Joe Sherlock Kid Detective 1 : The Haunted Toolshed

Why are cakes vanishing into thin air? How can a mailbox disappear without a trace? When did something evil move into Mr. Asher's toolshed?

Strange and unexplained things are happening on Baker Street after dark, and Joe Sherlock must come face-to-face with the things that go bump in the night. Even though a cold tingle of terror gallops down his spine like a herd of wild gophers, Joe is determined to solve the case -- and have his bundt cake, too.

Age Level: 7 and up | Grade Level: 2 and up

Joe Sherlock

Kid Detective

Case #000001:The Haunted Toolshed

For Christine, who always believed

— D.K.

Dedication

Content

About the Author

About the Publisher

Copyright

Chapter One: Joe Who?

Chapter Two: The Evening Caller?

Chapter Three: Strange Goings-On

Chapter Four: That’s the Spirit

Chapter Five: Toe Jam

Chapter Six: Sister Sledgehammer

Chapter Seven: Howl

Chapter Eight: Red Leader

Chapter Nine: Speed Demon

Chapter Ten: Toe Break

Chapter Eleven: Crime Scream

Chapter Twelve: Barf Bath

Chapter Thirteen: Bundt Cakes and Black Holes

Chapter Fourteen: Who’s on First?

Chapter Fifteen: Strangers in a Strange Land

Chapter Sixteen: Can I See a Show of Hands?

Chapter Seventeen: Calling for Backup

Chapter Eighteen: Close Encounter

Chapter Nineteen: Spilling the Beans

Chapter Twenty: Lightning Strikes

Chapter Twenty-one: I Got Your Poof Right Here!

Chapter Twenty-two: You’ve Got No Mail!

Chapter Twenty-three: Off to the Wheelbarrow Races

Chapter Twenty-four: So Close and Yet So Far

Chapter Twenty-five: The Beast

Chapter Twenty-six: Case Closed

DAVE KEANE has been an avid Sherlock Holmes fan since he was a kid.

He even insisted on going to the Sherlock Holmes Museum while on his honeymoon in London, England.

Today he lives in Northern California with his wife, Christine, and their three junior detectives.

He now solves everyday mysteries like “Where are my car keys?” and “Who left the garage door open?”

The Joe Sherlock series is his debut in children’s books.

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JOE SHERLOCK, KID DETECTIVE, CASE #000001: THE

HAUNTED TOOLSHED.

Copyright c 2006 by David J. Keane.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader March 2009

ISBN 978-0-06-189809-9

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Joe Who?

My name is Joe Sherlock.

But almost everybody just calls me Sherlock.

Never Joe.

In fact, most people around here think I squirted into this world without a proper first name attached.

But for me, Sherlock is the perfect fit, like a worn-out pair of sneakers that you just love but your mom throws out anyway, because she’s simply horrified that one of her friends might actually see you wearing them.

So what’s so great about having a name like a smelly old pair of sneakers?

Well, Sherlock also happens to be the name of the greatest detective who ever looked through a magnifying glass: Mr. Sherlock Holmes. And just like the great Mr. Holmes, I was born with a natural gift for solving mysteries.

It may sound weird, but while most kids my age are busy doing homework, playing soccer, or scooping out their ear wax with paper clips, I stay busy preparing myself for a life of mystery solving.

I've seen just about every detective movie ever made. I've seen the really good ones that keep you on the edge of your seat so much that you end up chewing off half your toenails without even realizing it. And I've also seen all the old black-and-white ones where every- body stands around talking so much that you wake up on the floor two hours later in a pool of your own drool.

But no amount of movie watching could have prepared me for the Case of the Haunted Toolshed.

Just hearing that name makes me feel like I have a pair of live squirrels in my stomach and two corks shoved up my nostrils . . . if you know what I mean.

So bolt the doors, lock the windows, and remember to keep breathing as I tell you about my first official case as a private detective: Case #000001.

The Evening Caller?

I don’t hear the doorbell at first.

It’s Friday night and I’m in the bathroom trying to figure out why I can’t get my Inspector Wink-Wink electric toothbrush to turn on. I can’t hear much of anything because I’m too busy smacking my toothbrush against the side of the sink—which is basically how I try to fix most things.

My stubborn toothbrush does not respond. So I bang it harder. Inspector Wink-Wink is a cartoon show character that I like a lot.

He’s a detective, like me. But to be totally honest, it’s really a show for younger kids. I’m probably one of the biggest Inspector Wink-Wink fans on the planet. But I try not to let anyone know because it’s a little weird that I still like a little-kid show.Before I realize what’s happening, the top section with the brushing bristles pops off the base, bounces off the mirror, and falls into the toilet with a sickening little ploop sound.

I watch in silent horror as it sinks into that nasty, dark cave at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

I freeze, clutch my forehead, and make a weird squeaking noise that sounds like someone just stepped on a hamster.

In the terrible silence that follows, just as I hear the doorbell ring on its desperate third try, I notice that I’ve chipped the rim of the sink.

This makes me think of two important facts.

Fact one: It’s Friday night and my mom is out of town at my aunt Peachy’s house in Phoenix (which is somewhere in Florida, I think). My aunt Peachy broke her clavicle, and my mom is staying with her for a few days to help take care of my creepy twin cousins. Fact two: My dad is sick in bed.

So I do what any kid would do in this situation when both his parents are unavailable: I quickly cover up the sink’s missing chunk with a gigantic blob of sparkly toothpaste.

“Mr. Asher is here and he wants to hire you!” my little sister, Hailey, exclaims, throw-ing open the bathroom door and nearly crushing all the delicate little bones in my right elbow with the doorknob.

“Aaaaaaaaaagh!” I groan like Frankenstein’s monster as I roll around on the bathroom mat.

I’m almost certain that my elbow bones have been crushed into a fine powder. For some unexplained reason, I can smell boiled cabbage—which can't be a good sign.

“Why do they call it a funny bone again?”

I wheeze.

“Quit goofing around, Sherlock,” she whispers. “Poor Mr. Asher looks like he’s seen a ghost!”

Finally, my first official case as a private detective has arrived.