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Alibi’s Ghosts, The Larger-Than-Life Small World of a Medium’s Daughter (Alibi Vernon Paranormal Mystery)
by L.S. Hullinger
Alexandra ‘Alibi’ Vernon is the eleven-year-old daughter of a psychic medium whose behavior is repeatedly influenced by kids from the Other Side. From building sub sandwiches in her sleep to sneaking into a stranger’s attic, Alibi has her innocence challenged on a regular basis. Since her mother is fairly new at medium work, she only schedules two readings a week. However, this particular week, she accidentally schedules five readings, five days in a row. During this time, each child from the Other Side has a mysterious clue for Alibi to unravel, and she begins to notice each clue is connected in some way with the other readings. With a bit of ghostly charade playing, lots of trouble dodging, and the help of her deceased relatives: Grandpa Edgar and Cousin Kyle, along with her living but scaredy-cat best friend, Daisy, Alibi is able to solve the mystery and help all five grieving parents simultaneously.
Alibi’s Ghosts
The Larger-Than-Life Small World
of a Medium’s Daughter
Prologue
How in the world did I end up trapped in the smothering attic of a bookstore, squatting in the dark, cringing as clawed feet scurry across the wooden beams over my head, while my best friend, Daisy, and my dead Grandpa Edgar hide behind the building waiting for the owner to drive away?
I’ll tell you how. Because lately ghosts have decided that I like playing charades with them. And to be honest, most times I do.
But this time they got carried away and suddenly I had five partners at once (seven if you count Grandpa Edgar and my cousin Kyle) trying to show me more clues than I knew what to do with. And one thing I’ve learned about ghosts in a game of charades, once they pick you as a partner, they never give up . . . until we both win.
So that’s why I had to sneak into the attic and solve the puzzle. Everything was going as planned until Poe the crow cawed and Kyle blew out the light.
Chapter One
Under a Ghostly Influence
When the end of July met the beginning of August on a Wednesday, the Vernon household was turned upside down.
I know this because I’m Alexandra ‘Alibi’ Vernon and that untimely meeting of the months caused my mother, a psychic medium, to schedule five readings in a row; one every day of the week.
To a medium’s daughter like me, that’s trouble. In a mostly ghostly sort of way.
My first indication of trouble was when I’d built my third submarine sandwich of the week, in the middle of a Sunday night. There I was spreading chipotle mayo on a stack of deli chicken, piled on top of seven slices of bread when my grandfather appeared in the kitchen doorway.
In my semi-sleep state (and usually when I can see him best) he frightened me. I dropped the knife and immediately did a little dance to dodge stabbing my own foot. Not so much for fear of the pain. Mom had already hidden the sharp knives last Thursday. But, because I recently learned that I don’t like the slimy feeling of sandwich innards between my toes. Especially egg salad. (yuck!)
Lucky for me though, the clanging metal on the tile floor jarred me awake completely. I mean, who knew how tall I would’ve stacked that sandwich?
“What’s going on?” Grandpa Edgar asked, rubbing at his transparently bluish-veined head. “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Ali-girl!”
I reached down, picked up the mayo smeared knife and put it into the sink. “Sorry, Grandpa Edgar,” I said softly.
Lately, my night walks were leading him to our kitchen. Exactly a week after both he and my cousin, Kyle died in a car accident, Grandpa Edgar appeared in my bedroom closet.
Did he scare me? I Super-Glued the door shut the very next day, I can tell you that much!
But he took the hint. It was a year later before he showed up again; in my dream (a lot less frightening than firsthand ghost-viewing) and told me that he and Kyle had drawn straws on who was going to come back regularly to help me deal with Mom’s new gift.
He lost.
But, that doesn’t stop Kyle from visiting just long enough to pull a prank on me. He was the type of kid who convinced me it’d be cool to play connect the dots on my freckled face with a brown marker.
While I was proudly grinning from ear to ear at everyone I could show my six-year-old face to, he was snickering. And when I’d whine “Whaaat?” he’d say, “Nothing.”
I do have to admit, they have helped me a lot in the past with the ghostly-charade-playing. What bugs me about this deal is that they’ve made me promise to keep it a secret. If I tell anyone, even Mom, especially Mom, they can’t come back. I’ve pleaded with them to let me at least tell Daisy about them returning but they said it’d cost me and I’d have to be willing to pay up when the time came.
