Sixty-Second Solutions 5

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Janson,” said Detective Dirkin, his hat pulled low over his eyes, “but you’re under arrest for stealing the Jewels of Jupiter.”

Flo Mason and Billy Archer sat up straight in their seats on either side of Samantha Spade. Popcorn fell from Billy’s mouth as he stared up at the movie screen. Detective Durkin was busy administering justice to Doctor Janson with the help of a strong right hook.

“Did you hear that, Sam?” Billy whispered to Samantha. “How the heck did he figure out it was the doctor?”

Samantha reached inside her pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. About thirty minutes into the film, “Mystery Ink,” she had scribbled the name “Dr. Janson.” She unfolded the paper and showed it to her friends.

“All the clues were in the doctor’s office,” Samantha said. “The doctor said he was giving injections at the time of the heist, but there were no needles in his medicine bag. That’s what tipped me off.”

As the film ended and the lights came up, the trio made their way toward the exit. It was the Saturday before Memorial Day, and the friends had kicked off the long weekend the night before by seeing another film at the theater, the two-and-a-half-hour “Arachnid Man.”

Samantha explained other clues to the mystery as they squinted in the late afternoon light.

Flo took her matinee ticket, which read “The Great History Mystery, 3 p.m. matinee, $2.50,” and threw it into a waste can. She shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it, Sam,” she said.

Samantha shrugged. “I just pay attention to stuff like that, I guess.”

That was an understatement. In the four months since Samantha and her father had moved to the town of Sallami, she’d built quite a reputation as a detective.

Samantha loved to read mysteries and watch mystery movies, like the 90-minute puzzler she’d just finished. But most of all, she liked to solve real-life mysteries. Her speed at figuring out even the most difficult of problems had led to her nickname: the Sixty-Seconds Solution. As her reputation grew, so did the number of mysteries that came her way.

And another puzzler was about to surface now, outside the Super Cineplex at the Sallami Mall.

Two boys in front of Samantha were laughing and ribbing each other on the way out of the theater. Just then, a security guard grabbed each boy by the arms.

“Are these the ones?” the guard asked, speaking to a blonde girl a few years older than Samantha.

The blonde nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, sir, those are the boys who slashed my bicycle tires.”

“What are you talking about?” said one boy, shaking free of the security guard. He was wearing a black stocking cap and a leather jacket, despite the heat. The other was dressed in a baseball jersey and carried a tub of popcorn.

“You’re the ones,” the girl said. “When I came out of the mall, two were hunched over my bike. When you saw me coming, you ran toward the ticket booth.”

“No way, Jose,” the boy sneered. “Mrs. Carly’s boy, Teddy, has been watching movies the entire afternoon. Isn’t that right, Chet?”

“That’s right,” answered the other boy. “Me an’ Teddy’s been seeing flicks all afternoon. We saw ‘Arachnid Man’ and ‘Mystery Ink.’ See?”

He pulled out his ticket stubs. Teddy did the same.

The security turned toward the blonde.

“Look, Miss…” he began.

“Williams. Lucy Williams,” the blonde answered.

“Yeah. Miss Williams, the two do have ticket stubs, and…”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Lucy. “Why, they could’ve bought tickets and not even seen the film. I’m telling you, these guys slashed my tires.”

Chet laughed. “Look, we saw both movies today. Arachnid Man had that cool explosion at the end, where we learn that The Jade Jack O’ Lantern is really Arachnid Man’s cousin.”

“Yeah, that was cool,” said Teddy. “And then, at the very beginning of ‘Mystery Ink,’ that detective dude gets chased off the mountain by those assassin ninja monks. That was my favorite part.”

By this time, Samantha and her two friends had stopped walking and were watching the situation closely. The security guard noticed them.

“Move along, kids,” he said. “Nothing to see here.”

Flo stepped up to him and explained that her friend, Samantha, was an amateur detective with a rock-solid track record. “Do you think she could take a crack at this one?”

