Lullabies and Nursery Crimes

Andy Pinkerton walks into my office first thing on a Monday morning. I haven’t even tasted the sippy cup of milk sitting on my desk when he shuffles in and lingers at the edge of my desk, hands folded in front of him, eyes roaming the floor and four walls of the office. Andy never makes eye contact.

I let him stand there until the silence becomes uncomfortable. Finally I ask him, “What can I do for you, Andy?”

Poor kid’s a bundle of nerves all wrapped up in a pair of discount store khaki shorts and a baby blue polo shirt.

“Well, Miss Annabel. I – “

I hold my hand out to stop him. “Just Annabel, please. And have you met my partner, Champ?” I ask gesturing to the scruffy bundle of bear fur slumped in the corner. Andy nods in Champs direction.

“Hello, Champ,” Andy says.

Champ remains silent.

“You’ll have to excuse him. He slept in Mama’s car last night.”

“I see. Doing a stakeout?”

“No, he fell under the seat.”

Champ looks vaguely disgruntled.

“Well, Annabel,” says Andy, “I’d better tell you why i’m here.” Andy’s wringing his hands and examining a scuff on his shoes as he talks. “It all started this morning at breakfast…”

 

The way Andy tells it, the case starts with a brand new box of Marshmallow Minions, a sugar coated cereal that’s a staple at the Pinkerton house. Each box comes with a small toy wrapped in a clear plastic package. Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton have a set of governing rules regarding the distribution of this prized toy between Andy and his older brother Alex. They take turns by the box. Last week the toy was green and gray spaceship with a spring-loaded missile. That one went to Alex. This week’s toy, a plastic replica of the cereal’s mascot, the main man, the marshmallow minion himself. But this morning that marshmallow minion mascot… was missing!

 

“My mom got out a big bowl and poured all the cereal into it. No toy,” Andy tells me. “She asked my dad if he’d already gotten the toy out, he had opened the box the night before, grabbed a handful of cereal and eaten some of it dry. He said he hadn’t seen the toy and then rushed off to work. My mom said they must have forgotten to put the toy in at the factory.”

“Well, that seems like a reasonable explanation,” I say to Andy.

“Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Andy’s cheeks start to flush and I can tell this case isn’t ready to be closed just yet. “But, do you think you could check something out for me?”

“Sure, Andy. What is it?”

“Alex came into the kitchen still in his pajamas. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning and just didn’t look like he’d slept well. That’s when I noticed, a piece of marshmallow cereal stuck to his T-shirt.”

“You don’t think! Your own brother?”

“No! No! I’m sure there’s some explanation, but when I asked him about the piece of cereal he told me stop bothering him or he’d shove it up my nose.”

Hearing threats like these is common enough in this line of work. I’ve even been on the receiving end various noogies and wet willies (dealt a few myself, truth be told). But this seemed both unprovoked and excessive. I tell Andy I thought as much.

“Oh,” Andy says, “He’s been really cranky ever since Mom and Dad took his binky away. They said he was too old to still be using one and it was making his teeth come in crooked.”

“Okay, Andy, I think I’ve got enough information to get me started.”

“Thanks for looking into this, Annabel. You too Champ.”

Champ appeared to be lost in thought.

 

My office lays nestled between the play kitchen and the bucket of building blocks on the alphabet rug in Miss Layton’s Daycare and Learning Center. Room 103. Everyone in this room, myself included, is three years old. Alex is four and is in the room across the hall.

After Andy leaves my office, Champ and I head over to Sniffling Sue. Sue’s what you call a sensitive type. I almost feel bad for what I’ve got to do.

“Hey Sue,” I greet her, wide smile on my face, hands in my pockets.

“Oh, hi Annabel,” she says mournfully. She’s not actually sad, that’s just her disposition.

“You like suckers, right?”

Sue’s eyes light up with interest. “Yeah…?” she says hopefully.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Raspberry,” she says. There’s almost no more trace of that sad puppy dog look.

I start digging around in my empty pockets. “You know, I think I have a raspberry sucker in here somewhere. You can have it if you want.”

“Oh, yes! Please! That would be wonderful.” Sue is clasping her hands to her chest. She looks overwhelmed by my generous offer.

“What’s that, Champ?” I say. Champ is slumped on the floor to my right. “Oh, Champ says he ate the raspberry sucker already. Sorry, Sue. Maybe next time.”