But do you have any idea how hard it is to know about something like that and not be able to tell anyone about it? About as hard as getting all A’s on your report card, having to white them out and fill in all C’s, and then never tell a living soul. Ever. It’s that hard.
“Trying to raise the dead making all that noise?” Grandpa Edgar asked, with a snort and a wheezing chuckle. He seemed to have taken on a strange sense of humor since he crossed over.
I never had to try to raise the dead here at what my best friend, Daisy, calls our Dead and Breakfast Inn. Actually, it’s a wickedly old, mournfully moaning, ghost-attracting, three-story house that Dad thought would be profitable to renovate several years ago when flipping houses was his newest venture. Boy, was he wrong!
Grandpa Edgar drifted closer to me and stared at the sandwich, his toothless mouth dropping open like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
“You that hungry this time of night? I haven’t seen a Dagwood like that in years.”
I stared at the deli disaster wondering what he meant. I didn’t like pastrami or pimento cheese, so I knew I’d been influenced by some new visiting kid. I’m a plain ole peanut butter and jelly with Fritos on the side kind of girl.
Lots of times the kid spirits cause me to sleepwalk and do crazy things. Other times I’m wide awake. They aren’t picky about when they intrude in my life or get me into trouble. And what’s worse, I can’t see them! I can only see Grandpa Edgar and Kyle and that’s because they still have work to do on this side (helping yours truly).
From what Mom’s learned in all her paranormal books, we don’t choose our gifts or our helpers. They choose us. Kind of like the straw Grandpa Edgar chose. I think Kyle just comes back to bug me because I can’t tell on him. Who would listen?
“No. I’m not hungry,” I whispered. “One of Mom’s client’s kids must be though.”
Grandpa Edgar grinned. “Well, don’t let ‘em get to ya too much this week.” He threw a hand in the air as if to wave goodnight.
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t getting in trouble for what dead kids did.
Now don’t get me wrong and think I’m insensitive when it comes to death. I cried when Grandpa Edgar and Kyle passed away.
And on my last four birthdays, when I noticed the missing name on the cake, I wiped away some tears then, too. Kyle had been born exactly three years and three days before me, and we had celebrated our birthdays together for as far back as I could remember. He said I was the only girl he knew that was cool with having a baseball themed cake every year. I never told him that it was because I thought the red cardinal was so pretty.
But, geez, I’ve never even met Mom’s client’s kids, and they’ve got me making up excuses for stuff you just wouldn’t believe. Hence, my nickname, Alibi.
I raised my own hand to wave bye to Grandpa Edgar, but as usual, before I could blink good, he was gone.
After plastic-wrapping the most recent condiment-shelf-concoction, I crammed it between the others I’d created over the past few nights: a bologna and apple jelly sandwich (eew!); a Swiss cheese and tartar sauce sandwich (blah!); and a peanut butter, mustard, and pickle relish sandwich. (Now that’s just gross!)
Even my once-stray tabby cat, Grimalkin, would turn her nose up at those.
Then I noticed the pitcher of lemonade. I slid it out and poured a glass for myself. That I did want. The mid-summer heat in Methere, Texas was humid and sticky.
I leaned back against the counter and wondered who in the world this new ghost was and why he or she was getting me to make sandwiches night after night that they couldn’t even eat? I still didn’t know all the rules to this playing-charades-with-the-dead game. Most times my imagination took me a lot further than their reasons.
I always hoped I’d be unraveling some mysterious otherworldly plot to save humanity. And then after Mom’s reading, I’d discover it was just a way to show a connection to someone living who someone dead still cared about.
But finding out afterwards from Mom wasn’t as exciting as figuring it out for myself. So, I decided to create a clue sheet. It helps me keep the hints and clues straight enough to connect them later.
Having ghosts around has taught me to pay attention to the repetition of things, because usually by the end of the week I can enjoy those ‘ah ha!’ moments when I finally understand what my charade-playing partners have tried to show me.
A clue sheet could help anybody who might think they’re being visited by a ghost. Or has a knack for noticing repetitions or patterns. I’ve offered to teach my best friend, Daisy how to create and use one but she thinks that’d be an open invitation to any lost spirits, and she’s not as in tune with the vibrations as I am.
Her words. Definitely not mine. This week sure felt different, though. Not in a way that I could pinpoint yet, but definitely not our usual ghostly guest behavior.
Monday
Client: Callie
Lost loved one or pet: son, Jason
Repetitions: sandwich
Odd Comments:
My H.I.B.E.S.