The guard said he didn’t mind. Neither did Lucy or the two boys.

“Could I see your tickets?” Samantha asked Teddy and Chet.

They handed them over. Samantha examined the two pairs of tickets: “Mystery Ink” at the same time as she and her friends had seen it, and “Arachnid Man” at 1:35 p.m. Everything looked in order.

“Careful, you might want to dust those for fingerprints,” Teddy said, laughing.

“Have you seen either of these films before?” Samantha said, looking at the boys.

“Nope,” said Chet. “Saw ‘em both today for the first time.”

“You’re lying,” said Samantha. “And you’re probably lying about the bicycle tire, too.”


HOW DID SAMANTHA KNOW? SEE BELOW FOR THE SOLUTION.

* * * * * 

Samantha knew that Arachnid Man, which began at 1:35 p.m., was two-and-a-half hours long. But the boys had described the end of that film and the beginning of “Mystery Ink,” which started at 3 p.m., before the first movie was finished.

Realizing they had been caught in one big lie, Chet and Teddy admitted that they had skipped out early from the 1:35 showing of “Arachnid Man,” a film they’d seen the week before, to cause mischief in the parking lot. When Lucy caught them slashing her tires, they’d run back into the theater and bought tickets for “Mystery Ink,” where they dreamed up what they thought was a perfect alibi.

Sixty-Second Solutions 4

“Okay, class, turn ’em in!”

Mrs. Pierce, a former Army drill sergeant turned teacher, barked the order from her desk. Every student reached into their science folders and produced reports bound in clear plastic folders.

Samantha Spade was no exception. Her typewritten report, “Black Holes and the Scientists Who Love Them,” was carefully cradled between two plastic sheaths. It had a one-and-a-quarter-inch margin on the left, and one-inch margins on the other three sides, double-spaced, with page numbers in the top right margin exactly one-half inch from the edge of the paper. The report was also handwritten, per Mrs. Pierce’s directive. A handwritten paper taught discipline with a pen , she said.

When you were a student in “Precise” Pierce’s class, you learned to follow orders – or else.

Samantha placed her paper in the waiting left hand of the student in front of her, who then placed his paper on top of hers and passed it forward. Mrs. Pierce collected each row in turn, starting at the right of the room and working left with military precision.

When she finished, she thumbed through the collected stack, alternately nodding in approval or frowning in disgust at the quality of the class’s work.

“Shane, nice job on the right margin. Razor sharp!” she beamed, followed by, “Mary, only one “T” in astronomy. Spell check!”

But then she paused for a great while as she thumbed through the remainder of the reports. She scowled. “There are 24 students in this room, but I have only 23 papers.”

“Suzette and Melissa Markel!” she barked. In the last two seats of the third row, the two twins sat up straight, their pigtails nodding.

“Yes, Mrs. Pierce,” they answered in unison. Both were wearing soccer jerseys, blue jeans and bright white tennis shoes. Their own mother had a hard time telling them apart, let alone the rest of the class.

“I have only 24 reports here, and there are 25 students in this class,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs. Pierce,” they said again. The rest of the class gasped. Failure to turn in a report by the due date resulted in the loss of a full letter grade.

“The problem is, one of the reports doesn’t have a name,” the teacher continued. “And from the way I collected the reports, it belongs to one of you two.”

“It’s mine!” said Suzette.

“It’s mine!” echoed Melissa, seated directly behind her.

“Well, quite a conundrum we have here, ladies,” said Mrs. Pierce, pacing back along the aisles.

“Melissa, what was your report about?”

“Jupiter,” they both answered, then frowned at each other.

“No fair,” said Suzette from behind her sister. “She saw the title of my paper when I passed it to her!”