Shocked, and totally devastated. Tears well up in Sniffling Sue’s eyes. Her chin quivers and she begins gibbering. “Wh… wh… what? Champ a… already ate it?”

I grab Champ by the arm and drag him toward the door, pretending to scold him along the way. Behind us Sniffling Sue has a full blown, 5-alarm, meltdown. She wails so loud every adult in the room, every teacher and caretaker is looking at poor little Sue. Those screams echo down the hall and summon to door 103 a gray haired lady wearing a home knit shawl, known to all as G-Ma. Expert comforter and nurturer. G-Ma slips through door 103, eyes on the troubled Sniffling Sue. Champ and I slip out.

Across the hall we go. I tell Champ to wait several feet away from door. Just sit there. He follows these orders like a pro. Then I knock on the door to the 4 year olds’ room as hard as I can. Soon there’s an adult opening the door. She sees Champ and walks toward him looking puzzled. I slip inside the room unnoticed, only glancing behind me to see the Champ being picked up by the lady. They’ll put Champ into lost and found and I can ask Mama to get him when she comes to pick me up. I hate to go on without my partner, but I have no choice.

“Here’s to you, Champ,” I whisper as I salute him. Then I’m back on the case, looking for one Alex Pinkerton. Older brother of Andy Pinkerton. Recent recovering binky user. And possible cereal toy thief.

 

A quick survey of the four year olds’ room and I’m feeling a bit like a fish out of water, or a goldfish cracker out of the bag in the hands of a hungry toddler. First thing I notice a boy sitting at a table with a few other kids all holding playing cards, each has a bag of jelly beans and there’s a small pile in the center of the table. The boy that’s got my attention is wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt, just like Andy Pinkerton and I have no doubt I’ve found my man.

I approach the table as casual as I can. Truth be told, I’m a bit nervous without Champ by my side. Champ’s a good bear to have with you if you find yourself in a jam.

That reminds me, I hope Dad packed peanut butter and jam for lunch.

There three at the table including who I assume to be Alex Pinkerton, so I open with what I hope is a friendly and confident introduction. “Hi! Name’s Annabel Jane Barger. What’s the game? Go Fish? Crazy Eights? Snaps? I’d like to join if I can, cause I’m bored with solitare.”

“Old maid,” says the girl sitting across from Alex.

“Am not! I’m only three… er, uh four!” I shoot back.

“No, silly. We’re playing old maid. Pull up a chair.”

Sitting between girl and Alex is a dark haired boy whose jelly bean bag is nearly empty. He doesn’t say anything but nods at the empty orange chair across the table from him.

“Looks like you all are playing some high stakes cards,” I say gesturing to the jelly beans. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything to wager. Mind if we play for fun?”

“Yeah,” the girl says. “Besides, Curtis is about out anyway, aren’tcha Curt?”

The dark haired boy just shrugs his shoulders.

“I guess so.”

“Unless you want to bet that fancy watch,” Alex says grinning.

“No way, Jose! This a 2012 Marshmallow Minions collector’s watch!” he says holding his wrist up so we can all see the watch, the face of which has a picture of the Marshmallow Minion smiling a sugary too-sweet smile.

“You like Marshmallow Minion toys do you?” I as the boy and I start to wonder how close he and Alex are. Does Curtis ever stay the night with Alex? Could he have been there the night the new toy went missing without Andy knowing?

The cards are dealt. Matches are made. Turns are taken. At the end, Alex is left with the old maid card. We play again. I start off with the old maid in my hand but soon pass it on to the girl. A few turns later the girl has emptied her hand, half a dozen pairs lay on the table in front of her. Curtis has also emptied his hand. It’s just me and Alex. Somehow the old maid card has made a complete circuit and is in his hands. When the game ends I’m laying down my final pair and Alex is, once again, stuck with the old maid.

It doesn’t take long to realize that Curtis and the girl are in a class of their own at this game. They’re playing at a professional (or at least at a third grade) level. I feel proud of myself for holding my own. Alex, on the other hand, he’s rubbish. The old maid card stick to him like Elmer’s glue. So why does Curtis have a nearly empty bag of jelly beans and Alex have a nearly full bag?

Alex Pinkerton grabs his bag of jelly beans and scoots his chair back.

“Well, it’s been fun, but it’s almost lunch time. I… uh… I should go potty and wash my hands before I eat.”

“See ya later,” the girl says.

“Yeah, see ya,” echoes Curtis.

I watch Alex head to the boys’ bathroom.