Grandpa Edgar and Kyle’s hints: Dagwood
Miscellaneous:
Chapter Two
Name that Ghost
My next step in figuring out the clues is usually to put a name with an action. I’ve discovered that once the ghosts start arriving, my goal is to find out their names and why they picked my mother (of all the mediums in the world) to be their long distance (and we’re talking very long distance) message translator.
I finished my lemonade and put my empty glass into the sink then climbed the creaking staircase back up to the second floor and went into Mom’s office, which is one of the rooms down the hall from mine.
It faintly smelled of sage even though it’d been nearly a week since she’d smudged her room with it. She says it’s supposed to clear out any remnants of lingering negative energies. I think it’s because it makes her feel more psychic. A small angel glowed softly on her desk; the lamp she always left burning. Sort of like a beacon to the spirits. And a second-floor nightlight for me, though I’d never admit to it.
Wall-to-wall bookcases held a large range of paranormal books from telepathy to psychometry. The shelves that didn’t hold books displayed knick-knacks and photos symbolic of the ghosts who’d arrived before. Mom continued to be drawn to objects that somehow related to an upcoming reading. In the last three years, she’d acquired quite a few figurines and antique photos, among other things.
One black and white photo in particular always creeped me out: a man missing his left ear and wearing a patch over his left eye stood in front of a bridge. His left coat sleeve was shoved into his coat pocket and I’d always wondered if he was missing his left hand, too.
But it was his right eye that bothered me. It studied me like a
watchdog no matter what part of the room I was in.
And even though I didn’t want to see the picture, every single time I stepped into her office, I found myself looking for it, and then would cringe once I spotted it.
This time I made sure that I didn’t look on the top shelf of the bookcase to my right where Mr. Eye-Patch resided. Instead, I went straight to Mom’s appointment calendar hanging on the wall. There was the name: Callie. Lost a son in 2006. Mom always lists the client’s first name, and who they lost and when.
Of course, I didn’t know Callie’s son’s name at that point but I didn’t have to. All I had to do was randomly open Mom’s baby name book that she kept on the shelf and let my gaze rest on a name. I was usually accurate.
When Mom first discovered her gifts of communicating with the dead, she read every book she could on the spirit world. She believes everyone is blessed with some sort of supernatural gift and she thinks one of my talents is randomly putting a name with a visiting ghost.
Actually I’d prefer to be good at painting. I can sketch just about anything I see and do a pretty good job of it, but when it comes to painting I can’t even stay inside the lines of my toenails. Ask Daisy. She’ll look at my toes, do her customary eye roll and say “Oh. My. Gawd.”
Anyway, there was his name: Jason. So, I asked, “Is that you, Jason?” And the pages on the calendar ruffled as if wind were blowing.
I shivered. Not because of the imaginary breeze but because the temperature suddenly felt as if it’d dropped about ten degrees. You’d think I’d be used to that kind of thing by now but I wasn’t. Every time a new ghost came in, so did the otherworldly chill. I shivered again. “What do you want, Jason?” I asked trembling, rubbing my arms for warmth.
No answer. Actually, I wasn’t expecting one. And to be honest, if Jason did say something I could hear, I’d probably run and hide under my bed for two days or at least until a living, breathing person dragged me out. (Though, I’d never tell Daisy. She thinks I’m the bravest girl she knows.)
For some reason I always feel the need to ask how I can help the new arrivals. And then usually regret it two seconds later.
It’s one thing when Grandpa Edgar talks to me from beyond because I’ve known him all my life and have never been afraid of him.
And Kyle doesn’t want to talk. That would make his pranks less scary to me and less funny to him. Luckily, his pet crow (that I call Poe) caws loudly to let me know when he’s around.
But, it’s a whole other thing talking with dead strangers. Why I’m too shy to carry on a conversation with living ones!
“Well, okay then,” I said after a few seconds. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me know how.”
Still nothing. (And I can tell you, that didn’t hurt my feelings not one little bit.)
The wall gave a hard and loud creak and I jumped as if Jason himself had yelled “Boo!”
The wind outside whistled through the cracked window but the silence of the dead grew louder. “I’m going back to bed now.” I said in my most confident tone (one in which even I didn’t believe).
Heading back toward the door, my gaze automatically went to the top shelf. The one-eyed man in the photo glared down at me then the frame fell forward, hitting the shelf with a clank.
