Agabus the gnome rushed into the hallway and leaned against the wall. “That was close,” she panted, glancing over her shoulder. Another one of the queen’s booby traps Agabus just narrowly avoided. I must be getting close to her lair. To Tump.
Her eyes adjusted to the light provided by the torches.
An ordinary person only has to worry about a delayed plane, lost luggage, and the like interrupting their vacation. Me? I had to deal with a cryptid making headlines.
While I love the hubbub of NYC, I was ready to shut my mind off of work for a while. After several years, I’d finally…
“Hikari, let’s review your statement.” I flip three pages back in my notebook. There needs to be no discrepancies in the retelling of my defendant’s story. Traveling at 220 mph, I’m aware I have little time to solve this case. The Nozomi Bullet Train takes two hours and fifteen minutes to travel from
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“Time for your first elephant hunt, Ms. Chowdhury.” Inspector Patel’s gaze was fixed on the huge, disc-shaped space elevator descending the cable toward its Himalayan base. So was mine, but with more awe—this system lets us easily and regularly reach space itself!
My pulse accelerated. I tapped my case. “My equipment is ready…
As a general rule, Reynolds didn’t go into junior high girls’ bathrooms. But when three corpses turned up in a school lavatory stall all in one day, he tended to make an exception. Plus, he’d been called in to investigate.
All the way from New York City.
Reynolds squatted in front of…
Terrific. They spotted me.
Rebecca floored the accelerator as the car in front of her rounded a corner. Fortunately, most of Athens’ boulevards stretched straight a considerable distance, allowing her to race forward. And at one a.m., she didn’t have to contend with traffic.
Rebecca’s electric-blue Ford Puma jumped to one-hundred-twenty kilometers per hour.
Great colleagues are worth fighting for.
My partner and I have been looking for a case to solve for weeks, and I’ve finally stumbled upon something. “Constable Yo-yo, have you seen the mummified crocodile for sale?”
“Maaah,” bleats the constable.
When initially partnered with a rove goat two months ago I asked,
Time Square is a sensory overload waiting to happen—the heart of the city that never sleeps. Between the flashing boards, blaring traffic, and constantly moving people, it’s nearly impossible to find something in the mess.
Nearly being the keyword.
I leaned against the side of a building, slowly chewing a classic
Leave the dead to their derby, and they’ll leave the living to theirs. The ghosts don’t hurt anyone; they come, celebrate, and leave at midnight once a year. Horse races mean a lot to folks around here.
That’s what the old hillbilly had said as he pumped Reynolds’ gas. But leaving ghosts alone…
It isn’t positively raining, but there is a mist in the air that seeps through one’s clothes. A young boy stands beneath a lamppost, staring across the cobbled street. One trouser knee is patched, and the other needs patching. He shrugs his shoulders and buries his cold hands deeper into his pockets.
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Most people are skeptical when they hear a sentient cake has a PI’s license, but get your picture in the paper enough, and you begin to gain credibility with a capital C. That, and the delicious smell of my chocolate ganache, is how Agatha Vanderbruin Von Marnestein found her way to my office.
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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
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