The Case of Schniedelwutz
Detective Sherlifa Holmes loved the fog hanging over the city, because it made lies easier to spot. But tonight the haze smelled of mustard and dill — a bad omen.
A phantom had appeared. Sherlifa found only two clues: a greasy napkin and a damp, pickle-shaped imprint. “Undercover villains,” she muttered.
“Not in my city. Not in Hillberta Ville.”
As Sherlifa secured the traces, she paused. A few crumbs caught her eye — like they’d come from a dried-out bread roll.