Shortbread Sleuth

Violetta plopped on the floor and glared at her floral basket. She had pulled it out from under the bed to find that it was empty. Very, very, empty.

           This wasn’t any ordinary basket. This basket held her beloved cookies. She had won a pack of shortbreads, her favorite snack, at preschool on Friday, and she was saving them for a special occasion. But now they were gone.

           She perched in front of the basket and thought for an exceptionally long time. Could she have eaten them? No. She would remember something as special as eating shortbread. Sweets were scarce in her house. Did she lose them? No, no. She was positive she had put them here. They had to have been stolen. This was a crime scene.

           Violetta scratched her head and smoothed back her already messed-up ponytail. This wouldn’t be easy. She would have to do some digging. Who would steal her shortbread?

She searched her room for clues. The bed was still unmade, blue blankets and green pillows were thrown together to resemble something like a bird’s nest. Her toybox was still there, with all her toys packed inside. The bookshelf looked normal as well with its rows of books that Violetta did not yet know how to read.

Clues were nowhere to be found. Not a crumb nor a footprint. She perked up. This case called for a detective! Like the ones in those black and white movies Mama loved so much! Violetta grabbed a flashlight, paper, a pencil, and her fedora. No one knew where the hat came from. Despite it slumping down over her eyes and ears, she always wore it because it made her feel sophisticated. She squeaked the bedroom door shut and eased down the hallway.

           Her big brother’s room was two doors down from her own. Alexander was seven years older. This wouldn’t make the first time he had snuck into her room and stole something. Diaries, candy, toys, you name it. He was a likely suspect.

           Violetta took a deep breath. She’d have to stay calm.

           SLAM. “Where are my cookies?” she shrieked.

Alexander was lying on the bed playing video games. His room was an atrocity. Food wrappers, dirty clothes, and video games were scattered across the floor. He could barely be seen over the piles. The shortbread wrapper was probably in one of them. He looked up suddenly, then put his head back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           “Where were you this morning?”

           “Vee, is there a better time to do this?”

           Violetta pondered the question. “I don’t think so. Where were you?”

           Alexander sighed. “If you must know, I was playing a new game. I didn’t leave my room.” Whipping out her flashlight, Violetta kicked over a pile and scoured it for a shortbread wrapper. It was nowhere to be seen.

           “Hey! I just cleaned up in here!”

           “You stole my cookies!”

           Alexander grunted. “I’ve been here all morning.”

           Violetta stepped forward, unsure of his story.

           “Please, Vee, can you get away from the TV? I can’t see!”

           It was no use trying to get any more information from him. He had an alibi. And his room smelled like a skunk.

           Natalia, Violetta’s older sister by twelve years, was the next door down the hall. Violetta put her hand on the bedroom doorknob, but then remembered what happened the last time she had gone in her sister’s room without asking. She decided to knock.

           “Who is it?”

           “Detective Violetta. I need to integrate you.”

           “You mean interrogate?”

           Violetta paused. “Maybe.”

           “I’m busy right now.”

           “Where were you this morning?”

           Natalia slammed something down. “I went out with my friends. Now leave me alone!”

           Well fine. It was not worth arguing with her sister’s sassy mouth. Besides, Natalia was too busy with her cool high school friends to care about cookies.

           Violetta ran her fingers down the walls of the hallway. The olive-green paint was smooth on her little fingers. The rug was soft on her bare feet. She often paced this hallway when she needed to think. It couldn’t have been Alexander. He was playing games. Natalia said she was on the phone. Baby Anya? No, she was napping. She’s too little to crawl anyways. And Max was at his friend’s house. But maybe, she thought, he took them before he left!

           Violetta crept back down the hallway. Max slept in the attic because he didn’t want to share a room with Alexander. It made sense. Max was quiet and organized, two traits her other brother lacked. She carefully pulled open the door to the attic and looked at the staircase. Shivers rolled down her spine. It was pitch black. She wasn’t sure that even her flashlight could fix that. I’m sure he didn’t do it. She wedged the door shut and crawled back across the hallway.

           So, Max didn’t do it. That left Mama and Papa.

           Violetta skittered down the staircase.

           Mama was in the kitchen, baking bread. The smell of yeast flooded the downstairs. Violetta practically floated to the kitchen. Mama had her sandy blonde hair swept into a bun, like usual. Her apron was powdery and white, and she was humming a tune that Violetta loved hearing.

           “Mama?”

           She spun around. “Yes?”

           Violetta hoped up on a stool and got out her paper and pencil. She watched Mama pull two golden brown loaves out of the oven.

           “Where were you this morning?”

           Her mama dramatically tossed a potholder onto the counter and tapped her finger to her lips. “Ah, let’s see. I made this bread, I took baby Anya for a walk, and I weeded the roses. Am I in trouble?” Mama acted as if she were trying to suppress a giggle. Violetta didn’t notice.

           She scribbled on her paper. The paper would be much more helpful if Violetta knew how to write. “No, I don’t think so. Thank you!”

           “Come back in twenty minutes and I’ll give you a slice of bread with butter.”

           “Sure, Mama!” Violetta slid off the stool and walked to the front door. “Where’s Papa?”

           “In the garage.”

           “Thank you!”

           Violetta stepped out into the crisp, cool air. The front yard was Violetta’s favorite place. It had lots of trees for climbing, bushes of flowers to make pretty bouquets, and several bird feeders. Papa always complained about the squirrels, but Violetta thought they were funny. They looked so fluffy and mischievous.

           “Papa?” Violetta peered into the garage.

           “Yes?” Papa was under the car. That car seemed to be broken down more often than it ran.

           “What are you doing down there?”

           Papa rolled out on a little scooter and put down a big wrench. “I’m just working on the car. How’s my little Birdy?” Violetta never knew why Papa called her that, but she liked the sound of it.

           “What were you doing this morning?”

           Papa tapped his lips just like Mama did. They were so much alike. “Let’s see here. I fixed the birdhouse in the backyard, and now I’m working on the car. Oh, and I drank a few cups of coffee earlier.” He winked and slid back under the car. “Is that all, Birdy?”

           “Yes, Papa. Thank you!”

           “You’re welcome!”

           Violetta sulked across the yard. All her suspects were doing something earlier. Her little dog, Masha, barked at her from his lot. She scurried over to him and stood on her tippy-toes to see him over the gate.

           “You didn’t do it. You’ve been in your kennel.”

           Masha whimpered.

           “You are a cute doggie.”

           Masha sat down and wagged his tail.

           Violetta felt utterly defeated. Her precious shortbread cookies were gone. No one in her family had taken them. It looked as if she may never find them. She wanted to cry.

           The breeze felt cold on her little freckled face. It was chilly for early October. A few stray leaves blew around the yard.

           “Violetta! You forgot something!”

           Mama stood on the porch and held up a coat. Violetta detested wearing coats, but she was cold. She ran up to the porch and grabbed her coat. “Thank you, Mama.”

           “Put it on.”

           She shimmied her arms in the wool sleeves while Mama put down the collar. This coat was itchy and thick, unlike her soft, white one. But she was only allowed to wear that coat on Sundays.

           Violetta stuck her hands in the pocket. There was something in the right pocket. Something crinkly. What was it? She pulled it out and smiled.

           A pack of shortbread cookies.

           Of course! She hadn’t taken them out of her pocket after preschool! Violetta grinned ear to ear, realizing what a great detective she was.

It must have been the fedora.