Mrs. Pierce slapped the paper on top of Suzette’s desk. Melissa craned her neck around to see it. Samantha, who sat next to Suzette, could see the report clearly. It read:

Jupiter:

Gas Giant of

The Solar System

The words “gas,” “giant,” “the” and “solar” were terribly smudged.

Mrs. Pierce stared intently at the handwriting. Like everything else the twins were involved in, it was identical.

“That paper’s mine, you big cheater!” said Melissa, throwing her erasable pen with her left hand.

“Is not, it’s mine!” said Suzette, throwing down her pen with her right hand. “You left yours at home, and now you’re just trying to muscle in on my grade!

Samantha’s mind was racing. Here was a bona fide mystery, right in the middle of her sixth grade science class! Since they lived in the same house, each twin would know the topic of the other’s report, and probably know the contents well enough to fake their way through one of “Precise” Pierce’s oral interrogation.

Of course, a quick call home to the Markel house would reveal whose name was on any forgotten report, and so reveal the liar. But that was like cheating, Samantha thought.

Fingerprinting might answer the question, too, since even identical twins have distinct prints. But more than likely, the fingerprints of both girls would appear on the paper. Handwriting analysis would also reveal differences between the two girls’ cursive, but Samantha doubted that even Mrs. Pierce would want to go to that much trouble over a science report.

Samantha stared at her wristwatch. She’d been thinking about this for 45-seconds now. There was barely time to solve the case and still save her reputation for 60-second solutions!

The answer had to be close at hand …

“That’s it!” she said, barely suppressing a shout of “Eureka!”

Mrs. Pierce looked at her. “That’s what, Samantha?

“Can I see the report for a moment?” she asked.

The teacher shrugged and handed it to her. Samantha instantly pulled a pencil from her backpack and began erasing the word “Jupiter.”

“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Mrs. Pierce shouted, pulling the paper away from Samantha.

“Solving a mystery,” Samantha said smugly, sitting back with her arms folded across her chest. “I know which twin wrote that paper.”

WHICH TWIN IS TELLING THE TRUTH? SEE BELOW FOR THE ANSWER.

* * * * *

A left-handed person has great difficulty writing with an erasable pen without smudging the lines, as the side of the hand blots the ink while as he or she writes. Since the first few words on each line of the title page were smudged, Samantha correctly guessed that the person writing it was left-handed.

When Samantha saw Melissa throw down her erasable pen with her left hand, and Suzette with her right, she knew the two twins weren’t identical in all things. Melissa, the left-hander, had written the paper.

Confronted by the evidence, Suzette admitted that she had forgotten her paper

Even though she lost a whole letter grade, her exceptional report on “Real Astronomy in the Star Trek Universe” still netted her a solid B+.

Sixty-Second Solutions 3

“It was a leprechaun, I tell you – a leprechaun!”

Thelma Archer shouted at her grandson, Billy. Samantha Spade stood beside the window in Billy’s bedroom, wincing at the high-decibel level.

“Grandma, we believe you saw something,” said Billy. “But a leprechaun?”

“Don’t believe your old Grandma, huh?” Thelma retorted, tapping her temple with one forefinger. “Think she’s going soft in the attic? A few flakes short of a Corn Flakes box, maybe?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Aw, Gram, it’s nothing like that.”

Thelma was getting geared up for another round of shouting when Samantha interrupted.

“Mrs. Archer, could we go over the facts once again, please?”

Billy had phoned Samantha and told her to get over to his house. His grandmother had been raving that she’d seen a leprechaun climbing the spouting on the house.

Thelma Archer sighed deeply and sat down on Billy’s bed, hands folded primly on her lap.

“It’s like this, dear,” Mrs. Archer said. “I was putting away the clean laundry in Billy’s room before I got ready for work when I saw the leprechaun outside the window, shinnying up the side of the house. He was dressed in green, with reddish-orange hair and a green hat.”

As she spoke, her thick eyeglasses slipped down her nose. She pushed them back up promptly.

“And you were wearing your glasses at the time?” Samantha asked.

