CHAPTER SEVEN
TOOTS MCGRAW
“You’re the sock thief?!” Dino continued. “What have you done with his Butch Malone sock?!”
Toots stood frozen next to the sock pile, unsure what to do next. His long coat hung down in the still night.
Dino remembered her interview with Toots that morning. It was the first time she had spoken to him. He had a reputation for being . . . a little out there. Dino had seen Toots at band practice, but she had never seen him pick up an instrument. He was always hanging around on the edges of the recess field.
“You got it all wrong! I ain’t your sock thief!” cried Toots.
“Then what are you doing here?” asked Possum.
“I’ve been watching you two!” cackled Toots. “Got a sock problem, don’t ya? Heard you speaking at recess. Everyone thinks they know, don’t they? But they don’t know the truth! The terrifying truth! I know. Oh yes, I know. ’Cause the same thing is happening to me.”
“Your socks are missing, too?” asked Possum.
“It’s not my socks they’re stealing, no.” Toots paused to look both Possum and Dino squarely in the eye. “It’s my underpants.”
“Your underpants?!” cried Dino.
Toots nodded seriously. “They’ve been stealing my underpants for years. It was only a matter of time before they moved on to socks.”
Dino couldn’t believe it. This was bigger than she thought. “Who? Who is stealing them?”
Toots paused again. “It’s the gnomes.”
“Gnomes? Like . . . garden gnomes?” Possum asked.
“No! Not garden gnomes. That would be crazy. No. I’m talking about underpants gnomes. But now they’re after your socks.”
“Underpants gnomes?” asked Possum.
“That’s right!”
“Who are now after our socks?” Dino added.
“That’s what I’m telling ya.”
Possum wasn’t buying it. “I thought gnomes were supposed to be a friendly bunch,” he said. “Always smiley, helpful in the garden, that sort of thing?”
“You’re just not getting it, are ya!” cried Toots. “It’s the perfect cover! Who would suspect sweet little gnomes of stealing your socks? ‘Wouldn’t harm a fly,’ they say. ‘Wouldn’t do something like that,’ they say. And all the while, they’re racking up more undies than a shopkeeper in an underwear store.”
Possum rubbed his brow. They had a Big Case to investigate, and this seemed a little far-fetched. “We’ve heard a lot of crazy ideas today, Toots. You got any proof?”
“No, I don’t have any proof! These gnomes, they’re clever, you see. Sneaky, too. They only steal them every now and then. They don’t get greedy. They just—”
“If you don’t have any proof, why should we believe you?” Possum interrupted.
“You don’t have to believe me,” said Toots. “Nobody ever believes me. But keep those socks out there, you’ll see soon enough. You’ll have all the proof you need.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
GNOMES
Dino and Possum returned to their lookout spot while Toots took up Super Secret Hiding Space 2.
“This could be a lead, Possum!” said Dino excitedly.
Possum wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, Dino. Butch Malone always says that the simplest explanation is usually the right one. Underpants-stealing gnomes who now have a taste for socks? It just sounds like another crazy idea to me.”
Possum and Dino settled back into the long task of watching the socks as Toots sat muttering to himself in the bush next to them. Plant struck up an awkward conversation with a mulberry bush, complaining about all the outside germs that were trying to get him.
“I’m hungry,” whispered Dino. “It’s been ages. I’m going for a snack.”
But just then, something at the edge of the lawn caught Possum’s eye. Dark shapes lurked in the bushes, rustling through the shadows and the dim edges of the lawn. Staying in the shadows, they inched through the night, prowling their way toward the sock pile.
Possum raised his camera. A few more steps into the moonlight and he could take the photo; then they could pounce.
But Toots wasn’t waiting for the perfect photo opportunity. “Gotcha!” He dived out from his hiding place, lunging at the little figures.
The dark shapes froze at the sight of Toots running toward them.
But they didn’t freeze for long.
Like a flash, they dashed across the lawn to the far end of the yard. Dino burst out of the bushes in hot pursuit. “Stop right there!”
When they got to the fence, one of the thieves quickly slid underneath the gap and into Mr. Thompson’s yard, while the other two somersaulted high into the air, easily clearing the top.
