Little Dickie Greene had been obsessed with Sherlock Holmes stories since he was nine. Now twelve, he had garnered a reputation amongst the other local children as an able problem solver.

It was quite commonplace for a neighborhood kid to show up unannounced at Dickie's treehouse and plead for his wisdom in solving a mystery. As such, Dickie didn't bat an eye when Marla Mason showed up asking for help.

"Someone stole my ice cream!" Marla cried.

Marla was two years older than Dickie and quite possibly the cutest girl on the block. Dickie had noticed her often and the slumbering monster in his pants had noticed her even more. For these reasons alone, Dickie vowed to himself that he would crack this case. Pursing his lips, Dickie turned towards Marla and fixed her with a gaze he hoped was equal parts penetrating and erotic.

"Give me all the facts. Leave no detail unspoken regardless of how inconsequential it may initially seem."

Marla nodded and began her tale. She had just put two scoops of ice cream in a bowl and headed to her upstairs bedroom to enjoy it while reading a popular teen magazine. The bedroom window was open allowing a cool summer breeze to blow through the room. As Marla was about to take her first bite and read about her favorite pretty boy the doorbell rang.

Leaving her ice cream and magazine, Marla went downstairs and opened the door. Upon opening it, Marla noted that the front porch was entirely empty although she believed she may have heard a muffled laugh in the distance. When she returned to her room, she found the ice cream bowl empty.

"Show me the scene of the crime," Dickie announced. "On our way there we must pick up my associate Champ Nelson."

"Champ Nelson!" Marla cried. "But he smells!"

"True," Dickie acknowledged, "but today is Tuesday and Tuesday is bath day in the Nelson house. He will probably smell less like a hobo's nuttsack today. Regardless, I will require his assistance if I am to apprehend the fiend who absconded with your ice cream."

Resigned, Marla agreed to accompany Dickie to Champ's house and then onward to her own.

With the trio assembled, Marla opened her front door and led them in. As they crossed the threshold, Dickie and Champ noticed a trail of bloodspots leading from the foyer up the stairs. At the top landing, a large dog was sprawled out, laying on his side.

"This is Spartacus" Marla stated. "Usually he barks at new people in the house."

"Curious," Dickie mumbled.

In Marla's room, Dickie noted the empty ice cream bowl on the bed next to a torn magazine.

"Someone could have come through the window," Champ intoned.

"Who would do such a thing?" Marla asked.

"I know someone," Champ stated darkly.

Dickie knew who Champ was alluding to. Cocksucker Jones was the local bully and hoodlum. Everyone knew he was guilty of most of the crimes which happened in the neighborhood.

"This one wasn't Cocksucker Jones, Champ."

"Then who?" Champ inquired.

 

Dickie began his explanation.

"Spartacus normally barks upon greeting strangers, yet today he is silent and lethargic."

"Why?" Marla asked.

"Because he ate your ice cream!" Dickie announced, "And now he feels like shit."

"And the doorbell?" Champ asked.

"That one probably was Cocksucker Jones. He loves to play Ding Dong Ditch."

"And the blood?" Champ asked further.

"Simple! Marla finally had her first period. Congratulations Marla! You are a woman now." Dickie exclaimed.

Marla's face turned crimson. Dickie smiled.

"And now, about my fee...."