When I get home, my uncle’s already asleep in his armchair in front of the TV, a half-eaten sandwich next to him on a small table. He’s tired all the time, and I know it’s because he thinks he needs to support me the way my parents did, so he works these long hours. I wish he could understand I don’t need things—I’m just happy to have him, even if I don’t respond well when he brings up my parents. I head upstairs, where I sit down at my desk to make notes in my notebook.
A good investigator always keeps thorough notes of the case he’s on.
My notebook! I can’t find it! I dig frantically through my backpack. Everything else is there. But not my notes. My heart pounds as I go around the room looking for it, in drawers, under my bed, everywhere. Nothing! Everything I’ve written since my parents were killed, all the work I’ve done—gone! My pulse races as I try to think back: When did I last have it? I remember writing in it while sitting on the bench across the street from the Matthes house, waiting for Charlie to finish her search. But I distinctly remember putting it back in my bag before I ran over there. Did I pull it out again at some point to make more notes? I don’t think so, not with all the craziness going on. The last thing I remember pulling out of my bag was the binoculars I used to see Greg in his room.
Wait. When I pulled the binoculars out earlier, I pulled the notebook out first because it was in the way. Which means I left it behind the shed. Where anybody in the Matthes family—including Greg—could find it!
I have to go back. Tonight.
As desperate as I am to get going, I wait until I hear Uncle Bill stirring below, worried that I’ll hyperventilate and pass out before he gets upstairs. I’m on my bed, not even seeing the words in the book I hold open in front of me as he stops at my door. “What’d you do today?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
“Hung out with Charlie. Saw a movie.”
“Was it good?”
“It was okay.”
“Did you get dinner?”
“I ate at Charlie’s.”
He nods. “Good.” He scratches his face. “I’m not working a double shift tomorrow, so I’ll be home in time for dinner. We could order pizza from that place you like.”
“Uh…sure.” Will you go to bed already?
“You got plans tomorrow?” he asks.
“Just homework. I’ll probably go to the library. And see what Charlie is doing.” And, oh yeah, I’m going to be following a murderer around.
“That Charlie, she’s a nice girl. Are the two of you…you know…”
“We’re just friends,” I say. Come on, come on!
He nods his head, looking a little embarrassed for asking. “Your dad had his share of girlfriends in high school. He was always better at talking to girls than I was. Of course, once he met your mom…” His voice trails off.
Does he really have to talk about this now? My chest feels like it’s going to burst.
“You okay?” he asks.
“What? I’m fine. Just…a little tired.” I fake an elaborate yawn.
He stares a moment before finally saying, “Okay then. Good night.”
“Good night,” I say, thinking I might have hurt his feelings as he shuffles down the hall to his bedroom. But I can’t do anything about it now.
I want to go rushing out of the house, but I force myself to wait until I hear his familiar snoring, then wait an additional fifteen minutes to be sure before grabbing my backpack and creeping out of the house as fast as I can.