NUTTER’S PEANUT BUTTER PROCESSING CENTER, 10:30 A.M.

“Nutter’s Nuts is proud to bring you the creamiest, richest peanut butter! That is—unless you prefer chunky. We have that, too!” Gerald, chipper as ever, gave the tour a chuckle. “From our factory to your sandwich! We are one of the nation’s leading innovators in peanut butter technology!”

Cooper and O’Malley were now standing with the schoolchildren in a massive room where shelled peanuts from the adjacent room traveled via conveyor belts in a dizzying configuration. The scent of peanuts was overpowering. And both detectives were scanning the scene in every direction, wondering which of the countless squirrels they saw around them—if any of them—might have been the perpetrator. With so many squirrels to choose from, how would they ever figure out if there was a suspect in their midst?

“Come!” Gerald beckoned. “We can watch from the observation deck! The nuts are about to get ground up and turned into that sweet, delicious goop we all love!” Gerald smacked his lips so loudly his head mike popped. He directed the group to a metal staircase that led up to a catwalk overlooking the operation.

The peanuts made their way up a ramp and onto a flat surface. The nuts were rhythmically pulverized with mallets that looked like giant meat tenderizers, to make them ready to mix.

Smoke billowed out of the top of the contraption with every compression. What was left of the nuts was almost a powder. This continued to journey on the conveyor belts, which ended at a giant mixing bowl. There, oil and sugar poured forth from tubes above. Then, an alarm rang out and giant mixing blades descended from the ceiling. “This is where you all will want to stand back!” yelled Gerald.

The whirring of the blades filled the room with a bit of a gust until they sunk into the ingredients.

O’Malley wasn’t paying attention, though. He was too busy trying to keep track of every squirrel he saw. It wasn’t easy. He wished he had a bit of Zengo’s sixth sense for spotting criminals. What would Zengo notice that was escaping O’Malley? He thought back to the gawky squirrel with the dolly back at the loading bay who had eyeballed them earlier. He had seemed suspicious. But maybe he was just curious.

“I keep thinking about that little creep with the hand truck,” O’Malley whispered to Cooper, his mouth barely moving, after first making sure that Gerald was distracted. He did not want to be the target of another hairy eyeball from the guide.

“You mean that guy?” whispered Cooper.

O’Malley was startled. What was the spotted squirrel doing here, clear over on the other side of the factory from where they had first seen him? Was it the same guy? O’Malley squinted to make sure. The squirrel’s tail was spotted—just like the other one. And he seemed to be watching the tour group out of the corner of his eye. Or was that just O’Malley’s imagination? This was by far the hardest thing about the job.

O’Malley decided to do his best to keep an eye on the squirrel while pretending to be completely fascinated with the peanut-butter-making process. This was not easy. He was no actor. He knew four eyes were better than two, so he pulled Cooper to the back of the tour crowd to share his suspicions.

“What makes you so sure?” she asked.

Though O’Malley hated to admit it, he did not have much to go on. “A hunch?” he said.

Cooper looked back at him skeptically. “Okay,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll try to keep an eye on him. You do the same. Why don’t we split up and each go to one edge of the group. We can pretend we’re each checking out a different part of the process.”

Now Cooper too was on full alert. Soon, she signaled O’Malley and pointed to a bushy tail, covered in black spots, sticking out from behind a barrel by the exit. The markings were unmistakable. It had to be the same squirrel yet again. Why was he shadowing them?

O’Malley looked away, and when he looked back again, the squirrel was gone.

“That’s it,” he said, breaking away from the group to go after him, but Cooper grabbed his arm.

“Stop!” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t blow our cover! He’s not even a flying squirrel!”

“He knows something!” whispered O’Malley. “I can tell!”

An instant later, a ball bounced past Cooper’s feet.

“My ball!” shouted Evan McCallister, the troublemaking kid from the waiting room. The ball bounced right off the observation deck and into the vat of peanut butter, where the mixing blades were now rotating at a dizzying speed. And the boy was running right after it.

“STOP!” shouted Gerald, running toward the boy. Cooper ran toward the kid, too. But they were both too late. The boy lost his footing and fell off the platform, his arms flailing helplessly as he fell with a splat into the mixing bowl. Cooper didn’t hesitate. She leaped off the platform like an Olympic diver, sailing through the air, her beehive wig blowing off as she did. She landed with a plop in the sticky brown vat of goop, right next to the boy. As they struggled to stay above the surface in the swirling sea of peanut butter, she reached for his arm and pulled him close to her.

Gerald fumbled with his walkie-talkie and yelled, “CODE RED! CODE RED!” The sound of machines slowing to a halt left only the sounds of the screaming students and the chaperones who feared for the boy’s life.

But Evan McCallister was in good hands—Jo Cooper’s. She safely kept the boy afloat and maneuvered past the mixing blades each time they approached. As soon as the mixing bowl came to a complete stop, she lifted him to the emergency workers, who carried him to safety via a cherry-picker truck.

O’Malley cringed. Would strands of Cooper’s wig end up in some kids’ sandwiches?

He looked over and spied the spotted squirrel again. This time, he didn’t take his eyes off him, and the squirrel took off toward an area of the factory marked “DANGER—OFF-LIMITS.”

Having confidence that Cooper would handle the situation with the boy, O’Malley slid down the railing of the catwalk staircase and gave chase. He was certain the squirrel had kicked the boy’s ball out of his hand and into the peanut butter. A clever distraction, but not clever enough. “Cooper! Come in, Cooper!” She radioed back, but her voice was muffled. O’Malley couldn’t hear what she was saying; he was just glad that she wasn’t over her head in peanut butter.

O’Malley put his radio away and rushed through the maze of pipes and barrels that littered the Nutter’s Nuts Factory floor, careful to not lose sight of the spot-tailed assailant.

Employees were scattering in every direction. The suspect jumped up to a ladder that was on the side of the supply silo and scaled the wall at a pace faster than O’Malley could keep up with. The detective withdrew his boomerang and shouted, “Platypus Police Squad! FREEZE!” The squirrel didn’t even look back, but continued to climb upward. O’Malley took a deep breath. He aimed just above the fleeing squirrel. The boomerang struck the supply tower and created a gaping hole, which sent nuts shooting out. O’Malley ducked for cover underneath the conveyor belt as nuts continued to spew, bringing the squirrel down with it. The rumbling sound of the avalanche was deafening.

O’Malley dug his way out of the rubble, but he was too late. The squirrel had chewed his way out faster. The squirrel pushed past the other factory workers toward the end of the room. As he swung open the emergency-exit door, he looked back at O’Malley and grinned.

But Jo Cooper was waiting for him on the other side of the door. She socked him across the muzzle and jumped on top of him, pulled his arms behind his back, and cuffed him.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she began.