Chapter One
Willaston Place
Whodunit, midnight in late July. The night sky weighed over Willaston’s spiky rooftop, and the ghost was watching. Standing there silently winding around the drapes, a shadow floating in shadows peering down at the ragged lawn.
“Creepy on your three o’clock,” I whispered.
My partner, Seth Holloway—a tall, slim sleuth wearing a brown trench coat and a deerstalker cap—continued fiddling with his flashlight. He liked to tinker. Seriously, a high school marching band could have paraded past and he wouldn’t have noticed.
I tapped him on the shoulder.
“Ahhh,” he blurted, nearly catapulting out of his coat.
“Look.”
The ghost flickered behind the windowpane like fire. Then it flashed twice and melted into the gloom.
“Okay. …show more content…
I turned and caught a glimpse of blurred movement—a solitary figure in light-colored clothing and white sneakers running toward the house.
Seth’s eyes looked like dark cutouts taped to his face. “Was that the ghost?”
“Um, I dunno, but we’re going to find out. Come on.” I said, plowing up the driveway toward the mansion.
Seth followed me, miserably mumbling something about I’m only doing this because we’re partners. He always complained about being drawn into my capers, but I knew he secretly liked it.
Seconds later, we were squatting behind a hedge watching the men’s dark silhouettes mill around the manor’s lower terrace.
Mustache clasped a gargoyle knocker and dropped it several times against the front door. It sounded like a cross between chains clanging and a cannon blast. Then he tried the handle, and the door moaned open, scraping an arc across the dusty floorboards. He switched on his flashlight and was about to step inside when he spotted us.
We froze.
“I thought I told you to go home,” he said. “This place isn’t safe.”
“I don’t like this,” Seth sighed.
“We’re detectives, sir,” I reminded the man. “We here to help solve the case.”
“Yeah sure.” Mustache laughed. “So how are you going to do that by holding our
Willaston Place
Whodunit, midnight in late July. The night sky weighed over Willaston’s spiky rooftop, and the ghost was watching. Standing there silently winding around the drapes, a shadow floating in shadows peering down at the ragged lawn.
“Creepy on your three o’clock,” I whispered.
My partner, Seth Holloway—a tall, slim sleuth wearing a brown trench coat and a deerstalker cap—continued fiddling with his flashlight. He liked to tinker. Seriously, a high school marching band could have paraded past and he wouldn’t have noticed.
I tapped him on the shoulder.
“Ahhh,” he blurted, nearly catapulting out of his coat.
“Look.”
The ghost flickered behind the windowpane like fire. Then it flashed twice and melted into the gloom.
“Okay. …show more content…
I turned and caught a glimpse of blurred movement—a solitary figure in light-colored clothing and white sneakers running toward the house.
Seth’s eyes looked like dark cutouts taped to his face. “Was that the ghost?”
“Um, I dunno, but we’re going to find out. Come on.” I said, plowing up the driveway toward the mansion.
Seth followed me, miserably mumbling something about I’m only doing this because we’re partners. He always complained about being drawn into my capers, but I knew he secretly liked it.
Seconds later, we were squatting behind a hedge watching the men’s dark silhouettes mill around the manor’s lower terrace.
Mustache clasped a gargoyle knocker and dropped it several times against the front door. It sounded like a cross between chains clanging and a cannon blast. Then he tried the handle, and the door moaned open, scraping an arc across the dusty floorboards. He switched on his flashlight and was about to step inside when he spotted us.
We froze.
“I thought I told you to go home,” he said. “This place isn’t safe.”
“I don’t like this,” Seth sighed.
“We’re detectives, sir,” I reminded the man. “We here to help solve the case.”
“Yeah sure.” Mustache laughed. “So how are you going to do that by holding our