Detective Miles Corbin stared at the crime scene, a pristine suburban lawn desecrated by pure, unadulterated chaos. He clicked his trusty ballpoint pen, the one with the chewed-up cap that had seen him through a decade of misdemeanors and mysteries. This one, however, was different.
“So, let me get this straight, Mrs. Gable,” Miles said, pointing the pen at the victim. “Someone broke in, stole nothing of value, but left… this?”
“This” was a half-eaten, garishly decorated sugar cookie, its pink frosting melting onto the perfectly manicured grass. “It’s a disgrace,” Mrs. Gable sobbed. “Right next to my prize-winning petunias! Who celebrates National Frosted Cookie Day with such violence?”
Miles sighed. It was going to be one of those days. He knelt, sniffing the air. Beneath the sugary aroma of the cookie was another, more complex scent. He beckoned to his partner, Dave. “Get a whiff of that.”
Dave leaned in. “Smells like my Aunt Carol’s pantry. You know, the one who thinks paprika is an appropriate garnish for everything.”
“Exactly,” Miles mused. “It’s a veritable festival of National Herbs and Spices Day.” A clue. He scribbled a note: Perp is either a terrible baker or a fantastic chef.
Their next stop was the town’s only purveyor of exotic seasonings, “The Spice is Right.” The owner, a man named Barry with a magnificent handlebar mustache, recognized the scent immediately. “Ah, yes! Five-spice powder. Sold a whole container of it this morning to a frantic young man. Said he had an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency requires five-spice powder?” Dave asked.
Barry shrugged. “He also bought a dozen egg rolls from the place next door. Said something about ‘culinary fusion.’ Seemed like a man on the edge.”
Miles felt a familiar thrum of excitement. They headed to the egg roll joint, where the proprietor confirmed the story. “Yeah, weird kid. Rushed in, bought all my rolls, and then ordered the largest iced tea I’ve ever poured. He was sweating buckets.” Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, celebrating National Egg Roll Day and National Iced Tea Day in one greasy, over-caffeinated stop.
The clues led them to a college dormitory, a place that smelled of desperation and old pizza. They found their suspect, a lanky kid named Leo, in the common room, surrounded by the spoils of his crimes.
Before them sat a blender, an empty container of five-spice powder, several mangled egg rolls, and a tub of vanilla ice cream.
“Son,” Miles said, clicking his pen with an air of finality. “What in the world is going on here?”
Leo looked up, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and creative genius. “It’s my masterpiece!” he declared, gesturing to a tall glass filled with a murky, fizzing concoction. “For National Black Cow Day! It’s a root beer float, but instead of just root beer and ice cream… I’ve added a spiced egg roll slurry for texture and a frosted cookie for garnish!”
Miles and Dave stared at the horrifying beverage. It was less a Black Cow and more a Brown Nightmare.
“You… you did all this… for a root beer float?” Dave asked, aghast.
Leo nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think my culinary arts professor will like it?”
Miles clicked his pen shut. He’d seen a lot of things in his career, but this was a new level of depravity. “Son,” he said, “you have the right to remain silent. I strongly suggest you use it.”
