Mystery #1 — The Missing Marshmallows

The campfire at Fort Loudoun popped and hissed as the sun dropped behind the trees. The boys of Trail Life sat in a circle on log benches, roasting sticks in hand, ready for the best part of any campout.

"Alright, men," Mr. Bradley announced, holding up a paper grocery sack like it was a royal treasure. "I present to you… the biggest bag of marshmallows in Franklin County!"

He turned the sack upside down and shook it. Not one marshmallow fell out. Not even a crumb.

"Nobody panic," Mr. Bradley said, holding up his hands. "Somebody was near that table this afternoon. Let's find out what happened." He pointed at three boys. "You, you, and you. Front and center."

Caleb stepped up first, his little leather Bible sticking out of his back pocket like always. "Sir, I was by my tent reading about David and Goliath."

"Well… mostly. I went over to the supply table once to grab a granola bar. But I didn't touch the marshmallow bag. I promise."

"I did!" piped up little Sam from the back. "I saw him grab a granola bar. Peanut butter kind. Then he went back to his tent."

Owen shuffled forward. Water squished out of his sneakers with every step. A long piece of creek grass was still stuck to his shin.

Ethan shuffled forward, staring at his shoes. "I walked past the table to grab my water bottle. That's all. I didn't touch anything. I promise."

Ethan looked up slowly. And that's when Mr. Bradley saw it. Right at the corner of Ethan's mouth—a sticky white smudge.

Mr. Bradley was about to pounce. But then he glanced back at Caleb. And he saw something on Caleb's cheek too. A sticky, sugary smudge, almost exactly the same color. The two boys had almost matching smudges on their faces.

Ethan slowly lifted the bottle. His hand was shaking. A gooey thumbprint gleamed on the side of it in the firelight.

Caleb pulled the empty wrapper out of his back pocket. It was covered in sticky peanut butter crumbs. A couple of crumbs were still stuck to the edge of Caleb's fingers.

Mr. Bradley held up the two pieces of evidence side by side, like a judge in a courtroom. "Alright, detectives. We have two suspects. Two sticky faces. But only ONE thief. Think it through."

"Peanut butter granola bar," Mr. Bradley said, pointing at Caleb's wrapper. "What color is the peanut butter smear on Caleb's cheek?"

The Answer: Ethan took the marshmallows! The tricky part was that Caleb ALSO had a sticky smudge on his face—but Caleb's smudge was brown (peanut butter) and matched the granola bar wrapper in his pocket. Ethan's smudge was white, and the gooey white thumbprint on his water bottle matched the color of a stolen marshmallow exactly. Owen's soaking clothes and creek grass proved he'd been at the water, nowhere near the supply table.

Ethan's eyes welled up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bradley. I was going to eat just one. But they were so soft, and nobody was watching, and—and I couldn't stop."

Mr. Bradley knelt down in front of him. "Ethan, listen. The marshmallows are gone. That's one thing. But the harder thing is what happens next. You had two chances tonight to tell me the truth, and you didn't—not until the clues made you. Next time, tell me first. Okay?"

Ethan nodded, wiping his eyes. The troop shared their own snacks with him that night, and by the time the fire died down, everyone was laughing again. But Ethan never forgot: the sneaking was easy, the lying was hard, and the getting caught was the worst of all.