21
Truman and Nelle regrouped in A.C.’s study. Nelle liked being in his room because it was filled with books—law books, religious books, encyclopedias, and almanacs. It was also a place where A.C. went when he needed to think—which was just what they needed, because Truman was still steaming over the sheriff’s comments.
“It’s just a game, Truman. Sometimes we’re pirates, sometimes Rebel soldiers. Why don’t we just start a new story?” asked Nelle, playing with her pipe. “Or, better yet, figure out what we’re gonna dress up as for Halloween? My sister still has that ham-hock costume left over from the Hog Festival—”
Truman was rifling through his notes. “Isn’t it odd that two people have mentioned the boogeyman now?”
Nelle shrugged. “It’s just an expression.”
“Or a clue,” Truman suggested.
Nelle sighed. “Or just an expression, Tru.”
“What about this snake pit?” he continued.
“You know I don’t like snakes . . .”
“Come on, Nelle. You saw their reaction. Watson never gives up and neither should you. Even if you were bit once.”
Nelle sat at her dad’s desk and fiddled with his typewriter. “You’re always making up stories, Truman. I just like to read ’em.”
Truman stared at his shoes. “You’re a storyteller too, Nelle. Just like me.”
She looked at him ruefully. “Well, I feel more like a character in your play.”
Truman swung her around. “You’re the star of my play, Nelle Harper. You and me, we’re . . . apart from everybody else. Nobody gets me like you do.”
Nelle nodded. She felt the same. She’d never been one of the girls, and he understood what it meant not having a mother around. Truman was different but he made her feel like she belonged. Deep down, she liked being in his adventures, even if they got her in trouble.
Life was never boring with Truman around.
Nelle grabbed a blank piece of paper and wound it into the typewriter. She stuck the pipe in her mouth and poised her fingers over the typewriter, then suddenly started pecking away at the keys—clack-clackety-clack.
Truman peered over her shoulder as she typed Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Red-Eyed Snake Gang, a new mystery by Dr. Watson (Nelle).
“Nice title,” said Truman.
Nelle took out her notes and began typing up some of her ideas. Truman saw she’d been scribbling away on her own. “I knew it! You are a writer, Nelle.”
“I’m gonna be a lawyer like A.C. Go to law school and everything,” she said without stopping.
Truman grinned. “Fine, have it your way. But when we grow up, I’m gonna find us a genuine case to solve and then we’ll write about it for real, you’ll see. You’ll always be my Watson.”