Spices: a poetry-verse mystery

John Kazzer.

My foe, 

my enemy, 

my worst-friend ever in the history of why, Samantha-Jae, why 

why why why why why why why. 

Sick. I feel 

sick when I see him

It's got to be him

It's got to be.

What happened:

Ellen's Sweet Treats

came up with a new recipe.

Then the

place was robbed.

Two hours ago:

I went to the scene of the crime (the

back kitchen)

and found that

after a careful search

only one thing was missing.

It was a red-orange powder, according

to Ellen.

A spice that she didn't

tell me the name of; the

secret ingredient

Only one person would have

taken from Ellen, from Joseph,

from their weirdo daughter, Chocolate.

John Kazzer.

Like I said, I was his friend.

Emilia, our town's

resident author, is

f

u

r

i

o

u

s

.

"WHO WOULD DARE TO TAKE

THE SECRET SPICE FOR THE

CARAMEL-CHOCOLATE-SPICE-LATTE?

MY WORST ENEMY, I BET! TRYING TO

RUIN MY STREAK! BITTER,

LIFELESS, TOAD-FACES! I'LL PUNCH

WHOEVER DID IT! OH, THEY WILL

REGERT STEALING FORM ELLEN'S."

It's hard to understand her, but I

think she thinks someone is

sabotaging her effort.

John Kazzer.

He was my friend,

but he sure isn't anymore.

I know that he got in a fight with

Emilia.

He is Suspect 1.

Only suspect.

Okay, Emilia is

overreacting. She's melodramatic. I think

She is only looking at her problems. Got to

see who hates Ellen's Sweet Treats enough

To ruin their business.

Answer: no

one in the world.

Np one but

John Kazzer, who I

can't believe I trusted

ever. Ever.

Why why why, Samantha-Jae.

Oh. Never

introduced myself. I'm

Samantha-Jae Willford, resident

detective.

I haven't found any proof that it's him yet.

Time for

INTERROGATION!!!!!!!!!!!

Did I mention

I'm melodramatic too, and

use too many exclamation points?

I think I should have. I love exclamation

points.

John Kazzer, outside his big,

pale-blue house with his mom' car. He's only 17, so

he lives with his mom. Like I did, before I ran away to

the only place I felt needed.

That's here.

I side up to him, running my finger across a line

of pollen on the cranberry

red Toyota.

"John. Why did you take it."

I say bluntly.

"Take what?"

"The spice."

"What spice?"

"The spice you stole from

Ellen's Sweet Treats." "I

didn't take that." "yes you did"

"I did not" "yes you did" "I did

not" "yes, you did."

"I

DIDN'T

TAKE IT!"

"YES

YOU

SO DID!"

I shove him in

his car and take the wheel.

"You can't drive!"

he screams.

"SO WHAT IF I'M FIFTEEN? I CAN DRIVE!"

"...Legally, you can't."

"You can't steal

secret spices.

Buckle up."

I slam my foot on the gas.

I'm short, and not old enough

to drive, but

I'm wearing black heeled boots

to look taller, and

I'm standing up in my seat.

This gives me an

extra few inches, I think.

The wheel looms

like a massive ship before me.

I grab it

and whisper a Hail Mary under my breath.

Then I push my long black hair out

of my eyes and

Take off.

Driving is harder than it looks.

I've driven before,

leaving my father's house, but

that was different.

For one thing, it wasn't a Toyota. For

another, I didn't have John Kazzer

in the backseat, yelling instructions.

I hit curbs, run red lights, and

go way over the speed limit just to scare

him. This is a small town,

but it's

easy to swerve lanes.

I did it before, when my brother followed me.

We reach the sweets shop/coffee shop.

Chocolate is waiting outside. She's twelve, and

a poet like me, only she

likes love poems.

"I think I know who took it," I

say.

"It's not him," Chocolate says.

"What?"

"He

didn't take it."

"Told you!" John Kazzer

shouts.

I roll my eyes.

"John Kazzer,

WHO TOOOOOOOK IIIIIT?"

"Eliza Ron."

Chocolate says.

I know her. She's obsessed with

baking.

But why? She's only twelve, like

Chocolate.

"She saw it

and asked if she could take it, and I said

we were still working with it. Later, I think

she snuck it out. She

realizes what she's

done.

She

won't do it anymore. She promised."

Chocolate says.

"She just gave it back. In

poetry club. Said

she was sorry for making it look like there was a break-in.

she fell down while we were goofing off and we

never cleaned it.

That was when she took it, I think... She said she's really sorry

and that she'll never do anything like that again."

*.*.*.

Utter failure.

No crime.

No punishment.

Just some kid's mistake, no

actually robbery!

Thus ends my career.

I can no longer solve crimes.

And I blamed John Kazzer.

John Kazzer...

John Kazzer. He

was my only friend.

I told him where I came

from and he almost betrayed

me, told everyone that I was a

runaway, hiding here because of

a fight with my stepbrothers, who

were worse than Cinderella's sisters

because they liked to fight, and I didn't.

I hid because I'd had enough. My father

didn't get it. He had a lot of brothers,

and they were always fighting, but

My stepbrothers fought with me

when I told them not to. They

laughed at me when I went

to punch them and missed.

They laughed when I locked

my bedroom door. Teased me

for not a being rowdy, crazy, sport

-loving boy. So I left. My life had never

felt better than when I was here. It feels bad

all over again, though. I don't know what to do. I

blamed

John Kazzer.

John Kazzer.

I had no reason to blame him

but my own hatred of the boy.

Or man?

Is seventeen old enough to count as a man?

Is it?

"Samantha?" An all-too-familiar voice

asks.

One that has haunted my dreams.

Ever since I ran away...

my stepbrother,

Mick.

How did he trace me?

How did he find out?

How did he--

oh.

It was my mistake.

My mistake, leading to my downfall.

Oh, no.

"Samantha, it's time to come back."

He reaches for my arm. I let him

take it, walking away,

feeling lifeless,

knowing

that it

was

me.

I got myself into this mess.

And now, he's bringing me back.

I step into his car blearily, like

I'm in a dream.

I left because

I didn't want to stay with them anymore.

Now I'm going back, and

it's

all

my

fault.

Why, why why, why, Samantha-Jae, why, why why.