Malcolm Goldman and the Mystery of the Secret Admirer
The door to my office banged open like a scene from an action movie. Winston, our perpetually unimpressed basset hound, startled awake, let out a grumpy bark, and slumped under my desk, clearly annoyed by the disruption.
In the doorway stood Malcolm, clipboard in one hand, plastic magnifying glass in the other. His oversized trench coat swayed dramatically, though there was no wind, and a tilted fedora with a bright red ribbon sat atop his head. Taped to the front of his coat was a paper heart, boldly labeled Detective Malcolm: Heart Division in wobbly marker.
“We’ve got a problem, Dad,” he declared, marching into the room with the gravitas of someone delivering national news.
I set down my coffee and leaned back in my chair. “Oh, this sounds serious. What’s the problem?”
Sarah entered the room to listen in.
He slapped a pink envelope onto my desk. “This!”
I picked it up, curious. The envelope was covered in stickers—hearts, glittery stars, even a dinosaur for good measure. Inside was a Valentine that read, You’re the best!
“Well, it’s a nice card,” I said. “What’s the issue?”
Malcolm groaned, flopping into the chair across from me. “The issue, Dad, is that I didn’t write it. Someone else did. Someone who… likes me.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing and gave Sarah a wink. “That doesn’t sound so bad, Malcolm. It’s always nice to have people like us.”
“Noooo,” he moaned. “I mean likes me likes me. You know… like special likes me.”
As he stood there looking at me like I was stupid, I couldn’t help but remember a similar conversation with my own father several decades earlier. “Ooooh,” I said. “Well, that must feel nice.”
“Nice?” he wailed. “Nice? It’s a disaster!” Malcolm threw his hands up. “Dad, this is a romantic mystery! It’s way worse than the missing cats! This is serious. I need to find out who left it for me.”
Winston snorted from under the desk, clearly unimpressed by the comparison.
I set my face to super serious. “Okay, Detective Malcolm,” I said. “What’s the plan?”
“Step one,” he said, standing up, clipboard in hand. “Find out who’s behind this.”
The Investigation Begins
Malcolm’s first suspect was Jessica, the four-year-old from down the block. Jessica was outside playing with dolls when Malcolm marched up, magnifying glass at the ready.
“I sure hope it’s her,” Malcolm muttered. “Little kids don’t know any better.”
“Jessica!” Malcolm barked. “Do you know what this is?” He held up the Valentine.
The little girl looked up from her dolls and blinked at him. “A heart?”
“Exactly,” Malcolm said, narrowing his eyes. “Did you write it?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know how to write. Mommy says I can learn next year when I go to skoo.”
“School,” Malcolm corrected her.
The little girl ignored him and went back to her dolls.
“Suspicious,” Malcolm muttered, jotting something down on his clipboard. “Very suspicious.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Nevermind,” he replied, covering his mouth as he spoke. “I’m trying to stay in character here.”
I nodded my head grimly. “Oh. Right. Suspicious indeed.”
Malcolm stared down the street at Emma’s house and frowned. Then he set his sights on Mrs. Kowalski’s house. “She’s way too old for me, but she’s always telling me how handsome I am,” he said. “I hope it’s her.”
“Why her?” I asked.
“Because the alternative is a disaster!”
“A disaster?” I asked. “Why’s that?”
He looked at me, a grim shadow crossing his face. “You don’t wanna’ know,” he said. “It’s too horrible to think about. Let’s just hope it’s Mrs. Kowalski.”
I laughed, and Winston led the way.
Mrs. Kowalski’s House
The smell of cookies greeted us before Mrs. Kowalski even opened the door. I wondered how on earth it was that the old lady always seemed to be baking. Was she secretly a plot device come to life in reality? I mused to myself, making a mental note to call my editor later and tell him my next draft was gonna’ be late. Malcolm’s adventures took priority.
“Detective Malcolm,” she said with a smile. “What brings you here?”
“This!” Malcolm said, holding up the Valentine like it was a clue in a high-stakes case. “Did you write it?”
Mrs. Kowalski adjusted her glasses and examined the card. “Hmm. Looks like the work of someone who thinks you’re very special, Malcolm.”
His face turned as red as I’d ever seen it as he turned and looked down the street to Emma’s house. “Oh, brother,” he mumbled. “It’s my worst nightmare come true.”
She chuckled, looking in the same direction as him knowingly. “Well, Malcolm, Valentine’s Day is about making people feel appreciated. Maybe you should think about doing the same.”
Malcolm frowned. “What if they think I appreciate them too much?”
Mrs. Kowalski laughed again and handed him a cookie. “If all else fails, cookies always help. I can help you make her some if you like.”
He held up his magnifying glass and peered through it. “You’re in this with her. Aren’t you?” he said accusingly. “Why would I give her cookies for a—a—a silly card?”