“Well, no,” she admitted.

Billy looked momentarily triumphant and was ready to chime in when Samantha elbowed him into silence.

“And did this leprechaun ... do anything?” asked Samantha.

“He hopped up on top of the porch and danced around for a few seconds,” Thelma replied, fiddling with her glasses. “Then, he climbed back down. I called for Billy, but by the time he got here, the leprechaun was gone.”

From Billy’s bedroom window, Samantha could see down the street to Salvador’s Diner, where Thelma worked as a hostess. “What time do you go to work, Mrs. Archer?”

Thelma glanced at her watch and jumped up. “Oh my, I should be there now.”

“We’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind,” Samantha said.

While Mrs. Archer got ready for work, the two friends waited outside, next to a City of Sallami Municipal trashcan (“Keep Sallami Beautiful”). Billy kicked the can in disgust.

“She’s not crazy, Samantha,” he said. “But there’s no way she saw a leprechaun.”

“Calm down,” Samantha replied. “We just need to collect more information. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

A few minutes later the trio was making its way through the parking lot of Salvador’s Diner. Thelma had changed into her uniform, a green top and visor and navy blue slacks.

At the door, Vinnie Furnier, Samantha’s neighbor, who also worked at the restaurant, greeted them. He was also dressed in green and blue, his green visor clashing with his bright orange hair and freckles.

“Greetings, Mrs. Archer,” Vinnie said. “Care for a mint?” He held up a wicker basket filled with individual pieces of chocolate wrapped in green foil. “It’s part of our St. Patty’s Day special.”

“No thank you, Vincent,” said Thelma. “But it’s nice of you to ask.”

Billy leaned over to Samantha and whispered, “Do you smell what I smell?”

“Yeah,” Samantha whispered back. “A rat.”

“I’d offer you a piece of candy, kids, but the boss says to save ‘em for paying customers,” Vincent sneered. He was still angry with Samantha for foiling his attempt steal Billy’s paper route two months earlier.

“What does the boss say about leaving work to climb up people’s spouting, Vinnie?” asked Samantha, sweetly.

Vinnie rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about, Brain Drain? I’ve been here for the last three hours, handing out mints to customers and hawking the $5.99 St. Patty’s Day Stuffed Peppers. It’s a sweet job, too: Mr. Salvador told to eat as many mints as I want. He bought ‘em in bulk.”

Vincent pointed to three boxes of mints stacked against the side of the building. A broom and a dustpan leaned against the boxes. The dustpan was filled with cigarette butts, some restaurant receipts and a crushed Coca-Cola can.

As he spoke, Vinnie unwrapped a mint and popped it into his mouth, stuffing the empty wrapper into his front pocket.

“See, minty fresh breath,” he said, exhaling deeply into Samantha’s face. The reek of chocolate was overpowering.

“We believe you, Vincent,” said Thelma, who turned to scowl at Samantha. “Vincent’s a dear boy, Samantha. He would never lie.”

Behind her back, Vinnie mock-smiled and innocently batted his eyes.

“What’s going on out here?” boomed a baritone voice from the doorway of the restaurant. It was Mr. Salvador, the diner’s owner, wearing a bow tie and a white apron. “I pay you to give out candy, not talk with your school chums, eh?”

Samantha stepped forward and explained her suspicions to Mr. Salvador. He rubbed his chin as he listened. “Vinnie, is this true? Did you leave the restaurant and climb poor Thelma’s roof? I’ve been too busy inside to check on you.”

“No, sir, I’ve been here all the time, sweeping the sidewalk and handing out mints. Oh, and eating a lot of them, too.” He patted his stomach appreciatively.

“Good boy,” said Mr. Salvador. “But where’s your name tag, eh?”

“Oops, forgot to put it on,” Vinnie replied. He thrust both hands into his front pockets and pulled them inside out. The wrapper for the mint he had just eaten fluttered out. Otherwise, they were empty.

