Aidan, P.I.

We have been busy reading the Boxcar Children mysteries with A. Fortunately, and unlike the Magic Treehouse series, there are tens of thousands of books in this series, so we haven't run out yet.

But now A. has decided he wants to solve a mystery. Not a stupid mystery like who moved the pillow, but one that would "take me out of the house." So I suggested he find out who's been throwing litter on our lawn. In fact, I'd just picked up an empty bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos sitting right in the middle of our lawn the other night! I know it's not ours because we're a bunch of taste wimps who can't eat flamin' hot anything.



So A. is taking his new case VERY seriously. He has decided he has three main suspects from our collection of neighbors under 15, but eliminated one because that boy doesn't eat cheetos very often. He was outside yesterday looking for clues. He didn't find any, but that's OK, because, as he points out, the Boxcar Children often have a day or two where they're baffled, then they sleep, then the next day they solve the mystery. So he's not too frustrated yet.

He asked to see the offending bag. I told him I'd thrown it away already, and he gave me a look that would whither the toughest informant.

"Well. NEXT TIME you see one, DON'T THROW IT AWAY! It might be a clue!" I promised I wouldn't.

Tonight when I returned home from work, I got the report.

A: "I still haven't solved the mystery. It's very mysterious because whoever did it hasn't done it again!"

Me: "Maybe they know you're investigating and are laying low."

A: "Hmmm. OK, come here. I have to whisper something in your ear."

I lean down, and he whispers, "I have to say this in your ear in case they're listening. I'm going to say out loud that I've given up and I'm not looking anymore, OK? But I'm really not. It's just to throw them off."

I nod wisely and give him a thumbs up.

Woe be to the person who may be eating a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos within 2 miles of our house. Actually, I would recommend just keeping all bags of chips indoors for a while, unless you want A. shining a bright light in your eyes and threatening to haul you off to Gitmo.