You point dramatically. "Stop right there, cookie crook!" The raccoon lets out a squeaky gasp and bolts across the snow, his Santa hat flopping as he runs. You sprint after him, boots crunching, scarf flying behind you. But raccoons are fast — really fast. He darts under the porch, over a snowbank, and up a pine tree before you can even catch your breath. You look up just in time to see him stick his tongue out at you (how rude!) before vanishing into the branches. You sigh, brushing snow off your coat. "Guess I'll have to bake more cookies… again." When you go inside, you pour yourself some cocoa and write in your detective notebook: Case Note: The thief escaped. But at least he has good taste in cookies. Later that night, you find a single cookie on the windowsill with a small note written in snowy pawprints: "Sorry! Couldn't resist. Merry Christmas!" The End.