Dino wasn’t quite so dainty.
As she smashed through the fence, she got her first clear glimpse of the thieves as they scurried across the grass.
Toots was right.
They were gnomes. Tiny little men with bushy beards and rosy cheeks that wobbled underneath a black robber’s mask, their mouths set in a grizzled frown. Their little legs were a blur as they hurried across the yard, barely slowed down by the giant bags they carried on their backs. Even though they were small, they were nimble and fast for their size.
But Dino wasn’t the school egg-and-spoon race champion for nothing. She gritted her teeth and raced on, gaining on them as they flew across the yard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw headlights come zooming around a corner.
A getaway car!
Dino was close to the slowest gnome, her feet clawing the ground as she ran. She made a desperate lunge . . .
Crash!
The gnome looked back and opened his mouth to laugh. But . . .
TWANG! His beard caught on the branches of Mr. Thompson’s prize-winning Christmas tree.
The gnome lay dazed on the ground as the remaining thieves zipped and zoomed into the open car.
The doors slammed, the wheels kicked up dirt, and the car sped away into the night.
CHAPTER NINE
RADISHES
Dino, Possum, and Toots looked down at the gnome, whose rosy cheeks puffed in and out peacefully as he lay in the grass. He was out cold.
“Ha!” cried Toots. “I told you! Underpants gnomes!”
They looked down at the bag the gnome had been carrying. It was a large canvas sack, with somewhat suspicious markings. The bag had opened, and its contents had spilled out.
Underpants.
More underpants than a toddler on a monthlong vacation. Underpants of all shapes, sizes, and colors.
But what about the socks? They emptied out the bag fully. Not a single one.
“Hey, what’s your problem, pal?” a squeaky voice called out. The gnome was awake.
“What’s my problem?” responded Dino. “What’s your problem? Why are you sniffing around our socks? And why are you stealing people’s underpants?”
“We’re just borrowing them! They’ll be returned!”
“Returned? Why are you taking them in the first place?”
“We have to.” The gnome glanced up sheepishly. “They’re for the trolls.”
“The trolls?” asked Toots.
“Why are you giving people’s underpants to trolls?” asked Possum.
“Oh goodness, we’re not giving them to the trolls. That would be ridiculous. Trolls are terrified of underpants.”
“Then what use are they?!” cried Dino.
“To scare them away. They’re stealing all our radishes.”
Possum, Dino, and Toots looked blankly back at the gnome. “Your radishes?”
“Oh yes. Our radishes are the most delicious radishes one can find. The trolls can’t get enough of them. We have to build scare-trolls to stop them.”
“Scare-tro
lls?”
“Scare-trolls. They’re like scarecrows, but made up only of underpants. We tried lots of things before—booby traps, catapults, decoys, fields full of jelly—but we found that underpants really are the most effect—”
“So you’re telling me that you’re stealing people’s underpants to make scare-trolls that stop trolls from stealing your radishes?” asked Possum.
The gnome looked down at his little boots. “We prefer to say ‘borrowed’ rather than ‘stole.’ We return as many as we can, and we fix them up as good as new. Most times, people don’t even know they’ve been missing. It’s only occasionally that they get lost or . . . eaten.”
“But what were you doing around our socks?”
“We were searching. For underpants.”
Possum and Dino looked at each other. This all sounded rather crazy and extremely complicated to them. Butch Malone always said that the simplest explanation was usually the best one . . .
. . . but what did the evidence say? The suspect had a bag full of underpants, and the explanation, while not very simple, sort of made sense.
The little gnome gathered his bag and everyone else’s underpants and said his goodbyes. It was late, and he still had underwear to collect. “Can I please ask that you don’t set traps for us poor unsuspecting gnomes? Big pile of clothes like that, we couldn’t believe our luck. We thought there must be some underpants among all those socks.”
The sock pile!
In the excitement of the chase, they had forgotten all about it. The thief could still be out there!
Dino, Possum, and Toots dashed back through the yard, grass and leaves kicking into the dark night air.
As they rounded the corner, Dino felt her heart jump in her chest.
Every last one of the socks was gone.
