All I saw was hair.

The man running at me was covered in it. He was so furry, the hair covered the blue suit with square buttons that he was wearing. He raced right past me and disappeared into the crowd.

“Are you okay?” the detective asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I don’t know how he could move so fast in that costume.”

“Hooey! That was no costume,” he said. “Could costume claws do this?”

The detective pointed to the bathroom door — or what was left of it. It was shredded.

“That,” said the detective, “was the Werewolf! I’ve been trying to bust that mug for months. Now shake a leg! We gotta catch him!”

He grabbed my big left hand and dragged me into the crowd after him.

“We?” I asked. “I’m no detective! I don’t know the first thing about detecting. Wait, is that even a word? See! I don’t even know that.”

“I didn’t get a look at him, kid,” said the detective. “I’ll need you to help me spot him.”

“Um, don’t you think a hairy Werewolf will kind of stand out in a crowd?” I asked as I tried to keep up with him.

“In this crowd?” he replied. “No dice.”

The convention floor was packed with hundreds of people dressed as lions, tigers, and every other animal you could think of.

Including wolves.

It was probably the only place on the planet the Werewolf could walk around without being noticed. Which must have been why he picked it.

“My name’s Sam, by the way,” said the detective as we ran past penguins, sharks, and falcons, looking for the Werewolf. “Sam Hammer the Third. Say, how’d you know I was here undercover?”

“I didn’t,” I told him. “I just recognized your bright green eyes.”

“You got the eye of a detective, kid,” he said, impressed. “And I should know. I inherited mine from my grandfather.”

“I think I inherited mine from him too,” I replied.

As we made our way through the crowd, I told him my story. I took out my journal and showed him the drawing of his grandfather’s eye. Which went into my dad. Which made us related.

Sam didn’t even bat a green eye. “When you put it like that, I guess that does make us related,” he said. “I’m not surprised. You definitely followed the clues to me like a born detective.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m just lucky I found you,” I told him. “I knew about your grandfather, but there was hardly anything online about you.”

Sam’s face turned red.

“That’s because I haven’t cracked any cases big enough to get in the papers,” he said. “Not yet. But I will. I learned everything I know about being a gumshoe from my granddad. Including how to flap my gums.”

“Flap your gums?” I asked.

Sam shrugged. “That’s how detectives in the 1940s used to say ‘talk,’” he told me. “And if it was good enough for my granddad, it’s swell enough for me.”

I didn’t ask him why people in the 1940s said “flap your gums” when it was a lot easier just to say “talk.” It was probably the same reason people in the Middle Ages said “thou” instead of “you.” Or why people used to ride horses instead of cars.

People a long time ago just liked to do really strange stuff.

“No gumshoe in this city of angels ever cracked more cases than my granddad did,” said Sam. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be as great a detective as he was. And until I do, I’m not gonna stop!”

And then he stopped.

We had reached the end of the convention center. There was no sign of the Werewolf.

Sam took out his walkie-talkie.

“This is Detective Hammer of the MCU,” he shouted into the walkie-talkie. “I’m in pursuit of the second suspect. He may have left the building. All units, be on the lookout for the Werewolf. Description — hair: long. Claws: sharp.”

Then Sam saw something through the crowd. His face went white.

“What is it?” I asked. “Is it the Werewolf?”

“No dice. It’s much worse than that,” said Sam. “It’s my boss.”