Joe Sherlock, Kid Detective, Case #000003: The Missing Monkey-Eye Diamond : The Missing Monkey-Eye Diamond
Why has a ring with a diamond the size of a monkey's eye suddenly disappeared? Will it be found before the wedding party turns into an angry mob? Most importantly, can somebody get Joe Sherlock out of the bath in time?
Armed with only a box of Barf Blockers, a clip-on tie, and his extraordinary sleuthing skills, Joe Sherlock is in a race against time--and a very sensitive stomach. Baskerville's only kid detective will have his brain squeezed in the pressure cooker of his neighbor's mixed-up wedding day. Joe Sherlock is ready for the challenge . . . as long as nobody offers him an egg salad sandwich.
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October 03, 2006
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Excerpt from Joe Sherlock, Kid Detective, Case #000003: The Missing Monkey-Eye Diamond by Dave Keane
There's nothing better than a boiling hot bathtub to ease the boredom I feel between cases.
Although I'm just at the start of my career as a detective, I've been solving mysteries since I only had one tooth and drooled like a waterfall. Waiting for the next case has always been the toughest part of life behind the magnifying glass.
Waiting also drove Sherlock Holmes nuts.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was the best dang detective to ever put his pants on one leg at a time. And like The Great Detective, I've dedicated my life to solving mysteries. So I spend lots of time waiting.
But boredom is just one of the reasons I'm boiling myself like a yam on a perfectly good Saturday afternoon.
The other reason is that my first violin recital begins in exactly three hours and fourteen minutes. Making matters worse is the fact that I've only had eight lessons--and I sound like it.
Sadly, just as I'm beginning to feel slightly relaxed, I burf.
"Burf" is a word invented by my best friend, Lance Peeker. As Lance will gladly explain to you, the word "burf" comes from combining the words "barf" and "burp."
Basically, a burf happens when you burp so big and throaty that some of the hot, sour stuff from your stomach comes flying up your windpipe and sprays into the back of your throat. Usually it's just about a teaspoon (according to Lance's estimates), but it can ruin your whole day. Especially when it tastes exactly like something you ate the day before.
Unfortunately for me, my burf has the distinct odor and taste of an egg salad sandwich. This is surely the worst thing on the planet to burf.
Even worse, it's been over two days since I ate that hideous sandwich.
As I try to choke down the teaspoon of half-digested egg salad sandwich, I hear my little sister, Hailey, giving what sounds like a tour of our house.
"And this is our hallway," Hailey's muffled voice explains from behind the door. "And see this big pink stain here on the carpet? It's from the time Sherlock ate a family-size bag of cheese puffs and threw up like a volcano. You can still smell it on warm days."
"Interesting," a grown-up's deep voice responds.
I sit up in alarm, sloshing water all over the floor. What's going on out there? Who is my sister talking to? Why in the world is she talking about my throw-up stains?
"Of course, Sherlock wanted to throw up in the bathroom," my sister continues, "but my sister, Jessie, wouldn't let him in. She can't stand him."
I hear my sister start to jiggle a screwdriver around in the bathroom door's lock. My eyes search crazily for my towel, but it's on the other side of the bathroom. I start to sweat--even though I'm still in the bath! How is that even possible?
Hailey's voice cackles on the other side of the door. "My dad says the only way to get a stain like that out is with a pair of scissors."
To my absolute horror, the lock suddenly releases with a click and the door swings wide open.
Hailey bursts into the bathroom, followed by an enormous man wearing a tight-fitting tuxedo.
I am quite certain that this will go down in history as one of the weirdest moments of my life.