I jumped again in fright then wasted no time getting out of Mom’s office and hurrying toward my bedroom down the hall. My feet made sticking noises on the damp wood floor and I was huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. The angel lamp flickered making the hall dark then light. Dark then light.
My bedroom seemed further from her office than it ever had and when I finally reached it, I closed the door behind me as if that could actually keep Jason on the other side of it.
Once back in my bed, I yanked the sheet up over me and trembling, I tried to think about a huge bowl of hot, steaming, macaroni and cheese. Didn’t help.
The A+ on my sketch of the Persian cat that I drew in art class. Helped a little.
Then Oak, Daisy’s cute older brother. I smiled. That always helped. Those were some of my ‘go to’ thoughts when the deceased made my skin shiver.
By the time my ‘go to’ thoughts had embarrassingly reached all the way back to my Strawberry Shortcake blanket and vintage Teddy Ruxpin bear, it became stuffy under the covers and my own lemonade breath had started to offend me.
Slowly, I eased the sheet back down from my face hoping that Jason had not decided to hang out in an imaginary bunk bed above me. Not that I ever saw Mom’s client’s kids, but up until a few years ago I’d never played charades with ghosts either.
I gasped. The ceiling squirmed with shadows above me.
I’d have preferred the bunk bed! I shut my eyes as tightly as I could.
Even though I knew it was only the shadows from the swaying maple tree branches outside, I didn’t want my imagination conjuring up new creepy images. And my ‘go to’ thoughts could only last but so long.
“Caw! Caw!”
The sound of the crow startled me causing my eyes to pop open. I sighed hard. I should’ve known. Mom’s clients didn’t ever try to scare me. They just influenced me.
Then from the corner of my eye on my right, (where he usually seems to appear after a prank) the figure of a transparent brown-haired boy sparkled into form.
Kyle, still looking eleven years old, had never aged after crossing over, and always shown up wearing his Cardinals baseball cap on backwards, his red and white baseball jersey and hotdog chili-stained jeans. He and Grandpa Edgar had been on their way home from a baseball game the night of the accident.
He stood there tilting his head back, holding his stomach, cracking up laughing in silence.
“Not funny, Kyle,” I said and yanked the sheet back over my head embarrassed. “Not funny at all.”
Monday
Client: Callie
Lost loved one or pet: son, Jason
Repetitions: sandwich
Odd Comments:
My H.I.B.E.S.
Grandpa Edgar and Kyle’s hints: Dagwood
Miscellaneous: picture fell
Chapter Three
Ghostly Connections
The next day passed with no more signs from Jason and no more pranks from Kyle, and I was relieved.
Later that evening, I looked out the window and saw Mom sitting on the backyard swing letting her feet occasionally touch the ground just enough to keep it moving. When she saw me, she motioned for me to join her.
I eagerly slipped out the backdoor, and stepped on the round cement stones embedded in the yard that led to the redwood deck at the far right of the backyard. She stopped the wooden swing long enough for me to climb aboard.
Even though neither of us said anything at first, I knew she wanted to talk. I mean really talk. In between the creaking of the boards and the squeaking of the chains, Mom and I have had some of the best conversations out on the swing.
Somehow during those brief times, we become friends. Not that we aren’t usually friendly toward each other, but it’s more than that. She talks to me like I’m older and able to understand her better than anyone else. And I like that.
Maybe it’s the surroundings that make us feel more comfortable. Like the huge maple tree nearby that provides the shade in the summer and the colorful leafy carpeting in the fall. Or the way we can see so far away when we look past the house to the other side of the highway and into the field that appears to stretch out far enough to meet the sky.
Usually, we come out in the evening after dinner when we can be serenaded by crickets. We prefer that to the artificial laughter from a sitcom or the harsh and threatening voices of the evening news.
Mom and I have always liked the outdoors. She said it helps free us from collected negative energies; something sensitive people with supernatural gifts have to be aware of.
“Well, Ali,” she began. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for over-scheduling this week.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t expecting her to say that. “It’ll be okay.”
Mom stared straight ahead. “I’m not so sure. I’ve seen how crazy things can get when I have only two readings during the week.” She turned back to me and took my hand. “I mean mostly how the spirits affect you.”
I smiled. “It’s okay, really, Mom. I’m not worried.”
She gave me the look she always does that says, “But I’m worried.”
“What? Should I be worried?” I asked.