“Guess I must have left it at home, Mr. Salvador,” Vinnie said. “Sorry.”

“Sorrier than you know,” Samantha said. “Because now I can prove that you’re our roof-crawling leprechaun.”

HOW DOES SAMANTHA KNOW? SEE BELOW FOR DETAILS.

* * * * *

If Vincent had been eating mints at his job for the last three hours, the mint wrappers would either be in his pockets or in the dustpan. But they weren’t. Samantha concluded that Vinnie had dumped the wrappers in the City of Sallami trashcan outside the Archer’s house.

Faced with the prospect of dumping the municipal trashcan to find the wrappers, Vinnie confessed that he had left his job to pull a prank. He hoped to scare Billy by peeking in his bedroom window. When he saw Mrs. Archer, he was so scared that he lost his balance and almost fell off the roof. He ran back to work, hoping that she hadn’t seen him.

Without her glasses, the near-sighted Mrs. Archer confused Vinnie’s green uniform and orange hair for a leprechaun. The leprechaun’s “dance” was really Vinnie waving his arms to keep his balance.

Vinnie lost his job, but Samantha and Billy got a free meal – the St. Patrick’s Day Stuffed Pepper Special and all the mints they could eat, served by an appreciative Mrs. Salvador and Billy’s grandmother.

Sixty-Second Solutions 2

The paper football skipped across the lunchroom table, landing squarely in Samantha Spade’s applesauce.

She looked up, and there stood Andy D’Brillo, the meanest kid in Sallami Middle School’s sixth-grade class.

“Hey, new kid,” Andy sneered. “Word around the playground is that you’re some kind of detective. Well, solve that!”.

Using her fork, Samantha fished out the folded paper and shook off the applesauce. As she carefully unfolded it, she invited Andy to sit down. The only other people at the table were Billy Archer and Flo Mason, the two friends that Samantha had made during her first few two months at Sallami.

It was hard being the new kid, but Samantha was used to it. Her father traveled around the country installing computer systems and always brought Samantha along. Even if it meant starting at a new school in January, which is what had happened to Samantha last month.

She looked out the cafeteria window at the swirling snow flurries and sighed. Her dad’s last job had been in sunny California.

Andy was right about one thing: Samantha was a detective. She loved mysteries, a habit she’d picked up from her father. Her bookshelf at home was stuffed with mystery stories, and she enjoyed applying principles of reason and deduction to real life. She was so successful that she built a reputation in every town she visited as a capable, amateur sleuth. History was repeating itself in Sallami.

The piece of paper in front of her was a puzzler, indeed.

“What the heck does it mean?” asked Archer, staring down at the handwritten note, written inside a red Valentine’s heart. It said:

dear andy,

neat composition. Every Word is typed. how many errors?

First Letter over.

After studying the message for exactly one minute, Samantha said, “Interesting. Where’d you find this, Andy?”

“It was on my books when I brought my lunch tray back to the table,” he said. “I thought maybe it was from the gym teacher, since my mom typed my report about “Soccer Stars Around the World” before I read it to the gym class yesterday, but I don’t think old Mrs. Grubbtongue would send me a Valentine folded up like a paper football, do you?”

“Probably not,” Samantha said. “But it’s safe to assume that whoever put the Valentine on your books is someone in this lunch room, correct?”

Archer, Flo, and Andy looked at each other and shrugged. Sure, that made sense.

“So we’ve narrowed our list of suspects from 355, the approximate number of students in this school, to about 60. True?”

“Uh, yeah, whatever you say,” Andy replied.

“Now, whoever sent you this Valentine knew about your typed gym paper. So we can narrow our list of suspects further by eliminating everybody except the people in this lunchroom who are also in your gym class.”

Andy looked around the cafeteria. “That still leaves us with about…twenty kids, including you, Flo and Archer,” he said.

