The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno Read Free Book Online Page B

He looks up at the ceiling and smiles, then switches on the light. He stares up wide-eyed as a hazy cloud of delicate snowflakes gently appears above his face. He is surprised to see a tall office building outside his window disappear suddenly.

    At one time, in nearby New York City, a beautiful silver cathedral was built. Before long, a masked villain blew it up with an explosive device and many people were killed. We hate to even discuss it because your pretty cousin Amy, sadly, was inside. Immediately, like everyone else, she was turned into a brilliant explosion of stained glass. Tiny bits of it fell everywhere. The colorful pieces were carried into the river and disappeared downstream, turning everything they touched gray. Little children, fish, deer—anything near the explosion—became slouched and old. Miles and miles away from the lights of that great city, everyone in our town, including you, became ill, either from the colored glass in their blood or the sadness of seeing the spot on the horizon where the cathedral used to be.

    SEVEN
    It is later that evening when the boy detective hears someone quietly sobbing in the hallway of Shady Glens. He pulls on his blue sweater and walks out, finding Mr. Pluto lying against the doorframe, gigantic tears splashing from his button eyes, a puddle of grief already forming. Clearly, this is a man who has been very upset by something. Billy frowns at him. Mr. Pluto, wiping his eyes, smiles back.
    “What is it? What’s wrong?” Billy asks.
    Mr. Pluto holds up a gigantic golden hairbrush and attempts to comb his hair, but it is clear: His wig is still most definitely missing. Mr. Pluto takes Billy’s hand and places it along his great bald scalp, still sobbing.
    “Your wig is still missing?”
    Mr. Pluto nods. Billy helps Mr. Pluto to his feet.
    “It’s awful silly for a man your age to be wearing a wig in the first place.”
    Mr. Pluto begins to cry louder, banging his fists against his chest.
    “Fine, yes, I’ll help you,” Billy says, shaking his head and sighing. Holding Mr. Pluto’s hand, he walks down the hallway, searching for some clue, some evidence, some sign. He begins with simple questions, the grand tool of the boy detective, trying to establish the motive of this very minor crime. “Where was the last place you had it? Do you remember that?”
    Mr. Pluto nods. He pulls Billy down toward the end of the hall to his room, where there is a small hand mirror lying beside a white Styrofoam head, the wig’s resting place, no doubt. Billy bends over and slowly inspects the brush. Along the bristles is a single, small, yellow hair.
    A single yellow hair.
    Eureka.
    Billy nods and smiles knowingly, and at once the mystery has been solved. He grabs Mr. Pluto’s enormous hand and leads him down the hallway, stopping at Professor Von Golum’s room. Billy squints in front of the door, peeking through the keyhole, listening to a record of strange jazzy music playing loudly inside.
    It goes like this: Through the keyhole, Billy can see Professor Von Golum, lying in his bed beside Billy’s blue sweater, which has been stuffed with pillows, the clipping of Billy’s sister Caroline resting where the face might be—Mr. Pluto’s long blond wig completes the ghostly figure’s head. The Professor is romancing the imaginary composite woman, talking very sweetly, gently rubbing its arm, telling it what he most admires in this, his only companion.
    “You have very good-looking teeth. No, don’t talk. Just lie there and let me stare at them like that, as they are so pretty.”
    Billy nods and motions to Mr. Pluto, explaining with a simple pointing finger that his wig is inside. Mr. Pluto, angry, his small eyes getting big and wide, gently moves Billy aside, steps back, and knocks the door in with a single great kick. Professor Von Golum lets out a high-pitched scream as Mr. Pluto strides across the room in one step, grabbing for the Professor’s throat, lifting him from