CHAPTER TEN
THE THIEF
Dino resisted the urge to howl.
Possum blinked back hot tears.
How had they been so careless? They had left the socks all alone and now they had been snatched from under their noses.
Dino began thinking about a very cold-footed winter, when suddenly . . . “Possum—look!” Lying in the open front doorway, shining in the moonlight . . .
“My missing sock! Although . . .” Possum went closer. It looked like his Butch Malone sock, all right, but his sock had a giant, frayed hole in it. This sock looked good as new.
Something else caught Possum’s eye. Sitting inside the house on the kitchen table, lit by the moonlight that streamed in through the door, was a large canvas bag. That wasn’t there before, thought Possum.
They crept into the house. Did this bag belong to the thief?
They opened it.
Socks. The bag was stuffed full of them. And not just any socks. They were all their socks. Dino recognized her multicolored rainbow socks and the socks she wore for salsa dancing, the socks that had been made into sock puppets, and her lucky socks. They were all there.
“But who would have brought them ba—”
A loud THUNK cut through the softness of the night.
Dino, Possum, and Toots froze. The noise had come from above, and now they heard footsteps clumping down the stairs.
“It could be the thief!” hissed Possum. “Hide!”
Possum readied the camera.
Toots slunk into the darkness.
Dino’s mind raced with possibilities as the footsteps grew louder.
THUNK.
Who was this thief? Why were they taking their socks?
THUNK.
Was it a gnome? The gnome said they were only after underpants.
And the gnomes always returned underpants. They fixed them up, too.
THUNK.
Fixed them up?
Would someone . . .
. . . have fixed . . .
. . . their socks?
“Children! What are you doing out of bed?”
“Grandma?!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS YOU!
Possum’s eyes widened as it all became clear.
“Grandma! It was you this whole time!” he said.
“Goodness gracious, dears! What are you doing up so late?”
“Grandma!” cried Dino. “You’re the one who’s been taking our socks all along!”
“Well, of course, dears. I kept noticing more and more of them with giant holes. Couldn’t have you going around with holey socks now, could we? I took them to my knitting conference. Why were your other socks all outside?”
“We had to set a trap,” Possum replied.
“A trap?”
“A trap. For a thief,” said Possum.
“They were on a big case,” added Toots.
“A big case?”
“But we caught some gnomes by mistake,” continued Possum, “and then it turned out that they were actually taking people’s underpants, not socks. And it was only to scare away trolls.”
Grandma Thunderclaps looked down at them blankly, turned around, and thudded back up the steps.
Toots, Dino, and Possum stepped out into the cool night air. Darkness and quiet surrounded Berp. Somewhere, birds were softly calling into the shadows, children were fast asleep and snoring, and gnomes were hunting for underpants.
“Well, I guess we owe you an apology, Toots,” said Possum. “Underpants gnomes. Who would have thought it?”
Toots grinned. “See! Nobody believed me! But I was right all along!”
“You have to admit—underpants gnomes? It was all a bit . . . unlikely. But you cracked the case!” said Dino. “So, what’s next?”
“Oh, this is just the beginning. You heard the little fella. There’s a whole bunch of trolls out there who are terrified of underpants. I’m going to find out why.”
“Well, you know what they say—the simplest explanation is usually the best,” Dino said. “Most of the time.”
With that, Toots turned on his heel and left, scurrying into the moonlight.
Possum turned to Dino. “Well, Dino, it looks like our work here is done.”
“For now, Possum.” Dino yawned widely. “Time for bed. I have a feeling tomorrow will bring another case. Probably the big one.”
Possum turned back toward the house, his mind spinning with possibilities. Another day lay ahead, and another case ready for . . .
DINO DETECTIVE AND AWESOME POSSUM, PRIVATE EYES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tadgh Bentley is a picture book author and illustrator originally from the UK, now living in the Hocking Hills of Ohio with his wife, Emily, and puppy, Atticus. He is also the author-illustrator of Little Penguin Gets the Hiccups; Samson: The Piranha Who Went to Dinner; and Little Penguin and the Lollipop. You can visit him online at www.tadghbentley.com.
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The Case of the Missing Socks Page 2