Chapter 3 - The Case of the Missing Roast Chicken

The air in the Henderson household was thick with tension—and the faint, lingering scent of rosemary and garlic.Arthur Henderson stood in the middle of the kitchen, his silk bathrobe fluttering like the cape of a very tired superhero. He stared at the kitchen counter. It was empty. The silver platter that had held a 5-pound, perfectly seasoned roast chicken was gone. Only a single, lonely sprig of parsley remained."Nobody leaves this room until I find the culprit!" Arthur bellowed, pointing a spatula at his family.His wife, Martha, was calmly knitting a sweater that was already six inches too long. "Arthur, it's 11 PM. We're the only ones here. Unless the ghost of your Great Aunt Enid developed a craving for poultry, it wasn't us.""That's exactly what a chicken-thief would say!" Arthur narrowed his eyes.The suspense was unbearable. Arthur began his investigation. He looked for clues. He found a grease trail leading toward the basement. His heart hammered against his ribs. Was it a burglar? A sophisticated ring of meat-snatchers?He grabbed a heavy flashlight and crept down the stairs. Creak. Creak. Every sound felt like a gunshot. He reached the bottom and saw a shadow moving behind the furnace."I have you now!" Arthur screamed, lunging forward and tripping over a laundry basket.He crashed into a pile of towels. The shadow stepped out. It wasn't a burglar. It was Barnaby, the family's overweight Golden Retriever. Barnaby was wearing a look of profound guilt and had a single chicken wing sticking out of his mouth like a cigar.But then, the real suspense hit.If Barnaby was in the basement with only one wing... who was eating the rest of the chicken in the attic?Arthur heard a muffled belch from above. He sprinted up three flights of stairs, burst into the attic, and flipped the switch. There, sitting on a trunk, was his teenage son, Leo, surrounded by bones and holding a bottle of hot sauce."Dad," Leo said, eyes wide with terror. "I can explain. The chicken started it."Arthur looked at the empty carcass, then at his son, then at the dog who had followed him up. He sighed, dropped his spatula, and sat down.