It Doesn't Take a Sherlock

My brother Kenny tells the story of the day he came home from Middle School to hear one of his three older brothers suggest that they bake the pastries that were in the fridge---the kind the doughboy sells in a cardboard cylinder that magically pops open if you hit it hard against a sharp counter edge.  Kenny now says he thought it a bit odd that his brother would propose this as a sibling project, as that brother could have just baked them himself and eaten his fill.  He was right to be suspicious. 

His brother had noticed that the small transparent plastic tube of white frosting included with the pastries was very similar to a plastic tube of white glue included in his model plane kit, and he had stealthily made the switch.  After baking, they brought the pan of pastries out of the oven and Ken’s brother graciously (and uncharacteristically) offered him the first one. Kenny snipped off the corner of what he assumed was the tube of frosting and squeezed an unhealthy portion onto the first of the pastries. He took a bite, filling his mouth with both pastry and paste, and immediately perceived something was amiss.  I imagine the resulting conversation went something like this:

            “Yuck! This is nasty!”

            “What’s wrong?”

            “It tastes like glue!  How can that be?”

“Now that you mention it,” his brother said, “The little tube of frosting included with the pastries looks a lot like the tube of glue from a model plane kit.  I wonder if they could have gotten mixed up somehow.”

I suppose within a few seconds Kenny was chasing his brother (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) around the house.  It didn’t require the mind of Sherlock Holmes to deduce that only one person had both opportunity and motive to plan and execute the caper.