Joe Sherlock Kid Detective 1 : The Haunted Toolshed (9 page)

So Close and Yet So Far

“Who’s that?” Mr. Asher asks in a shaky voice as he bounces around in the wheelbarrow.

“I’ve called for backup,” I huff as I crazily wheel Mr. Asher over the bumpy, uneven ground. “We must make it back to the toolshed.”

“Slow down!” he calls back to me. “I think I just swallowed my gum!”

Mr. Asher’s property stretches from Baker Street all the way back to Highway 67 and the fairgrounds. I’m sure those men in the van have their own evil plans for using this giant piece of property to make a fortune. Maybe as the site of a new football stadium. Or a skyscraper factory. Possibly a long-term parking lot for blimps.

“There it is,” Mr. Asher says, pointing to the dark shape of his toolshed.

I dump Mr. Asher out of the wheelbarrow like a heavy load of chopped wood. There’s no sign of the flashlights that were so close behind us. We’ve lost them. But they can’t be far away.

“C’mon,” I whisper to Mr. Asher as I walk past him and approach the door of the toolshed as quietly as a cat with slippers on.

I take a deep breath, pull my night-light from my pocket, and kick the door open with a bang.

“That’s not an In-spector Wink-Wink night-light, is it?”

Mr. Asher whispers over my shoulder.

“Don’t move, cake stealers!” I squeak, careful not to enter the toolshed while at the same time cursing my guinea pig–like voice.

My nose detects something I’m not familiar with. A sickening, sour smell not unlike the smell of a wet dog. I want to enter the toolshed and have a look around, but I’d feel better with something to protect myself.

“Mr. Asher,” I whisper, reaching behind me, “can I borrow your cane for a minute?” He simply huffs in reply.

“Please, Mr. Asher, I’ll be careful,” I say.

He snorts like he thinks I’m nuts. Without taking my eyes off the door of the toolshed, I reach back farther and tap him on the arm of his wool coat.

Wait . . . I don’t remember any wool coat when we left the house.

I spin around and raise my Inspector Wink-Wink night-light . . .revealing the face of an enormous, orange-haired monster whose sickening breath carries just the slightest hint of crab cakes.

The Beast

“Nice doggie,” I peep.

It’s all I can think to say. Although the monster standing before me is more like a hairy refrigerator than any dog.

My night-light reveals the monster’s heart-stopping face. Yikes!

Going numb with fear, I drop the night-light. It bounces off my grapefruit-size ankle and lands in the grass. The beast is now a large, dim outline against a distant street-light. I look down and see that the light now reveals the beast’s feet, which are actually more like hands than feet.

Remaining motionless, I realize that I’ve solved my mystery. This is the thief I’ve been looking for. A thief who walks on his hands.

“Edward!” a gruff voice calls. I see flashlights coming near us from the direction of the voice.

“Uh . . . I’m Sherlock, not Edward,” my voice quivers.

“Not you, kid,” the voice says. “I’m talking to Edward.”

I’m struck dumb by the idea that someone would actually name a monster Edward.

Edward moves off happily toward the voice, which I now recognize as the voice from the big van with the lion painted on the side.

The beast hugs Mr. Deep Voice and a young woman who is with him.

It’s at this moment I realize what I’m looking at. “It’s an orange monkey,” I say out loud, although I meant to say that to myself.

“This is Edward,” laughs the woman.

“He’s not a monkey; he’s a Bornean orangutan. We’re from the circus. When we came into town last night and started setting up our tents, Edward wandered off.

We’ve been searching for him ever since. I hope he hasn’t caused too much trouble.”

Of course, an orangutan! Suddenly everything starts to make sense.

But why Edward? Who came up with that name? It seems like a huge, ugly orangutan should have a name that fits, like Kong, or Sampson, or Big Red.

“He’s a regular escape artist,” laughs Mr. Deep Voice, handing Edward a mango.

“FREEZE!” a voice off to my right shouts.

“NOBODY MOVE!”

“It’s okay, Officer Lestrade,” I shout into the darkness. “It’s just an orangutan.”

“A what?” Mr. Asher shrieks from the direction of Officer Lestrade.

“It’s just Edward,” I say with a croak. “From the circus. Not to worry, Mr. Asher. The final piece of your mystery has just fallen into place.” Boy, I like the sound of that.

“He’s no harm to anyone,” shouts Mr. Deep Voice, handing another mango to Edward.

“Wait until the guys back at the station hear this one,” Officer Lestrade laughs nervously. He slowly approaches our weird little nighttime gathering, never taking his eyes off Edward.

“I’m so glad you’re not hurt, Sherlock,”

Mr. Asher says, stepping into the light. “I’m sorry I left you. When you kicked open that door, I guess I got spooked. I thought I’d better bring in some reinforcements.”

I smile. “All in a day’s work, Mr. Asher. Or a night’s work. Now I need someone to call my mom, or I’m going to have to run away with the circus.”

Case Closed

I can’t help but feel proud of myself.

I’ve done it. I’ve solved my first official case as a detective. And a tough one. Hailey was right. This case was really a mystery, wrapped in a puzzle, stuffed in a coincidence.

Everyone congratulates me on my “nerves of steel.” Mr. Deep Voice hands me five free tickets to the circus tomorrow. Mr. Asher hands me a check made out to “Sherlock.”

Edward hands me a mango.

Officer Lestrade says he’s going to recommend me for an Outstanding Citizen Award from the Baskerville Board of Supervisors. I’m just glad he’s forgotten about the headless bunny in all the excitement.

I learn from Mr. Deep Voice that the howls and roars we’ve been hearing are actually

“long calls,” a male orangutan’s way of establishing his new territory. The backpack stunt is a trick Edward performs with Kreepy the Clown in the circus. And the bundt cake?

Who knows? Probably just an orangutan’s curiosity, since Edward prefers fresh fruit over cakes and pastries.

Mr. Asher hurries inside to spread the good news and to call my mom at my aunt Peachy’s house. He promises to explain how I saved the day. And night.

Looking back, I realize that I should have known that the prints I found under Mr. Asher’s window were not from a human. It seems so obvious now that I could kick myself.

But I can’t complain. My orangutan mystery made the front page of the metro section in the Baskerville Daily News. And I hung the Outstanding Citizen Award certificate from the Baskerville Board of Supervisors on my wall, right above the photo of me, Hailey, Lance, Grandma Peeker, and Mr. Asher at the circus with Edward the Orangutan and Kreepy the Clown.

There are only two questions that I’m unable to answer at this point:

What’s with the boiling cabbage smell?

And . . .

Will Mr. Alessandri hire me to find out who broke his cement bunny?

Only time will tell.

In the meantime, I’ll keep studying my library of Sherlock Holmes movies, so I’m ready for whatever mystery comes knocking at my door next.