Down the Rabbit Hole Read Online Free

river: a quiet room, ideal for reading. Ingrid lay in bed, her pinpoint light shining on the open pages of The Complete Sherlock Holmes.
    Sherlock Holmes was a cold man—although not as cold as Dr. Watson made out—but you couldlearn a lot from him. For example, right here in “The Red-headed League,” he tells Watson: “The more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify.” Or, a few pages later, after Holmes has seen some clue on the knees of the pawnbroker’s assistant’s trousers—a complete mystery to both Watson and Ingrid—he makes a point of memorizing the order of the houses around Saxe-Coburg Square. “It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London.”
    Ingrid stopped right there. Was it possible to imagine Holmes lost in London? No. London was his territory and he knew every inch. The obvious thought came next: Echo Falls was her territory, and she’d been lost in it that very day. There was nothing cute about that. It was just plain dumb. She decided to begin work on an exact mental picture of Echo Falls first thing in the morning.
    Then she remembered that tomorrow was Friday, a school day. Uh-oh. Was there math homework? Oh, yeah, a bunch. Had she done it? Fat chance. And was there a reading packet, too, something about Shays’ Rebellion? Who was Shays again? The red backpack,unopened, lay on the floor, probably in reach if she wriggled to the edge of the bed and made a good long stretch. Ingrid glanced at the clock. One forty-seven, practically dawn. Oh my God.
    Ingrid switched off the pinpoint light and closed her eyes. They wanted to snap right back open, but she kept them shut. She had a vision of Cracked-Up Katie taking a deep drag from the bent cigarette. Across the hall, Ty moaned in his sleep. Maybe he was having a bad dream. Ingrid felt on the shelf above her bed for Mister Happy, her teddy bear, old now and missing an eye, and tucked him in beside her. The rain started up again, pounding on the roof, flowing into the gutters and down the drainpipe outside Ingrid’s window. She listened, isolating all the separate sounds of the rain. Soon her eyes stayed closed on their own.
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    She was in a little boat on a wild sea, but oh so snug, for some reason, and fast asleep.
    â€œIngrid!”
    Fast, fast asleep, so delicious with the storm all around.
    â€œIngrid! It’s ten after seven.”
    So snug, and even snugger if she rolled over andpulled the covers up like so. Mmmmm. Sleep in a full-force gale, the wind howling but little Griddie so safe and—
    â€œINGRID!”
    Ingrid squeezed over against the wall, making herself practically invisible. “Five more minutes,” she said, her voice thick, her lips almost glued together.
    â€œYou don’t have five minutes, Ingrid.”
    â€œFour.”
    And then the intolerable. Snap—her covers were on the floor, whipped right off her, antisnug, definition of. Ingrid rolled over. Mom stood over the bed, dressed for work, arms crossed. Four was just a preliminary bargaining position; she would have settled for two or even one. One pitiful minute more of sleep.
    â€œWere you up reading last night?” Mom said.
    â€œNo,” said Ingrid, getting out of bed, her bare feet touching down on the icy floor.
    â€œI see you didn’t wear your appliance.”
    â€œOops.”
    â€œWhat’s the point of paying Dr. Binkerman all this money?”
    â€œSearch me.”
    â€œWatch your tone.”
    â€œBut I really don’t know.”
    â€œAnd this room is a shambles.”
    â€œI’ll stay home and clean it,” Ingrid offered, but Mom was already out the door.
    Ingrid went down the hall to the bathroom. She knew that in parts of the world eight or nine people might share a single bathroom, maybe