Slowly and unconvincingly, she shook her head. “No.” She paused and looked back out to the field. “But, I have a feeling that something’s not right about all of it. These readings have some sort of connection. I just don’t know what.”
“I know what you mean,” I said.
“You do?” She turned to me, her eyebrows lifted. “How so?”
“It’s not often that I do stuff to such an extreme,” I said. “You know, like making all those sandwiches. Big sandwiches. Usually when the ghosts come to me it’s in a dream or blinking lights or changing stations on my TV or even causing my computer to act wacky.”
Mom smiled. “Well, Jason was trying hard to make a point.”
I nodded. “At our expense. Aren’t they called Dagwoods?”
“Yes. How’d you know that?”
“I heard somebody say it one time,” I said, thinking about Grandpa Edgar’s visit the night before.
“Well, that’s exactly what Jason called them in the reading today.” She sighed. “You see, Ali, his mother had never had a reading before and she wasn’t so sure that he would come through. And she’d said to herself that if he mentioned those sandwiches in the reading, then she’d know it was for real.”
“And did he exactly show you Dagwood?” I asked knowing she wouldn’t give me much information. It was her policy. If I was lucky I got highlights, but nothing personal that would embarrass the client. And I never ever got full names or their locations which could be anywhere around the globe.
Mom nodded. “Oh yes, well not at first. He showed me about all sorts of things that didn’t make sense to her or at least she said they didn’t at the time. And finally, he showed me the image of the inside of our refrigerator with four Saran-wrapped sandwiches, and then the comic strip in the newspaper.”
“I don’t get it. Comic strip?”
“Dagwood,” she said. “He was a comic strip character who made hugely stacked sandwiches.”
“I guess that made her feel good,” I said.
“Sniffles dancing with giggles,” Mom said. “The best confirmation there is that I’m doing my job correctly.”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to her. I smelled a hint of cinnamon on her tee-shirt, probably from the fried apples we’d had for dinner. “I’m so grateful that I can share these things with you, Ali.”
I didn’t always understand her work as a medium, but I did know that she didn’t have many people she felt comfortable discussing it with. “Any time, Mom.”
She drew in a deep breath again and sighed very slowly. “But, I still don’t want us to let our guard down about this week. Or else things can get pretty out of control and you know how Dad is.”
I nodded. “Uh huh. He says he believes this stuff but he’s always very quick to blame the youngest Vernon,” I said tapping my chest with my forefinger, “for everything.”
Mom grinned. “Oh, Ali. He doesn’t want to blame you. It just comes natural for him to think whatever paranormal thing that’s happening has a logical explanation.”
“And in the form of an eleven-year-old’s misbehavior.”
Mom grinned even bigger. “That’s because he was such a mischievous young man when he was your age.”
I thought about Kyle. “Runs in the family?”
“Well, he seems to think that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she said then added. “His tree not mine.”
We both laughed knowing I was a lot more like her than him, but he would never want to acknowledge that. At least not anytime soon.
Mom leaned forward gesturing for us to get up. “Come on. Let’s go see if there’s anything we can have for dessert. I’m craving something cold.”
“Me, too. It’s getting muggier out here,” I said, lifting wet strands of hair away from the back of my neck. “If I sit out here much longer, I’ll be able to take first place in the big hair contest over in Bushhead, Texas.”
Mom smiled. “Oh, Ali. I love your red curly hair.”
Another thing I (unfortunately) took after Dad. Mom’s hair was as straight as uncooked spaghetti noodles and about the same color. Mine was more like strawberry sponge cake. “I might have to get my favorite baseball cap to hold this stuff down.” I pretended to pat poufy hair.
Mom got a strange look in her eyes. “Hmm. . .”
“What?” I figured she knew I was talking about Oak’s cap. She’d gathered I had a crush on Daisy’s twelve-year-old brother the day I brought his cap home and told her he’d lent it to me. She said I told her with an unmistakable I-like-him grin. The kind you don’t even know you’re doing until someone tells you.
“That’s something else the woman mentioned today. Her son’s cap was missing. She was hoping I would bring it up and tell her where it was,” Mom said, still deep in thought.
“Did you?” I asked.
“No. I was never shown anything regarding a cap or baseball.” She sighed hard. “But, there’s only so much time during a reading and I can only share the images of what they show me.”
I knew Mom felt bad when she thought she’d let someone down. I stepped off the swing and onto the deck. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m sure you told her enough to comfort her. Remember, sniffles dancing with giggles.”
