The Great McMillan

By Naomi Brooks   

Herman McMillan was the best detective in the history of crime, and I was the only one who knew it.

There was that time he found a murderer hiding in the air vents of a drugstore after using his dachshund to follow the scent of the cheeseburger left in the victim’s apartment. Another time McMillan returned with a priceless diamond wristwatch, tracing it solely by the sound of its ticking. Once, he tackled a money launderer off the side of a building. He survived by dropping into the open top of a water cistern.

Yes, McMillan was an expert. I know, because he told me.

How an expert detective ended up working as our middle school janitor is beyond me, but I’d spent enough time in detention to hear many of his stories. “Evi,” he’d say, patting me on the head, “one day you’ll see, girl. I’ll show you something really fine.”

I was proud to know McMillan. Why my parents rolled their eyes when I told them his stories, I have no idea. But I wanted to see the great detective at work.

So when our house was robbed, I was far more excited than scared.

Just after the end of school that afternoon, I found the detective scrubbing mud off the floor of the math room. “Herman,” I said, “I woke up this morning and there were two people skidding down the stairs. They stole my dad’s laptop and our cashbox. Can you take a look?”

McMillan spat a piece of gum into his hand. “The police will solve it. No need for a great detective like me to get involved. Can you pass me that brush?” He shoved the gum into his pocket.

I handed him the scrub brush. “But Herman, I just want to watch you solve this one case. Just one! It’s not even close to as big as the Parisian bank robbery of ’93.”

“Look, Evi—”

“My parents are at work. You can jimmy open the window like on the hacker-gang case.”

“But—”

“Please?” I fluttered my eyelashes. “For me?”

He sighed, setting down his brush. “Fine. For you.”

“Great! I’ll meet you by the buses.” I took off through the halls toward the school’s front door.

A couple of older kids—Archer and Kasey—stared as I dashed past. “Crazy Evi,” Archer yelled after me. “You’re lucky the robbers didn’t knock your head in!”

“My head’s too hard for that.”

Kasey waved an arm—clothed in a red hockey jersey—at me. “Be careful, okay?” His voice oozed sarcasm.

The two of them cackled.

I glared. “Hey, you better shut up. You’re talking to the great Evalyn Miller.”

“Whatever.” Archer shrugged and turned away. “We gotta get to practice.”

Jerks. I ran on toward the school bus.

McMillan didn’t have to jimmy the window open since I knew the code for the back door. I supposed with the urgency of the matter, it was smart to use the quicker option.

“Has anyone investigated yet?” McMillan whispered.

I nodded. “Police.”

“Did they find evidence?”

“Dunno, I had to leave.”

“How’d the robbers get in?”

“Broke a window.” I pointed at the shattered kitchen window. “There are these thin, angular holes.”

McMillan examined the broken glass. “That’ll be expensive to fix.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the upstairs.” I hurried up the flight of stairs and pushed open the door to my dad’s home office. “Take a look. This is where his computer was, and the cashbox was in the corner.”

I sat back and waited for the magic to happen.

McMillan, obviously using his amazing detective powers, glanced around. “Um…well…”

“Take your time.”

He prowled across the room, eyes keen, scanning every inch. He crouched and plucked something off the floor. “Aha! Evidence.”

I examined the thing. “Lint?”

“Cloth fiber, Evi. Hmm… Bright red in color. Cotton, I think.”

“Red fiber… angular holes made with a long, blunt object…” I pursed my lips, considering. “I guess that’ll mean a big criminal gang. I’ll bet they wear red as their symbol.”

McMillan’s eyes widened. “Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Uh… then… maybe we should get back to school.” McMillan pocketed the fiber. “I’ve got five more classrooms to clean.” He shuffled toward the door.

“But what about the case?”

“Don’t worry about it, Evi. I… um… I already know who did this.” He smiled, a little too bright. “I’ll show you when we get back.”

I hesitated, glancing around, then nodded. “Fine. Okay.”

Back at school, McMillan headed straight toward the front doors. “Well, see you tomorrow, Evi. Goodbye.”

“Wait! Who stole our stuff?”

“What?”

“You said you knew who the thief was.”

He turned. “Evi, I…”

I read the truth in his face. “You don’t know. You lied to me?”

“Well…”

“Does that mean…” I hesitated. “You’re still working on the case?”

“Evi, I’m sorry. This one’s beyond me. I mean, red cloth, thin objects? I’m not going to be able to track that.”

“Forget it. If you don’t know who it is, then I’m leaving.” I turned away and trudged toward the school bus. Around me, other students loitered on the sidewalk, chatting. Archer and Kasey sauntered past, both dressed in red jerseys now, carrying their hockey sticks.

Jerks.

Wait a second.

My mind flashed back to the break in the window. Long and thin. The fuzz on the floor. Red. The culprits. Part of a large, violent group who wore red as a symbol.

Whoa… McMillan must have known all along. I bet he wanted me to figure it out on my own.

“Hey you!” I advanced on the two. “You broke into my house!”

I saw McMillan’s astonished expression, and I knew I’d guessed right. The great detective had solved another case. Maybe not as great as the diamond heist in Japan, but pretty far up there.

The case of Evi and the hockey thieves.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Naomi Brooks is a Catholic high school student from the Pacific Northwest. Although she’s been making up stories ever since she could hold a pen, she began writing seriously after completing NaNoWriMo in 2020. When not writing, she enjoys visiting the library, hiking, and playing piano.

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