Moving Mudball Mashes Mind

In an age when kids played outside, no, more than that, practically lived outside, and imagination was the only toy most kids had or could afford, a friendly gang of boys, who have been friends for most of their lives, stumbled on a mystery that started with a thrown mud ball. Since the gang ate, slept, and breathed Dick Tracy comic books, Jack, the oldest of the bunch, took the case in hand. 

It would be a difficult challenge to find the hitman, not because of a lack of evidence but because of the overwhelming amount of evidence. Every one of the suspects had dirty hands. Of course, they did. They were all making mud pies. They all had dirty faces. But only one of them could have thrown the mud ball.

Jack paced back and forth in front of the boys, lined up like a police lineup, each wearing muddy overalls. Each pair of eyes followed his every step. Right. Left. Right. Left. Each boy looked nervous. Jack was the best Dick Tracy detective in their gang, and his interrogations were legendary. Each tried not to look guilty, especially the innocent ones. They had only one thought. Who hit Jack in the back of his head with a mud ball? Except for the guilty one. His only thought was not to get caught.

"I know one of you did it," Jack said as he put his hands behind his back, with a look of concentration on his face. "But which one of you?" Jack stopped and stared at each of them. He saw the real Dick Tracy stare down several criminals. His stare alone caused them to crack, and they would confess to their crimes. So, Jack stared, just like Dick Tracy. But no one broke. He walked over to Kyle.

"You look like you're hiding something."

"Not me. It wasn't me."

"Then why do you look so guilty?"

"It's because you keep staring at me. You're making me nervous."

Jack moved down the line.

"Umm. Where were you when the mud ball hit my head?" Jack was looking right at Wildcat.

"Hiding behind that tree over there." He pointed.

"Interesting. You picked a tree in front of me. How convenient. You couldn't hit the back of my head if you were in front of me. The only problem is I don't remember seeing you there."

"That's because I was hiding."

Jack moved on. He stared at Sam, the youngest in their gang. Then Rod, the only redhead. Then Phil, the only Presbyterian. And then, Ed, the only one with just two letters in his name.

"Alright, Ed, come with me to the treehouse," Jack said.

Ed looked shocked and terrified. "Wh-wh why, why me?"

"Because I'm going to interrogate you."

Ed looked apprehensive but began to follow Jack to the treehouse.

"The rest of you stay here until it's your turn," Jack said as he led Ed away.

In the treehouse, Jack stood while Ed sat on an old couch cushion.

"How can you prove you didn't throw the mud ball?" Jack said with such an accusatory tone that it made Ed shrink back.

"I thought I was innocent until proven guilty."

"That's the Constitution. We are going by the Treehouse Rules. And the Treehouse Rules say you're guilty until you prove you're not."

"When did we agree to that? Hey? You just made that up."

"I'm the leader. I can do that."

"That makes sense. How can I prove my innocence?" He thought out loud. "Oh! I know! You've played baseball with me, and you've seen me throw. Do you think I could hit your head?"

"That is a good point. I forgot you're the worst thrower I've ever seen. You can go. Tell Sam he's next."

"Sure, but I need to tell you that Sam told me he was going to get you for calling him a baby last week."

"Umm. The plot thickens." Jack thought to himself.

"So, you thought you would get even for calling you a baby when you got stung by that bee last week? Just confess, and I might go easy on you."

"No! It wasn't me. I was mad you made fun of me, but I would never throw a mud ball at you."

"I think you did. I think you wanted revenge. And when you saw your opportunity, you took it."

"I plead the 2nd," Sam said.

"I just told Ed we are not using the Constitution!" Jack said as he raised his arms in frustration. "And you mean the 6th. The 2nd is the one where no one can drink beer."

"Then what can I plead?"

"Nothing! There is no pleading in the Treehouse Rules. Just confess."

"Wait a minute. I remember running past the tree swing when I heard you yell. How could I hit you from that distance?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember seeing you now. Gee-whiz, if you didn't do it, who did?"

"I think it was Kyle. He looks so guilty. You saw him. He couldn't even look you in the eye. But then again, I don't remember seeing him behind that tree, and I had a good view from the tree swing."

"Man, the plot thickens again," Jack said. "Tell Wildcat to come here."

"So, you say you were taking cover behind a tree. I think you're lying! You threw that mud ball, didn't you?" Jack said.

Wildcat shook his head emphatically.

"Then prove it!"

"How do I do that?"

"I don't know. Well, you could describe the back of the tree, and I'll check to see if you're right."

"I remember a carved D and H with a heart between them."

"Stay here," Jack said as he descended the treehouse. He checked the back of the tree and found the carving. Jack turned to the gang of boys still standing outside the treehouse. "Kyle and Rod! Treehouse!" He pointed, and they both went.

Back in the treehouse, Jack told Wildcat that he could leave. He then stared at the last two boys. "So, it has to be one of you two," Jack said. Both boys looked guilty. "I can't say I'm surprised. I thought it was one of you two from the beginning."

"Then why did you interrogate the other guys first?" Rod asked.

"Because it was fun," Jack said. "But now we come to the end. One of you confess."

"I'm not going to," Kyle said while still not making eye contact with Jack.

"Me neither," Rod said.

"Well, how do we get to the end of this mystery?" Jack asked.

"We could call it a tie," Rod said.

"A tie!" Jack said. "How can you have a tie on being guilty? I've never read a Dick Tracy comic book that ended in a tie."

"I haven't either," Rod said. "But I'm getting hungry, and my mom expects me back before dark."

"Fine. The game is over. But before we leave, tell me who did it."

"Dick Tracy would have figured it out himself," Rod said. "I left so many clues that even a wannabe should have figured it out."

Jack's eyes went to Rod's. "Aha! I was crossing my fingers. The game isn't over, and I found the guilty man. I win again!"

Rod, realizing what he had done, kicked the couch cushion. "That's not fair. You always win. I get to be Dick Tracy next time."

"Fine," Jack said. "But you still have to say, 'I'm the best Dick Tracy Wannabe."

"You are the best Dick Tracy wannabe," Rod said with his head lowered. "Can we go eat now?"

"Ha ha, sure," Jack said. "We'll play again tomorrow."