Dead Wood Detective Agency: A Narrative Fiction
I cleared my throat. “But this is—” “Listen, I’ve been shooing away lookie-loos all morning.” I got off my bike, reached into my pocket, pulled out one of our cards, and handed it to her. She read it aloud: “Dead Wood Detective Agency. Twist Tisalton—Seth Holloway—Madison Mischief. We will investigate anything, from misdemeanors to mayhem. And mystery is our middle name.” She looked me, amused, a pimply smile playing upon her cheeks. “I see.” “Ghosts are our specialty, ma’am,” Seth added. “But don’t get me wrong, we do enjoy the occasional bump off or break-in.” “Ah, okay.” She glanced at the card. “So you and your friends look into stuff, huh?” “Yes, ma’am. We’re here on official business, testing a theory,” Twist explained. “And
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“The phantom would have to carry the loud speaker someplace.” He smiled. “That was a joke, right?” “Yes. See you around, kid.” The policewoman waved and gave us a small, dazzled smile as if we were her long lost pals. We waved back as we tore down the drive and stopped at the end where it became a wall of short, scrubby-needled pines. “So listen,” I said. “I wrote out our investigation plan: One, interrogate suspects. Two, collect and review evidence. Three, determine the perpetrator’s motives. I think it’s best if we begin at the top of the list and work our way down. I have the names and addresses of all the eyewitnesses who reported to the police after seeing the ghost. So I picked the address next door to Gray Meadow Manor and figured we could start there.” We hung a sharp left then rounded a corner just as a car swerved into a driveway framed by pink flamingos. A man hobbled out and almost knocked a yard gnome over as he kicked the driver’s side door closed. Once we got closer, I could see that it was Mr. Greene, but he seemed older somehow. “Hi,” he said and started to cough and hack so hard his face turned bright red. After the hacking subsided, he leaned into the back seat of his car and grabbed a bag of
“The phantom would have to carry the loud speaker someplace.” He smiled. “That was a joke, right?” “Yes. See you around, kid.” The policewoman waved and gave us a small, dazzled smile as if we were her long lost pals. We waved back as we tore down the drive and stopped at the end where it became a wall of short, scrubby-needled pines. “So listen,” I said. “I wrote out our investigation plan: One, interrogate suspects. Two, collect and review evidence. Three, determine the perpetrator’s motives. I think it’s best if we begin at the top of the list and work our way down. I have the names and addresses of all the eyewitnesses who reported to the police after seeing the ghost. So I picked the address next door to Gray Meadow Manor and figured we could start there.” We hung a sharp left then rounded a corner just as a car swerved into a driveway framed by pink flamingos. A man hobbled out and almost knocked a yard gnome over as he kicked the driver’s side door closed. Once we got closer, I could see that it was Mr. Greene, but he seemed older somehow. “Hi,” he said and started to cough and hack so hard his face turned bright red. After the hacking subsided, he leaned into the back seat of his car and grabbed a bag of