Chapter 6

The next morning Abigail opened up the detective agency and settled behind her desk to wait for a client.

This was the part of detective work that Abigail enjoyed the least.

The part where you sat and pretended to be very interested in a book while you tried not to wonder if you were ever

going to get another case again. She had not been in business for very long, and there had been

no real shortage of detective work, in spite of the quiet, innocent face that Beechnut Street

put on for casual visitors, but there was no love in her heart for waiting.

Abigail liked to have a case. She liked to be busy, she liked to be needed, and she liked

to be earning whatever modesty she could get for her work. It was fun to be the expert,

and it was exciting to have a problem to solve.

Most of all, it kept you from having to say the word, please.

When a detective was on a job, all that mattered was that she was right and the job get done.

No one cared if you were polite. In fact, it was usually better if you weren't.

But so far, on this particular day, there wasn't even anyone that she needed to be nice, too.

It seemed like the paperback mystery that she was reading might not survive the morning at this rate.

The door from the house opened, and Jeremy walked into the room. He had slept late,

and from the look of him, not very well, though Abigail had to admit that he always kind of

looked like that. She said nothing, and did not look away from her book, though she was at this

point entirely pretending to read.

"'Hey,' he said, not really stepping into the space.

"'Hey,' Abigail said, looking at him briefly and then turning back to her book.

"'What are you reading?' he asked.

...