Holmes stopped abruptly at the curb in front of a single family residence. Watson, who had been striding hard to keep up with the brisk pace, had to pull up short. “What gives, Holmes?”
Holmes thoughtfully took a drag from his pipe and nodded in the direction of the modest dwelling. “We will find our quarry here, my good man.”
Watson carefully studied the house for a few moments then shrugged. “I can find nothing of interest to our case here.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes as he nodded again with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Look here, Watson. Note this horseless carriage.” He motioned at a Honda parked in the drive. “The vehicle has been parked askew and has not been moved from this location for quite some time. Additionally the glass on the rear left side has been shattered. We can deduce this conveyance has not been used by anyone gainfully employed in any capacity.”
“Hmm,” Watson said, with a look of recognition on his face. “Perhaps. Perhaps tis merely a coincidence,” he offered.
Holmes appeared annoyed. “Look closer, my good man. On the fence there, beyond the conveyance, is a small cylindrical object with strange markings. It previously contained a stimulant in beverage form quite popular with the youth in this area.”
Watson waited for Holmes to continue but he said nothing. “So that’s it then?” he asked.
“I should say not,” Holmes replied. “Look over there,” he said, indicating the yard by the walkway to the front door. A bucket was by the gate as well as a few assorted gardening tools. “As you can see someone was weeding this area but the job is only half finished.”
Holmes kicked an object by his feet and for the first time Watson looked down, seeing for the first time several cigarette butts on the driveway. “There can be no doubt,” Holmes exclaimed, “that this is the abode of our quarry, the thief of the Raspberry Bar!”
Holmes paused, his whole body literally shivering in excitement. “The game is afoot!”
Well, you don’t exactly need to be Sherlock Holmes to spot a gerbil, do you? Even a drunken sailor could follow their spore. It’s not that hard.
So this post is about the strange case of the missing raspberry bar. No, not capitalized as Holmes indicated. The object at the heart of this mystery is not that grandiose. It was a baked good that my wife purchased at the local grower’s market a few weeks ago. Two of them in fact. They are a favorite of hers and a rare treat that can be obtained when the market is in season and we happen to stop by.
The bars were sitting on the kitchen counter. Two bars had been purchased (at the cost of $2 each) and two bars had been placed on the counter. Neither bar had been unwrapped or eaten.
My wife and I were in the living room doing some reading when our gerbil’s friend knocked at the door. This is the 21-year-old gerbil who recently obtained a medical marijuana card for his “sore back.” He’s a rather large and clumsy sort, very reminiscent of Chris Farley in my humble opinion. He’s a human garbage disposal with boorish eating habits in public and gluttonous behavior in private.
We invited him in and he explained he was supposed to meet our gerbil in our house. We looked but our gerbil wasn’t home. So he sat with us in the living room and we made chit chat for a while. Finally our gerbil showed up and they chittered at each other in gerbil language for a bit.
What happened next is still not exactly clear. What we do know is that the friend left the living room – twice. At the time it wasn’t noteworthy. We assumed he was going to the bathroom. Then he returned and our gerbil left for a bit, then they both left, both came back, etc. We didn’t exactly keep track of their movements.
Finally they departed. Yeah!
It must have been about an hour later when I heard the cry of my startled wife. “What the fuck?” she yelled from the kitchen. I came running and found her at the scene of the crime.
One of the raspberry bars was missing!
“Oh god,” I said. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
Yep. One of those little motherfuckers had stolen our treat for the evening. My wife immediately called the friend’s cell phone. (We can’t call our son because his has been disconnected for non-payment, of course.)
For some strange reason, the friend did not answer his own phone. Almost as if he didn’t wish to talk to us. Our son picked up and was literally shocked to hear that one of our bars was missing. No, no, no, he sure as hell didn’t do it. He swore to us it wasn’t him. He promised to ask the friend and call us back.
Naturally that didn’t happen. Hours later our kid walks in the door and tries to act like nothing ever happened. My wife pounced. Our son claimed that he asked the friend and he didn’t touch it, either. Neither of them had any clue what could have possibly happened. It was, indeed, a great mystery. Perhaps one of the greatest mysteries of our time.
This case file remains open to this day but authorities are skeptical it will ever be solved. It may be the perfect crime.
Are we all that hung up about a fucking raspberry bar? Hell no. In fact, if they had asked, we would have gladly cut the things in half and we all could have had a piece. It’s just that we’ve stressed repeatedly that our gerbil needs to be honest with us. And no matter what, that’s the one thing he just will not do. Sure it was disappointing to have our evening treat swiped without being asked. But to this day we still literally don’t know whodunit.
Next time join us for another exciting Holmsian story in The Adventure of the Broken Window Blinds…