Novel - Half Moon Investigations Read Online Free PDF

April Devereux. April and May are the cutest names. It takes a lot of guts, as a parent, to give your children names like that, but if they turn out pretty then it’s worth the risk. What are you going to say?”
    “Nothing. I’m going to listen. April wants to talk to me.”
    Mom waved her hands in the air in thanks. “April Devereux wants to talk to my little Fletcher. She’s so pretty. Perfect. You have to say something, honey. You can’t sit there nodding for the evening.”
    I was beginning to wish I hadn’t mentioned my appointment.
    “I will respond to the situation, Mom. Whatever comes up.”
    Mom drew a horrified breath. “Oh, no you don’t. I know how you respond to situations, Fletcher Moon. You make one of your observational deductions. You told your cousin Eve that she had a calcium deficiency.”
    “She did. There were white spots on her nails. I was just trying to help.”
    Mom shook me by the shoulders, then squeezed me tight. “Trust me, honey. That isn’t what girls want to hear. Just tell us we look fabulous as often as possible.”
    I frowned. “Even if it’s not true?”
    Mom pulled three of my shirts from the closet. “Especially if it’s not true. Now, which one?”
    I pointed to a plain black shirt, which I would wear with plain black jeans. Be invisible.
    “Mom, you should maybe calm down a little. It’s not a social call. April wants my help. She’s a client. And she’s only ten.”
    Mom rolled her eyes. “Men. Such simpletons. Honestly. Do you think I told your father that I thought he was handsome? No. I told him I needed his help with physics.”
    “And Dad fell for that?”
    “Of course he did. He wanted to fall for it, and I didn’t even take physics.”
    Mom was an interior decorator who ran her own business from the garage. Dad was a computer engineer with a local company that made memory boards. They were an unlikely match. Art and science. Heart and hand.
    My sister, Hazel, stomped into my room, not bothering to knock. She was fifteen, an aspiring writer, and a full-time drama queen. Hazel could be found at any given hour either hunched over her antique typewriter or fending off the droves of adolescent boys that she attracts with her fine features and blond hair. Fending off all except her beloved Stevie.
    Hazel took a sheet of paper from her bag.
    “I need your professional opinion, Fletcher,” she said, handing me the folded note. Hazel was perhaps the only person in the world who took my profession seriously. Except perhaps April Devereux, now.
    I unfolded the paper and read a note from Hazel’s boyfriend.
    Dear Hazel,
    I am so sorry about the movies last night. Dad made me stay in and write my history assignment about the Battle of the Somme in World War II.
    I will make it up to you. Next weekend let me take you for dinner at Le Bistro. My treat.
    XXXXX
    Stevie
    I rubbed the page between my fingers, then smelled it.
    “Well?” demanded Hazel. “What do you think?”
    I scratched my chin. “I would have to say, dump him.”
    Hazel stamped her foot. “I knew it!” she whined. “How do you know?”
    “There are several clues. First he blames his father, which is classic transference. Then he refers to the Battle of the Somme, which took place in World War One, not Two—something Stevie would know if he had actually completed his assignment. Also specific references such as the essay title are commonly woven into false stories to make them sound real. In fact they provide the detective with more ways to trip up the subject.”
    “This is all pretty circumstantial.”
    I took a pot of graphite filings from my desk. “I’m not finished yet,” I said. “Stevie offers to bring you to Le Bistro, which is gross overcompensation. That has guilt written all over it. The letter smells faintly of perfume, Happy by Clinique, which is not one of yours, which leads me to believe he has been holding hands with another girl. Finally, I feel indentations in the