“Oh. Well, if you change your mind, I would be happy to help,” she called after him as Malcolm and Winston took off across the lawn toward Emma’s house, not even bothering to say goodbye.
I smiled and whispered. “We’ll be back.”
Mrs. Kowalski smiled back and nodded. “Adorable,” she said.
Emma’s House
When we arrived at Emma’s house, she was clearly expecting us. The seven-year-old answered the door in a pretty pink dress she had clearly picked out just for this occasion.
“Hi, Malcolm,” she said with a shy smile.
Malcolm took in her appearance and clutched his clipboard tightly. He looked like he was having trouble making words. Finally, frustrated, he held up the Valentine. “What’s the meaning of this?” he stammered.
Emma giggled and disappeared inside, only to return with a box of chocolates. She handed it to him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, her cheeks pink. “I think you’re really cool.”
Malcolm froze, his mouth hanging open. His face turned bright red.
“You… think I’m cool?” he squeaked.
Emma nodded. “Yeah.”
“Oh. Uh… well… YOU’RE a… cool…” He flailed for words, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “FROG! You’re a cool frog! Yep. Okay, bye!”
Before Emma could respond, Malcolm spun around and bolted off the porch, nearly tripping over his trench coat as Winston trotted after him.
The Meltdown
Back home, Malcolm flopped onto the couch, groaning. “Dad, it’s worse than I thought. She likes me! Like, really likes me.”
“And you called her a frog?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“A cool frog!” he protested. “It was a compliment! Sort of.”
Sarah, who was folding laundry, raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’d better apologize. Girls don’t like being called frogs.”
“I can’t apologize!” Malcolm wailed. “What if she tells people? What if the whole neighborhood finds out? I’ll have to move to Canada!”
“So, what’s your plan?” I asked.
“Easy,” Malcolm said, pacing the room. “I’ll make a better Valentine. Something amazing.”
Plan A: The Valentine
Malcolm’s first attempt was a Valentine featuring a stick-figure drawing of him and Winston battling a dragon. Beneath it, he wrote: “You’re welcome for me saving the world!”
Sarah looked at it and said, “This says more about dragons than it does about Emma.”
“Fine!” Malcolm groaned. “I’ll try something else.”
Plan B: The Song
Next, Malcolm tried writing a song. He grabbed his kazoo and hummed a few notes, then attempted lyrics: “Emma, Emma, you’re… um… tremma?” He paused. “Does ‘tremma’ rhyme with Emma?”
Winston got up and walked out of the room.
“This is impossible!” Malcolm groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “There’s no way to fix this!”
“What about cookies?” Sarah suggested, pulling a tray of chocolate chip ones from the oven.
“Cookies?” Malcolm frowned. “How is that supposed to help?”
“Everyone likes cookies,” she said.
Malcolm stared at her, then at the cookies, then back at her. Slowly, a grin spread across his face. “Cookies… and a Valentine. Like… a combo move.”
The Grand Plan
Malcolm enlisted Mrs. Kowalski to help bake heart-shaped cookies. He remembered at the last minute seeing a heart-shaped mold in her cookie cutter collection. The results weren’t perfect—some were lopsided, others over-sprinkled—but Malcolm was proud of them. He packed the cookies in a tin and taped a new Valentine to the lid. The card read: “You’re pretty cool too, I guess… for a girl.”
I grabbed my coat to go with him for the delivery when he raised a hand to stop me.
“Some things a man just has to do alone, Dad,” he said somberly. I nodded my head and pretended to walk away, but crept behind a bush. I was not missing this for the world.
I watched anxiously as he snuck onto Emma’s porch, rang the bell, and then, clearly my son (Sarah was the bold one in our relationship), Malcolm bolted into the bushes as fast as his legs would carry him with Winston right behind.
From his hiding spot, he watched as Emma opened the door, found the tin, opened it, put a cookie in her mouth, opened the card, and smiled.
“She’s smiling,” I saw him whisper to Winston. “Mission accomplished.”
Winston snorted.
The Aftermath
The next day, Emma showed up at our house, holding the empty cookie tin. Winston barked once, then wagged his tail.
“Hi, Malcolm,” Emma said. “Thanks for the cookies. They were really good.”
“Oh,” Malcolm stammered. “Yeah. No problem. I just… didn’t want you to be… hungry.”
Emma giggled. “They were my favorite Valentine.” She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Malcolm froze, his face going red again. “Oh great,” he muttered. “I thought the cookies were the end of the disaster. I didn’t realize they’d be the beginning.”
He marched off, muttering under his breath, while Winston let out an exasperated sigh.
And just like that, Malcolm’s first romantic mystery ended with cookies, chaos, a lot of awkward charm—and one very confused but very patient little girl.
I love Malcom.....such a cute story....Happy Valentines Day my friend....