My First Mystery Story---Or Is It?
The photo shows a bunch of buffalo (or possibly bison) on a field, with two things that look like goalposts stretching up above them. Here's my entry, which I wrote on my lunch hour.
THE GREAT BUFFALO CAPER
by David Ellis Dickerson
“Gee, Wendy,” said Lars. “Do you think it was such a great idea to sneak in to the national park with your dad’s semi, load up a bunch of buffalo, and then release them on the football field right before your school, the Winston High Buffaloes, plays an away game against your school’s rivals, the Laramie Coyotes?”
“Could that question have been any longer?” said Wanda.
“And then to picnic among them for the sheer danger of it! What a fun idea. I’m excited to be picnicking with you, Wanda,” Lars continued, “which is odd, because I’m not only terrified of buffaloes, but I have that heart condition I told you about where if I’m startled for any reason I might die and leave all my money to my half-sister.”
“I’m your half-sister,” said Wanda.
“I know,” said Lars. “I love exposition.”
“Well, here we are,” said Wanda, parking the now-emptied semi. “Now take the blanket and let’s find a place with a good view. Somewhere where we can see both goalposts. I want to send the picture in to the Laramie Bugle.”
They found a seat and started eating.
“You know,” said Lars, thoughtfully gnawing a bundt cake, “The American bison is one of the largest wild cattle in the world, surpassed only by the gaur of Asia and the water buffalo of India. And it’s the state mammal of Wyoming, which is where we live.”
“Uh-huh,” said Wendy, fighting to keep down her nervous bile. They’d already violated a state law prohibiting the release of wild animals on or around school property. If they were discovered, it was back to juvie for Wendy. And this time, after her third strike, it would be hard juvie.
“The buffalo nickel was minted from 1913 to 1938,” Lars added. “And there’s also a buffalo on the new Kansas quarter.”
“Jesus Christ!,” Wendy said. “Have you been reading Wikipedia again? Because I’ll be honest, Lars, I find your constant nattering quite annoying. I always have, ever since we were kids.”
“Really?” said Lars, blinking back tears of bafflement. “Why tell me now, after all this time? I have to say that I’m . . . buffaloed.”
“God, you’re irritating!” said Wanda, and she shot him with a Glock nine millimeter that she’d brought with them in the picnic basket, and which probably should have been mentioned earlier. But at least Lars is dead now. And the wind made a spooky sound.