Oops! Sorry. I got a little ahead of myself. I forgot to write down why I had traveled 2,000 miles to Los Angeles in the first place.

It had been a week or so since I had found out my dad was Frankenstein’s Monster. So far I had tracked down one cousin. His name was Robert, and he was an explorer whose grandfather’s feet had become my dad’s feet.

I found him in Antarctica and helped get him out of a tough spot. He was still there now, searching for the woman he was going to marry.

If you’ve forgotten the rest of that story — and I can’t believe you ever would — just look back at the earlier part of this journal!

My journal was the most valuable thing I owned. Partly because it was pretty much the only thing I owned. But also because it contained every clue I had found about my cousins.

Taped inside it was every clue I had found about my cousins. Including the pages I had gotten from Dr. Frankenstein’s journal.

Dr. F’s journal told the story of how he created my dad. I only had copies of a few pages from it, but they were the best clues I had.

After my adventure with Robert, I had gone to stay with his friends at the Explorers Club.

They were so happy I had found Robert, they offered to get me anywhere in the world I wanted to go.

Now I just had to figure out where to go to find my next cousin.

The problem was, I didn’t have Dr. Frankenstein’s whole journal.

If I had had the whole thing, it would have been a lot easier to figure out where all the parts that went into my dad came from. But the only one who had the whole journal was Fran.

Fran Kenstein (crazy) was Dr. Frankenstein’s daughter. She wanted to create a new monster. But there had been something special about the mix of body parts that went into my dad.

To build a new monster, Fran needed body parts with the same DNA. And the only way to get them was to take them from my cousins.

I had beaten her to Robert. Somehow or another, I had to get to the rest of my cousins and warn them about her before she could find them.

Sitting in the library at the Explorers Club, I kept looking at one page from Dr. Frankenstein’s journal. It had a detailed drawing of one of my dad’s eyes.

But who had Dr. Frankenstein taken it from?

I was sure there had to be a clue on this page. Mostly because the word “clue” was written on it.

“Clue Hammer.” What did that mean? Was the hammer a clue? Was a clue hammer what Dr. Frankenstein used to get the eyeball out? (Ew!) Was there even a kind of tool called a “clue hammer”?

Borrowing the explorers’ computer, I did a quick search. I learned that there was no such thing as a tool called a clue hammer. But there was a Samuel “Clue” Hammer! He was a famous private detective in Los Angeles in the 1940s.

I wasn’t entirely sure what a private detective did. Was it different from being a public detective?

I kept clicking and reading what I found. Turns out, Samuel Hammer held the record for most cases solved in the history of Los Angeles (also, there was no such thing as a public detective).

I found a lot of photos of Samuel Hammer, but since they were from the 1940s, they were in black and white. I couldn’t tell if he was the one the bright green eye came from.

Then I found an article from many years later, with a color photo of Samuel holding a baby. Both of them had bright green eyes!

The article didn’t say much other than that the famous Samuel Hammer had a newborn grandson.

The only other article that mentioned the grandson was Samuel Hammer’s obituary from a few years later.

The obituary also mentioned something else: the address and phone number of the detective agency Samuel Hammer worked for!

Even though Samuel wasn’t around anymore, his office would have records or maybe even someone who had known him!

Either way, I’d be able to find his grandson — my second cousin!

The second cousin I’d found, that is. (Since he was related to me because his grandfather’s eye was put into my dad, maybe that made him my “second cousin one eyeball removed”?)

I raced to the phone, but there was no answer when I called.

Maybe everyone in the office was out solving a crime or something.

I put down the phone and ran out the door.

It was the only lead I had. And if I had it, there was a good chance Fran had it too.

The explorers had promised to get me anywhere in the world I wanted to go. Now I knew exactly where that was.

Samuel Hammer’s office in Los Angeles.

Sixteen hours later, I was crossing Spring Street in downtown LA.

Samuel’s office was just around the corner.

I was so excited, I couldn’t help but run the last block to the address. And then I saw it!

I was looking at an empty lot.

I had been in such a rush to follow the clue, I hadn’t even taken the time to think about it.

Samuel Hammer had been a famous detective in the 1940s. That was like 80 years ago! It shouldn’t have been a huge surprise his office wasn’t there anymore.

That’s why no one had answered the phone. The whole building was gone!

“Don’t panic,” I told myself again. “I’ll figure something out.”

But the only thing I could think of was “at least things can’t get worse.”

And then things got worse.

Fran Kenstein worse!

Fran was on the other side of the street!