“Correct,” said Samantha, “which gives me an idea for gym class tomorrow.”

Andy rolled his eyes. Gym was going to be terrible for the next week: Tomorrow, they started a unit on dancing, where students selected partners and learned dance steps from around the world. It was universally loathed, especially by boys.

Samantha continued: “Our culprit might try to pass you another Valentine tomorrow. He or she knows you’ll be on your guard, especially during lunch. Maybe they’ll try to slip the Valentine onto your books during gym class, so we should keep a sharp lookout.

“Archer, I want you to pick me for your dance partner tomorrow. We’ll keep an eye on the west side of the gym.” Samantha looked straight at Flo. “And Andy, I want you to pick Flo as your partner. You two can watch the east side. If anybody acts suspiciously or tries to pass a second Valentine, one of us will spot it.”

Samantha handed the soggy Valentine back to Andy, picked up her spoon and started to eat.

“That’s it?” Andy stood up. “That’s the best you can do? What kind of detective are you, anyway?”

“Detective work is 90 percent perspiration and 10 percent inspiration,” Samantha said, smirking. “You didn’t expect me to solve the case just by staring at that note for sixty seconds, did you?”

“Well, I…I…” he stammered.

“Look, are you in or not?” Samantha asked.

“Okay, okay, I’ll play along with your silly game and pick Flo as my partner. But if we don’t find who sent the note, I’m gonna write the Cheerios company and have ‘em revoke your detective license!” He stalked off, muttering under his breath, “Sheesh, some detective!”

Archer stood up. “Looks like you blew that one, Sam. I’m going for an ice cream sandwich. Need anything?”

The two girls said no. After Archer headed for the freezer, Samantha turned to Flo.

“Well, at least you’ll get to dance with Andy tomorrow, which was the reason you wrote him that note in the first place,” she said. “Under that tough guy exterior, he seems like a nice boy.”

Flo’s face flushed. “Me? But I didn’t …! Oh, forget it, I can’t lie to you. Yeah, I sent the Valentine. I like Andy, but I’m too shy to ask him to dance. Part of me hoped he would break the code, and part of me didn’t. I can’t believe that you solved that in sixty seconds. It took me hours to write last night!”

She patted Samantha’s hand. “Thanks for not letting on, Sam, and for tricking him into dancing with me. You’re a real friend!”


HOW DID SAMANTHA KNOW THAT THE NOTE WAS WRITTEN BY FLO?

SEE BELOW FOR THE SOLUTION.

* * * * * 

SOLUTION: Samantha noticed that the only capitalized words in the letter were Every, Word, First and Letter. So she read only the first letter of every word (including the salutation) and discovered this message: “Dance with me – Flo.”

The following day, Andy and Flo danced together in gym class, and she told him the truth. Later that week, they danced again at the school’s Valentine’s Day party. He soon stopped being the meanest kid in school.

Sixty-Second Solutions 1

Samantha Spade was the world’s greatest detective.

Unfortunately, she was the only person in the city of Sallami who knew it.

Since she had been old enough to read, Samantha had devoured the mystery books on her father’s bookshelf. She read the adventures of Sherlock Holmes from cover to cover, admiring how the master detective untied knotty clues. She loved writer Edgar Allen Poe, whose stories were full of giant apes and poisoned letters. She especially enjoyed tough guy stories by Dashiell Hammett; his character, Sam Spade, had inspired her father to name her “Samantha.”

After exhausting her father’s bookshelf, she went to the library to find real-life stories of police officers, detectives and other experts. By the age of eleven, she knew more about police procedure and science than any child her age, and was better than most adults at applying observation and deduction. She worked hard to be a good amateur detective, and it showed.

But it hadn’t shown in Sallami – yet.

That’s because we just got here, thought Samantha, as she stepped out of the passenger side of the yellow moving van. Her father, computer programmer Kent Spade, had stopped the van in front of the two-story house that they would rent for the next year while he installed new computer systems for the local school.

