Novel - Half Moon Investigations Read Online Free Page B

The case?”
    April snapped the mirror closed.
    “Sorry, Half Moon. I was just taking a moment to boost my self-esteem. I saw that on the mental health channel. The case. Well, I thought it was crazy at first, but there is definitely something strange going on in Lock.”
    Suddenly the door light flashed green.
    “Enter!” shrilled the principal’s voice through the door.
    “I’d better go in,” I said, struggling out of the baby chair.
    April caught my sleeve. “Come around to my house. After dinner.”
    Another shout from inside. Louder this time.
    “I’ll be there,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “About seven.”
    “’Kay,” said April. “But don’t spread it around. We’re not, like, on the same level. I don’t want people to think we’re having a rendezvous or anything. You work for me, like a maid or something. A nerdy maid.”
    I kept a straight face. Enduring disrespect was a detective’s lot. Still, April was exceptionally obnoxious. I was used to insults from my own age group, but April was only ten, and at least four inches shorter than me. And if you’re four inches shorter than me, then you’re short.
    See you then, I thought, and entered the principal’s office smiling grimly. The badge would be mine again, even if I had to suffer April Devereux to get it.
    * * *
    Mrs. Quinn was moored behind an undersized desk from one of the elementary classrooms. The desk was swamped with report cards and official forms, and somewhere beneath the cables of her knitted cardigan, a phone rang. The principal ignored it.
    The two Dobermans, Larry and Adam, stood at the principal’s shoulders. Without their muzzles on, it was clear that they actually were grinning.
    I remembered why I was there and stopped smiling.
    “Well, little Fletcher Moon,” said Mrs. Quinn delightedly. “What a nice surprise.” Then she remembered why I was there, and her expression turned hard. The dogs stopped smiling, too. Spittle hung in strings from their jaws.
    Principals are able to switch moods in seconds. They would make excellent schizophrenics. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Any extenuating circumstances, perhaps?”
    I shook my head; getting someone else involved would be social suicide. “No. I just forgot where I was walking.”
    Mrs. Quinn pointed to a small molded plastic chair in front of her desk. “Every day we lose another one. Sit.”
    I sat. Another baby chair. My knees collided with my chin, clicking my teeth together.
    Mrs. Quinn pulled a huge book from a drawer. It was covered with patterned velvet wallpaper.
    “I’m going to show you something, Fletcher. This is my personal ledger. In this book I keep a record of every single child that ever passed through Saint Jerome’s.”
    The book looked about a hundred years old. I half expected dragons to fly out when she opened it. Each page was divided into rows, one per child. After each child’s name was a series of boxes, with a picture drawn in every one.
    “This is my own method of recording. It’s easy to review at a glance. I’m afraid you’ll be getting a general rowdiness picture today.” She hauled several yellowed pages across, until she arrived at the current students.
    “Here we go. A fine crop of future world leaders.”
    I suspected Mrs. Quinn was being sarcastic, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe she had more faith in us than we had in ourselves.
    “Look here. Lovely little May Devereux in fifth grade. Never caused a day’s trouble in her life.”
    May was April’s first cousin. Their fathers were brothers and joined at the hip, and so were their daughters whether they liked it or not. They were even connected by the months of the year names, which their parents thought were impossibly cute. The school yard grapevine had it that April was embarrassed that May wasn’t quite as pink as she should be.
    “Look at May’s pictures. An abacus, because she’s such a good little math scholar. A pair of dancing