Here it is, folks. The final chapter of my mystery series. I even got Joie Brown, my #1 homie and personal illustrator, to depict an image of the story for me. Enjoy.
Sammie Sandwich, Madame Baking Soda, Soda Pop Perez, Tiki Take-out, Tuna Casserole Pete and Yolanda Yogurt made haste when the detective announced he had news regarding the homicide case of Beatrix Banana. The burial, which took place in the freezer only hours prior, left sniffles in the air and tissues going around to dab dreary eyes. Detective Danny Danish cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention before unveiling his theories.
“Most of you are just innocent, forgotten foods, trying to make the most out of life in a break room icebox, but dangers for our friends and fruits are looming. “Madame Baking Soda was sleeping through the whole ordeal. She was still snoring when we went to see her.” The woman harrumphed, “I do not snore, Detective.” He rolled his eyes. “I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep a wink because of Tuna Casserole Pete and Sammy Sandwich’s drunken racket on the bottom shelf, creating a solid alibi for them, since the murder occurred on the top shelf.” Pete and Sammy smiled and said, “Well, I guess a life of partying pays off, right Danny?” They gave each other a high five and sighed of relief.
Detective Danny lowered the brim of his swanky fedora and raised a thoughtful finger to his chin. “Some, however, were not disturbed by the noise because…” Everybody gasped, as the Danish pointed and shouted, “Where were you last night…Miss Tiki Take-out?” The Chinese take-out box began to cry.
“I don’t know what you mean, Detective. I was…”
“Not sleeping on the middle shelf!” He interrupted. “I didn’t see you there!”
“But…but…I would never…”
“She was with me.” The crowd turned to find Soda Pop Perez, a bubbly, sugar-laden knight in aluminum armor. “Is there something you need to tell us, Perez?” Danny asked. “I smell something fishy, and it ain’t Tuna Casserole Pete.” The soda sighed, “I was about to break-it-off with Beatrix. I’m in love with another.” He caressed Tiki’s white, cardboard cheek. “I love you, Tiki.” They kissed and the detective butted in. “I suppose she wouldn’t have used a spork anyways, since the gal is a master of the fighting chopsticks.” He coughed to imply that the amorous snacks needed to come-up for air. “That being the case, there was somebody else supposedly sleeping soundly beneath the bottom shelf, which is also a lie, so the killer must be…”
Suddenly, thunder clanged and the lights went out. Scared yelps and squeals echoed, and Detective Danny Danish felt hands clasp around his throat as he was tackled to the ground. He tried to get his wits about him, but the darkness was getting dimmer as the strangling hands gripped tighter. He heard a “swoosh” and a “thud.” The lights flickered back on. Impaled by one of Tiki’s chopsticks, Yolanda Yogurt bled mixed berry dairy all over Danny and the floor. “Yolanda,” Danny barked. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Beatrix Banana?”
“She was my biggest competition to get out of this joint,” she sputtered. “I am a glamorous, healthy breakfast food, and I will NOT be thrown away!” Detective Danny raised an inquisitive brow. “Which is why you came after me? Because I’m a desirable, cream cheese Danish?” Yolanda’s lips curved into a deranged, pained smile. “Yes,” she coughed. “Besides…that banana hussy was bruised anyways…” Her eyes closed for the last time and Detective Danny Danish scoffed “And you’re way past your expiration date.”
The mystery solved, all was well in the icebox, and everybody was able to put the terror behind them and live on, until Friday at 5:15, when the receptionist frowned and cursed, “Why on Earth would somebody mutilate a banana and a yogurt cup and just leave them in the freezer?!” She rolled her eyes with annoyance, unaware of the true culprits of the mess, and tossed the food in the garbage pail.