Samantha pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail and secured it with a rubber band. She looked at the house and sighed. This would be her third home in as many years. Her dad’s job kept them hopping from state to state and school to school. She wondered what Sallami Middle School would be like, if the teachers were nice, and if she would make friends.

And she wondered where she would find her first mystery.

She didn’t have long to wait.

“Your dog bit me, you little punk!” a voice screamed.

A yellow Labrador retriever and a boy about Samantha’s age, with a newspaper delivery bag over one shoulder, sprinted around the back of a house across the street. An orange-haired teenager wearing a pair of biking shorts and a dirty T-shirt burst through the front door. He was the one yelling.

The younger boy and the dog scrambled across the street and around the van, almost running into Samantha.

The teenager caught up to him, grabbed the younger boy by the shirt and shook him. The dog growled and jumped on the teen’s back.

“Ouch! See, he did it again!” the teen screamed. “Dumb dog bit me twice!”

Samantha’s dad stepped between the two boys. “What’s going on here?”

In between plenty of yelling and finger-pointing, they told their story. The teen, whose name was Vinnie Furnier, had been watching television when he heard the Labrador retriever rooting through the trashcan in his backyard. He ran out to stop it.

“And that’s when the kid told the dog to bite me!” Vinnie said.

“I did not!” said the younger boy, whose name was Billy Archer. “He didn’t even come outside. Just yelled at my dog, Chief, out the back door!”

“Well, if that’s the case, how do you explain the teeth marks on my behind? I’ll sue you, and what’s more, I’ll get you fired from your stupid paper route!”

“Let’s take a look at the bite marks,” said Mr. Spade. “You might need a doctor.”

“No way!” Vinnie retorted, covering his rump with his hands. “Forget it!”

“Well, son, how do we know if you’re telling the truth without seeing the evidence?” Mr. Archer asked.

Samantha spoke up. “Dad, there’s an easier way to…get to the bottom of this.” She giggled at the pun.

“And who are you?” asked Vinnie, arms folded across his chest.

“I’m Samantha Spade. My dad and I are your new neighbors. And I’m also an amateur detective.”

Vinnie snorted. “Detective, huh? Gimme a break!”

“With your permission, I’d like to investigate.”

“OK with me,” said Billy, shifting his newspaper bag to the other shoulder. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Vinnie glared. “Whatever. Do your worst, Sherlock.”

Samantha looked up at her father. “Is it OK, Dad?”

He smiled. He knew his daughter couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Go ahead, honey. But be careful.”

Samantha, Billy and Vinnie crossed the street. They walked along the sidewalk and then stepped into the backyard. Even though it was the middle of January, the lawn was a muddy mess. Unseasonably warm weather had melted all the snow, and two days of rain had turned soggy lawns into mud pits.

“OK, here’s the proof, Sherlock,” said Vinnie, pointing to the trashcan. The lid had been knocked off, and garbage was strewn all around. The handles of the can showed teeth marks. Samantha showed them to Billy.

“I never said my dog didn’t get into the trash,” said Billy. “I was cleaning it up when Vinnie started yelling out the back door.”

Samantha ignored Billy. She said, “Go ahead, Vinnie. What happened next?”

Vinnie said that he ran into the back lawn to chase the dog away with a broom. When he reached the trashcan, the dog bit him. After the dog bit him, both it and Billy ran around the side of the house, while Vinnie ran back inside.

Samantha looked for footprints, but the ground was so muddy she couldn’t see any. She asked if they could go inside.

In the kitchen, she saw a table with four chairs, refrigerator, stove, white tile flooring and wooden cupboards. A broom stood in the corner. Samantha could hear the sound of the television set, presumably in the living room.

Samantha and Billy wiped their feet on the mat. Vinnie didn’t bother, but marched into the kitchen, his shoes leaving a single set of muddy tracks behind him.

