧
The Unusual Suspects
In detective movies, the main guy always writes up a list of people he suspects could have done the crime. Then he keeps scratching names off the list one by one. This is a good idea because it helps everybody watching the movie to start guessing who did it.
I create my first list of suspects by simply making a list of the neighborhood dogs.
I look over my list until I’m satisfied that these are all the suspects. I’m feeling better already, but time is slipping away.
If I can nab the mystery doo-doo dog before dinner, I’ll be ten bucks richer by bedtime.
‧ Chapter Seven ‧
Suspect Numero Uno
“Take a good look at this,” I say, handing Mr. Castro an instant photo of a fresh pile of evidence. “Take your time,” I say, watching his face carefully for any signs of guilt. He stands in his doorway with a weird look on his face.
I borrowed (without asking, of course) Hailey’s Girl Chat Sleepover instant camera and snapped a few good pictures of the evidence.
Her camera is pink and covered with flower stickers, but it sure spit out some good photographs. (I figured photos would work better than trying to scoop poop into a plastic bag.) A good detective must always preserve the evidence— and if he can avoid throwing up in the process, all the better.
“It looks like dog poop,” Mr. Castro states simply, looking back into the living room with the same funny look on his face. Meanwhile, his mountain-size dog is barking behind the fence like a crazy seal at feeding time.
“Aren’t you the Sherlock boy?” he asks while squinting his eyes. “Uh, I don’t get the joke, but we’re watching a real good show about flying squirrels right now. Are you selling these photos to raise money or something?”
“Someone’s dog left that on Mrs. Fefferland’s lawn,” I inform him, thinking about how fan- tastic that flying squirrel show must be since half the world seems to be watching it. I get to the point quickly.
“Could that be Ranger’s poop, Mr. Castro?”
“Kid, Ranger sneezes things bigger than this,” he laughs, handing back the photo.
“Ranger weighs over two hundred and thirty pounds. Try looking for a beaver or a pigeon,” he says, and closes the door with a loud thump.
“A beaver?” I say to nobody. “We don’t have beavers around here. And a pigeon dropping poops this size would have to be as big as a microwave oven.”
My second official case is certainly off to a slow start.
I sit on the curb and pull out my list of suspects. I’ve got way too many suspects if I plan to solve this mystery by
After staring at me for a long time, he says, “Sherlock, have you given any thought to joining a sports team? Fresh air and exercise might be good for you.”
“Oh, just forget it,” I mumble.
When my mom hangs up the phone, I call Lance to see if he can come over and help with the case.
“No, thanks,” says Lance.
“I have to watch TV.”
“You don’t have to watch TV, Lance,” I say. “You can come over now and watch TV later, after we solve the case.”
“Well, I have to watch this educational show about flying squirrels with my grandma before I can play a video game,” Lance says 18
very slowly, because he’s watching the flying squirrel show while we’re talking.
“Thanks for helping me out, friend,” I say.
“Hey, you’re getting good at that sarcasm stuff,” he says. “Grandma, did you see that crazy squirrel miss the tree? Uh . . . see ya, Sherlock.”
“Bye,” I say, hanging up the phone. Lance is my best friend, but he is extremely lazy for someone his age.
When I notice Hailey watching the same show about soaring tree squirrels, I sigh like a train that’s come to a complete stop and squirts out steam. “This is something I must do alone,” I say to no one in particular. Before I head out the front door, I do the single most important thing a detective must do to solve a crime. . . .
‧ Chapter Six ‧
The Unusual Suspects
In detective movies, the main guy always writes up a list of people he suspects could have done the crime. Then he keeps scratching names off the list one by one. This is a good idea because it helps everybody watching the movie to start guessing who did it.
I create my first list of suspects by simply making a list of the neighborhood dogs.
I look over my list until I’m satisfied that these are all the suspects. I’m feeling better already, but time is slipping away.
If I can nab the mystery doo-doo dog before dinner, I’ll be ten bucks richer by bedtime.
‧ Chapter Seven ‧
Suspect Numero Uno
“Take a good look at this,” I say, handing Mr. Castro an instant photo of a fresh pile of evidence. “Take your time,” I say, watching his face carefully for any signs of guilt. He stands in his doorway with a weird look on his face.
I borrowed (without asking, of course) Hailey’s Girl Chat Sleepover instant camera and snapped a few good pictures of the evidence.
Her camera is pink and covered with flower stickers, but it sure spit out some good photographs. (I figured photos would work better than trying to scoop poop into a plastic bag.) A good detective must always preserve the evidence— and if he can avoid throwing up in the process, all the better.
“It looks like dog poop,” Mr. Castro states simply, looking back into the living room with the same funny look on his face. Meanwhile, his mountain-size dog is barking behind the fence like a crazy seal at feeding time.
“Aren’t you the Sherlock boy?” he asks while squinting his eyes. “Uh, I don’t get the joke, but we’re watching a real good show about flying squirrels right now. Are you selling these photos to raise money or something?”
“Someone’s dog left that on Mrs. Fefferland’s lawn,” I inform him, thinking about how fan- tastic that flying squirrel show must be since half the world seems to be watching it. I get to the point quickly.
“Could that be Ranger’s poop, Mr. Castro?”
“Kid, Ranger sneezes things bigger than this,” he laughs, handing back the photo.
“Ranger weighs over two hundred and thirty pounds. Try looking for a beaver or a pigeon,” he says, and closes the door with a loud thump.
“A beaver?” I say to nobody. “We don’t have beavers around here. And a pigeon dropping poops this size would have to be as big as a microwave oven.”
My second official case is certainly off to a slow start.
I sit on the curb and pull out my list of suspects. I’ve got way too many suspects if I plan to solve this mystery by
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