The girl suddenly punches Curtis in the arm.

“Why’dya let him win so many times? He’ll never get better if you throw the game. Look, you’re almost completely out of beans! Don’t think I’m going to give you any of mine at lunch!”

Curtis didn’t say anything, but was looking down at his lap. No, not looking at his lap. Looking at something in his lap.

“What have you got there, Curtis?” I ask.

“Yeah? What is that,” the girl says as she grabs something out of Curtis’s hand.

“Give it back!” he shouts.

“Where’d you get this? Mom didn’t buy any Marshmallow Minions because she said there’s too much sugar in the cereal.”

“Mom?” It suddenly hits me like a bag of marbles. “You two are…”

“Yeah, we’re twins,” the girl says. “Not identical, obviously.”

I look to the boy’s bathroom, as the door opens. It’s not Alex, but instead a boy wearing a trenchcoat (red flag, folks, it’s the middle of Spring). In his hand is bag of jelly beans and he his happily popping handfuls into his mouth. Second to exit the boy’s room is Alex his mouth obscured by a round soft piece of plastic.

A binkie.

“I think I know where you got that Marshmallow Minion, Curtis,” I say slowly, deliberately. “I think I know why you lost all your jelly beans too.”

Curtis starts to sweat.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a good old maid player, Curtis. Maybe even better than your sister.”

“Hey!”

“No offense. But it looks like you four year olds aren’t as grown up as you act. Yes, I’m seeing all kinds of vices in the underbelly of room 104. Blackmarket binkie traders, crooked card games, back alley deals for stolen, yes stolen cereal box toys!”

Curtis’s sister gasps in shock.

“Curtis! You didn’t!”

Curtis stands up, “You can lecture me later, sis. Right now, we have something more important to address.” He looks me in the eye and I suddenly really, really, really wish Champ was with me.

“What exactly do you mean,” Curtis says, “by you four year olds.”

“Uh… rats.”

The alarm is sounded. Curtis is yelling, “Miss Brickle! Miss Brickle! She’s not supposed to be here!” The lady who had grabbed Champ is walking toward the card table. Suddenly I’m being lifted into the air, turned around, staring into the face of my capture.

“How’d you get in here?” she says.

I’m carried out the door, across the hall, and plopped back into room 103. The adults have a quick conversation about me. They’re both confused, but ultimately indifferent about the mix up.

“At least she’ll be in the right room when her parents come to pick her up,” Miss Brickle says.

I turn around and come face to face with Andy Pinkerton.

“Did you find my Marshmallow Minion?” he asks.

I open my mouth to answer him, but instead of words, I utter a few sobs. Then a few more. Andy backs away, uncertain of what’s happening or why. Then I’m in full blown Sniffling Sue mode. I’m crying and crying because I’ve spent the past several hours in the world of four year olds. Four year olds who are being made to give up their favorite things, four year olds being told they’re growing up and growing up means leaving behind the things that bring us comfort.

I miss Champ. I need Champ.

The adults have gathered around me, but I’m inconsolable. They bring in G-ma. She’s rocking me back and forth in an old rocking chair. I push away from her and manage between shuddering sobs to ask, “Please, can you get me Champ?”

“Oh honey,” G-ma says and holds me too tight again, “You’re Mommy and Daddy will pick you up this afternoon. It’s okay.”

At that moment I know that I won’t see Champ until the end of the day.

G-ma smells like old cheese and I wonder if her reputation for being able to calm children has more to do with kids calming themselves just to get away from her. That’s exactly what I do and soon she sets me back down on the alphabet rug.

Andy sits next to me during lunch. Dad packed peanut butter and jam, a bright point in what has been a dark day.

“So… what happened?” Andy asks.

How could I explain to Andy that his brother sold his toy for a binkie? How could I explain to him that sometimes, we’re not ready to grow older and that we cling, in this case desperately and to the detriment of others, to the things that bring us comfort? I’d never seen Andy with a binkie or a blanket or a… a Champ of his own. What was his comfort item anyway?

“Andy, when you’re scared or sad, what do you want?”

Andy answered immediately, the answer coming as naturally as breathing.

“My big brother,” he says.

Just like that, I closed the case. It was over.

“I hit a dead end, Andy. Ran out of clues and time. I’m sorry.”

Andy looks crushed.

“Oh, okay. Well thanks for trying.”

“Yeah, any time,” I say. I take a big bite of peanut butter and jam and wait for the day to end.