“I came inside and ran right out the front door to cut off the little creep,” Vinnie said, massaging his rear end and wincing. His eyes welled up with tears.

“And for the pain and suffering that mutt of yours caused, I hope you lose your job!” he said, pointing directly at Billy.

Samantha laughed. “There’s about as much chance of Billy losing his job as there is of you winning an Oscar for those crocodile tears.”

“W-what?” Vinnie stammered.

“Not only were you never bitten by Billy’s dog, but you were never even in the backyard.”


HOW DOES SAMANTHA KNOW THAT VINNIE IS LYING? See below for the solution! 


SOLUTION:

When Vinnie invited Samantha into the house, she noticed that his shoes left a single muddy track across the white tile floor. If he had truly been in the muddy backyard earlier, there would have been a second set of footprints, as well.

When Vinnie saw his scheme was foiled, he confessed that he only wanted to get Billy fired from the paper route so he could take it over.

Billy and Samantha became friends. When he told everyone at school that she had solved his dilemma in less than 60 seconds, her reputation in Sallami was off to a fine start.

Vinnie got a job at the local restaurant, mopping floors.

* * * * *

The above story is the first in a series of twelve, originally published around 2001 or 2002 in The Alliance Review. Unlike the series I reprinted earlier this summer (The Story Plague), each installment is self-contained. I don't believe that Steve Wiandt, who illustrated the previous series so wonderfully, created any art for this. 

As I recall, these ran as quarter-page pieces, with the reader instructed to turn to another page deeper in the paper for the solution. 

My inspiration for Sixty-Second Solutions was the Encyclopedia Brown mysteries that I enjoyed so much as a kid. 

I don't remember much else about writing these, except for the realization about halfway through that plotting mysteries was harder than I thought it would be. I tried to play fair, not assuming any special knowledge on the part of the reader, but instead including everything necessary to solve each "crime" in the story itself. 

Did anybody catch my Alice Cooper reference in this installment? 

Get your zombie on!

I'm a sucker for anthologies, and Zombies! Zombies! Zombies! is a very good one. 

Truthfully, I'm not even a super fan of zombies. I mean, I like Night of the Living Dead and The Walking Dead, although I'm a bigger fan of the latter's comic-book incarnation than the TV show adaptation. And World War Z, 28 Days Later, and a few other zombie-centric movies are OK, too. 

But my go-to supernatural creature has always been the vampire. 

Nevertheless, I can't quibble with the breadth and depth of editor Otto Penzler's zombie volume, published in 2011. He's packed many drooling, shuffle-footed examples into every one of this book's 810 pages. 

It helps that Penzler's definition of a zombie is very liberal: If it was once dead and has come back to life, it's a zombie. Fair enough. This book is jam-packed with scary stuff from Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Richard Laymon, Guy de Maupassant, and dozens more. 

One reason I like anthologies is that readers can dip into them as frequently or infrequently as they desire. A few months ago, I read the Robert E. Howard classic, "Pigeons from Hell" in this volume. Last week, Theodore Sturgeon's "It" caught my attention. 

("It," by the way, predates the muckman-in-comics craze—Swamp Thing, Man-Thing, et al.—by several decades. It's also a heckuva story. Penzler says that Sturgeon "was admired by, and was an influence on, his peers far disproportionate to his success with readers." That may be, but I really enjoy "It.")

I may well put Zombies! Zombies! Zombies! aside for a few weeks or months, but I know another story is waiting whenever I get the urge for things that go shuffle in the night. 

I'm always on the hunt for more good anthology titles. Share any favorites! 

The Story Plague Chapters 1-12

Each chapter features characters and events from famous stories, relocated to the Alliance locale, as two children try to save the city from a “Story Plague” unleashed by a mysterious character from literature.

Here are all twelve chapters in one place. It was fun to revisit this work and get it into digital format. 

I hope you enjoyed it! 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Behind-the-Scenes Stuff