She gave me a thank-you-for-reminding-me-smile. “You’re right.”
“Now, what about something cold? Any of the Eskimo pies left?” I asked.
“Unless Dad found them.” She frowned. “I hid them in a large empty whipped cream bowl at the back of the freezer this time.” She stood up. “I’m hoping he didn’t think to look in there.”
Dad always took the last bit of ice cream. No matter what kind. No matter who’d claimed it first. Mom says it was because he was never allowed to chase the ice cream truck when he was a little boy. I think it’s because he loves ice cream.
“Good idea,” I said, and began leading the way on the stone steps.
“Ali,” she said behind me. “Let’s not worry about this reading stuff anymore tonight, okay?”
I paused and turned back to look at her balancing myself on one foot. “Sure,” I said, but my words were about as convincing as hers.
Monday
Client: Callie
Lost loved one or pet: son, Jason
Repetitions: sandwich
Odd Comments: missing cap
My H.I.B.E.S.
Grandpa Edgar and Kyle’s hints: Dagwood
Miscellaneous: picture fell
Chapter Four
On Central Ghostly Time
Once again at three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened but this time by the grandfather clock chiming in the foyer. I’ve heard that old clock count the hours just about every night of my life and I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping right through it. But that night, it chimed three times, paused and chimed once more. Almost as if for good luck like the extra candle Mom puts on my birthday cakes. And for some reason, the fourth chime at the third hour got my attention.
I crawled out of bed and headed downstairs to the foyer. While on the staircase, I could see the sky through the open foyer window above the front door. Its blackness lit up in areas like small explosions behind the clouds. We hadn’t had a thunderstorm in a while. It’d be nice to fall back asleep to the rain once I figured out what was going on with the clock.
When I reached the landing and moved closer to the tall wooden clock I looked at its face in disbelief. The clock’s hands weren’t on the twelve and three positions. And they weren’t on the twelve and four positions either. They were going round and round as if someone had wound them up so tightly they were unwinding. I stood there hypnotized, unable to take my eyes off of it until finally the clock’s hands landed perfectly on the four o’clock position.
It caught me so off guard I burst into giggles. It reminded me of something I’d seen on a cartoon. Any minute I expected to hear the boing echoing when the spring pops out.
“What in tarnation is so doggone funny in here?”
Grandpa Edgar’s deep voice startled me.
I looked around wondering where he was.
“Four o’clock. Jiminy girl, you should be in bed!” Grandpa Edgar shimmered into form beside me.
“But it’s not four o’clock. It’s three,” I whispered.
He tilted his head, still squinting. “This clock says four, even in the dark from the Other Side I can make that out.”
I went to the kitchen and looked at the digital clock on the microwave. It read 3:05.
When I turned around Grandpa Edgar was behind me. “See?” I pointed to the clock.
He drew his face closer to the lighted numbers. “Hmm. Well, you ought to get back in bed. You can’t do nothing about that old clock anyway.”
“Okay.” I agreed. “Too bad you can’t be a witness.”
“Witness?” he questioned.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “If I don’t get a witness then I usually get blamed for all the craziness that goes on around here.”
“I reckon you do.” Grandpa Edgar chuckled and went into a wheezing fit.
I didn’t think it was half as funny as he did. I scowled at him.
About that time a flash of lightening lit up the room and Grandpa Edgar took on a silvery sparkly look. He wore a button up orange shirt with his named embroidered on the pocket. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your reward by Saturday,” he said quickly. “Gotta go now!”
Thunder rolled and clacked hard for a few seconds.
“Steeeerike!” he yelled, pointing a finger high into the air. “Tournament’s starting any minute,” he said.
“Tournament?” I asked.
“Bowling.” He pointed upward.
“Sounds like the team’s a practicing up already.” His shimmer started to fade. “See ya, Ali-girl.”
I was still trying to figure out what he meant by ‘reward’ when I realized he’d vanished.
Monday
Client: Callie
Lost loved one or pet: son, Jason
Repetitions: sandwich
Odd Comments: missing cap
My H.I.B.E.S.
Grandpa Edgar and Kyle’s hints: Dagwood
Miscellaneous: picture fell
Tuesday
Client: Ruth
Lost loved one or pet: son
Repetitions: 3 a.m.
Odd Comments:
My H.I.B.E.S.
Grandpa Edgar and Kyle’s hints:
Miscellaneous: clock
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