Monster in Miniature Read Online Free

wrist after an imaginary exclamation point. “Were any of you here on Sangamon recently, before this evening?” I asked.
    “We came by the other night, but not all the decorations were ready yet,” Chelsea said.
    “Old Sam was still wiring things up,” Rob said. He pointed over his shoulder, not venturing another look at the scene. I was glad of that.
    “Did you talk to Mr. Ferguson?” I asked, looking from one to the other, pen still poised over my notepad.
    “We just waved,” Colin said. His hands were in the pockets of his sweatshirt, and I thought I caught him stifling a shiver.
    “Me and my boyfriend, Noah, came by again today,” Ashley said, testing my patience with her grammar.
    “What time?”
    “Lunchtime. We have open campus on Fridays and then we have study hall so we rode our bikes over here.”
    “Did you look at this house?”
    “Uh-huh. It was normal. I mean the straw man was there and jumped around the way he was supposed to. That’s not Mr. Ferguson with the . . .”—Ashley touched her forehead—“on the porch. That man is younger,” she offered, long after the fact.
    “I know it’s hard to think about, but just from your brief glimpse, does the man on the steps look like anyone you know, Ashley? You were the first to see him.” She shook her head. Once again, I scanned each of the teenagers. “Does anyone here recognize him?”
    No, no, and no. The two girls picked up their backpacks. I sensed I was losing them, and I couldn’t think of another reasonable question.
    An unmarked sedan that I recognized as belonging to the LPPD pulled up behind me. I turned and saw two other LPPD vehicles arriving also.
    Leave it to my nephew and his buddies to show up in the nick of time.
     
     
    Uniformed officers and crime scene technicians, who’d followed Skip to the location, entered the Fergusons’ home. They wasted no time waiting for a doorbell to be answered. I assumed this fell under the guideline of “exigent circumstances” and the need to check for evidence or additional victims. I felt a little guilty that I hadn’t made an effort to do that myself, but Skip assured me otherwise.
    “You did good, Aunt Gerry,” he said, as the crime scene technicians took over. “It was important to keep the kids here.” He leaned down and kissed Maddie’s forehead. “And I hear you were a great partner,” he told her. When their heads touched, it was hard to tell where one thicket of red hair ended and the other began, except that Maddie’s was curlier.
    After administering that compliment, Skip sent Maddie into the care of a female officer I recognized from my trips through the halls of the police department. I expected instant bonding since Maddie made friends easily, and especially with law enforcement. I checked back and saw the two were sitting in the patrol car, engaged in conversation that seemed to involve an examination of the bells and whistles of the vehicle. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the siren soon and see the lights flash. My granddaughter had negotiating skills far beyond her years.
    So far, no neighbors had made themselves known. With all the special lighting, it was nearly impossible to tell which houses were occupied this evening. It was a little too early for returning commuters, and perhaps those who did hear the activity thought the Fergusons had enlisted the LPPD to be part of their contest entry this year.
    We all breathed sighs of relief when we learned that there was no one at home, neither alive nor dead, inside the Ferguson residence.
    Skip’s interviews with the teenagers, though brief, was painful to witness. He took each frightened teen, gently, one by one, as close to the body as possible until he determined that they were all sure they didn’t know the man. Then he took their phone numbers (I’d forgotten about that) and the addresses I’d missed and sent them off feeling relieved and important.
    When it was my turn to approach the dead