Robinski Jones and the Missing Mango Pie

Nemo ran into the house, eyes rolling and tongue lolling, his dark curly fur puffing in distress, his paws tracking dirt onto the carpeted floor. Robin stood in shock, but the fifteen-year old bit back a severe scolding when he saw the anxiety in his dog’s eyes. Instead, he patted the nervous furball’s head and followed him into the backyard. He froze at the edge of the sliding doors, eyes widening. Nothing in his young life could have prepared him for this. It was a calamity. The perfect crime.

The mango pie was gone.

Robin threw his hands to the heavens and released a bellowing grunt of exasperation.

Take the pie out of the oven in twenty minutes and put it out to cool, his parents instructed as they drove away to Costco. His older brother, Patrick, was visiting from university, and his family was putting together a special dinner to celebrate.

Any minute now, Patrick would walk in. His nostrils, despite their generally underwhelming sense of smell, would flare suddenly at the aroma of his favorite fruit. His entire body would sparkle with anticipation. Yet he would be met only with disappointment, because Robin SOMEHOW managed to mess up his ONE JOB.

Afterwards, their parents would get home and get mad and take away Robin’s phone for a few days. This was much more concerning than the world-shattering disappointment that awaited his brother.

“Nemo,” said Robin gravely, kneeling to face the dog. “We need to find out what happened to the delicious mango pie.”

Robin scanned Nemo’s face for any signs of a hastily eaten mango pastry, not wanting to offend the young pup with a baseless accusation. Nemo hadn’t barked – he always barked if there were strangers nearby. Then both their heads turned quick as a whip as a rustle in the backyard hedge broke the evening silence. A couple birds flew out in a fright. That’s when Robin saw his first clue. Two barely-visible grooves in the grass travelling in parallel lines from the hedge to the table were the dearly-missed pie was laid to rest. The grooves kept going. Robin followed them, crouching low, Nemo trailing close behind. It took them around the house to the driveway.

A cold shiver of unease crept up Robin’s toes. He was no longer safe in this community. The houses surrounding his own no longer belonged to neighbours – they belonged to suspects. And there was no doubt in his mind regarding the identity of Suspect No. 1.

Robin stomped over to Martin’s house, right next door. Martin sat serenely on his front porch, enjoying an ice-cold beer, as per usual.

“Hey kid! Want a drink?” said Martin.

“I’m fifteen!” said Robin. “And my brother says beer tastes like pee.”

Martin was a university student, and always had huge parties at his house. On holidays, the parties got so big that the crowds blocked off the street. Robin’s dad was sad one night when he saw a student take a leak through the fence onto his backyard. It wouldn’t be beneath these hooligans to steal a mango pie.

“Have you seen any delicious mango pies around here lately?” asked Robin subtly.

Martin cringed. “Mango in a pie? Huh.”

Robin shook his head. He’d clearly overestimated Martin’s sense of culture. But if Martin wasn’t the neighbourhood traitor, who was?

Nemo ran to the hedge, sniffing at the grooves in the grass.

“Of course!” Robin exclaimed. “Nemo, you’re a genius!”

The grooves! They must’ve been from a set of wheels! And there’s only one person on this street who strolls around with a set of wheels: Robin’s other next-door-neighbour, Mr. Elroy, with his walker. Mr. Elroy is a stately old gentleman, as rich in manners as in coin. But Robin had never thought to consider exactly how Mr. Elroy earned his riches. It very well might have been through a life of thievery and intrigue, of dashing through alleyways and barreling through banks, of bartering with drifters and lying to neighbours.

Robin’s eyebrows furrowed in anger. All these years… All the small talk… Could it have all been an act? An establishing of trust? A laying of the groundwork for this most heinous crime?

Robin stomped out of Martin’s lawn, across his own, right up to Mr. Elroy’s. He was about to knock when he heard Mr. Elroy’s voice approaching from down the street. He was on one of his daily walks with his wife. Robin sat on their porch and waited, petting Nemo to calm himself down. After a while, he looked up. But Mr. Elroy seemed just as far as before!

Robin flopped over in despair. There was no way Mr. Elroy could’ve stolen the delicious mango pie. Whether or not he’d lived a life of crime and deception remained a mystery, but he simply didn’t have the speed to pull off this particular heist. Robin would’ve caught him red-handed in the backyard.

Slumped and forlorn, Robin trudged home towards the open front door.

He blinked.

Nemo not barking. A missing mango pie. A rustle in the bushes. Two grooves in the grass – to the hedge, not from.

An open front door.

A final clue.

A mystery solved.

Life returned to Robin’s body with the fury of a wildfire.

“You dirty dog!” he roared, before glancing apologetically at Nemo. “Not you. Good boy.”

Then Robin burst into the house in a rage.

Standing in the kitchen was his brother, with a stunned, guilty look on his face.

“You ate the whole pie!” said Robin.

“I couldn’t help it!” cried Patrick. “I could smell the delicious mango pie from three blocks away. And I was so hungry after my long trip home. All I’d eaten were some amazing apple cookies that a gorgeous and talented friend gave me before I left.”

Then Patrick smiled. “But I saved you a piece, Robin. And I saved you an apple cookie too. And look! I even brought you a raspberry cordial soda! I’ve missed you, buddy.”

Robin wrapped his older brother in a hug.

As if on cue, their mom and dad walked in with groceries and joined in on the hug.

Nemo stole a shoe and ran circles around their legs.

Life was good.