I hefted my dad’s old army binoculars back into position and scanned the yard for our target. No one wanted to acknowledge the truth, but the facts were undeniable.
“How long we gotta keep this up, Mikey? It’s cold up here, and we only got the one binoculars.” Calvin rubbed his mitten-covered hands together and scowled from behind the coils of his knitted scarf.
From my third-row seat in the press room at the county sheriff’s office, I stretched my neck to see Detective Luz Margolis at the lectern.
Camera shutters clicked as she spoke. “Dental records leave no doubt: the body recently recovered from Lake Herring is missing tech entrepreneur Rachel Framer. The medical examiner estimates she’s been dead approximately three weeks.”
I stand on the Goldberry Bridge, glaring at last week’s newspaper. “Good Boy, Ace!” the headline declares. Everyone in Tuttlesburgh thinks Ace is a heroic golden retriever responsible for dramatic river rescues. But there’s more to the story. I think it’s a ruse, and Ace himself is at the center of it.
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Ever since I read through fifty-six Nancy Drew books in one summer at age eleven, I’ve wanted to be a detective. Five years later I got my first case. What I hadn’t imagined was that my first case would be the mystery of my own disappearance.
After my older brother Levi learned…
With my publisher’s demand for a retraction—practically a resignation in this journalistic environment—hanging over me, I approached the production booth. Through the window, I watched Clint Bell at the microphone bringing his show to commercial break.
“You’re deep in The Bell Hole, live on Eastville’s ZAP-95 FM. We’ll be back after these
“Rope secure?”
“Check.”
“Snacks on hand?”
“Check.”
I passed a bag of freeze-dried oranges to the shadow shaped like my roommate and watched him fumble to open it in the dark.
“Ugh. Connor. This is the best you have?”
“We’re in space, Barrett. Not many options.”
He sighed and shifted on the lumpy mattress.
The most terrifying day of my life was humid and hot—the type of weather that either makes people love summer or wish for winter. I stood in front of Rimlain Canyons, casually scanning the uneven cliff walls with Mr. Krinkleton, a librarian and fellow adventurer. Rumor had it there were riches to be found here, yet many who went searching for them never returned.
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Click. Crop. Brighten. Save. I remove the same flaw from each of my sister Sadie’s wedding photos. Offering up my backyard and photography skills had me feeling like Sister of the Year until I noticed the blemish in the background of every image. Evidently, my neighbors tied a ragged, ugly eyesore of a red scarf
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For a children’s librarian, the deadliest weapon is the paper cutter. With one wrong slice, important papers such as reading forms can be destroyed. I know, because it happened to me last summer. One June morning, I found everything for the Summer Reading kick-off—from bookmarks to tracking charts—on my desk, cut apart
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My first case wasn’t about crime at all. It was about love. I mean, technically, a crime had been committed, but… well, maybe I’d better just tell it.
I was sixteen in 1985 and lived three houses down from sweet old Miss Evans, who dressed up every Friday night, even if she was only going as far as her front porch.
A light scratching within the cavernous walls sent new goosebumps racing down Aniya’s arms. She couldn’t see anything in the shadows, only heard unsettling noises, followed by a slow, barely audible dripping of water. She strained her eyes as if squinting would provide clarity, but when the cave remained resolutely dark,
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“Well,” Louisa said, staring at the vast array of cups lining the cave walls, “which one is it?”
Andy turned in place, the assorted accessories hanging from his pack protesting the sudden movement. He adjusted his glasses, bringing the hundreds of wine glasses, champagne flutes, ornate chalices, hefty beer steins, delicate tea cups, and…
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