Cole Club, P.I.

By Geoffrey Donegan

Every kid in Craterville knows the only gumshoe worth talking to works out of a treehouse off Walnut Avenue. Missing pet, straying sweetheart, tenacious bully, this private eye has seen it all. If you've got four quarters and a problem, his office is always open. Summer is heating up for:

Cole Club, P.I.
No case too big
No pet too small

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mesolithic Studios
• Release date: Jul 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301977833

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Cole Club, P.I.

Cole Club, P.I.

Geoffrey Donegan

All rights reserved.

Published by Mesolithic Studios at Smashwords

Copyright © 2013 by Mesolithic Studios

Cover by Richard Hofmeier

(http://richardhofmeier.com)

Published by Mesolithic Studios

(http://mesolithicstudios.com)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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The Footloose Feline

Of all the treehouses, in all the backyards, in all the world, she climbs into mine. The broken boards and empty gaps that formed the walls of the treehouse left stripes of light and shadow across her face. Then she stepped forward.

She was the kind of dame boys would kill for. Golden hair in curls, tied with pale blue ribbons. A matching blue dress and a face that could make a kid sucker punch his best friend just for a chance at her. Her eyes were puffy and red—I hoped it was hay fever.

What can I do for you, doll? I moved behind the plank set on two cinder blocks that served as my desk and dropped onto the crate I used as a chair, ignoring the long creak it let out. I hadn’t had a case in weeks and the endless chocolate-raspberry milkshakes I’d used to pass the time were taking a toll.

She set a small card on the desk in front of me.

Cole Club, P.I.

No case too big

No pet too small

My business card. Not bad for a kid in the fourth grade. I looked at her and raised my eyebrow.

My name is Sophia Atwood.

I nodded, even though I already knew her name. A girl like that you don’t forget, even if you only see her briefly across a crowded playground.

I saw your card and I need help. She looked at her hands and then back at me. Mittens is gone, she wailed, and then let loose a torrent from her baby blues.

Darn, it wasn’t allergies. I pushed a box of tissues across the desk—I kept it nearby for times like these—and looked out the window, giving the gal a chance to pull herself together. Missing pet cases were my bread and butter. They weren’t glamorous but they payed my tab at the comic book store.

Can you describe Mittens? I heard her hiccup a few times and blow her nose before answering.

He— She hiccuped again. He’s gray with white feet. She sniffled a bit.

I picked up my pencil—ignoring the teeth marks from the word search in this morning’s paper—and scratched out a few notes. Any other distinguishing features?

My grandpa shut his tail in a door when he was a kitten and it’s been crooked ever since. Mittens still hasn’t forgiven him. Her smile was short-lived.

Crooked tail, that would make it easier. I jotted it down. I didn’t want a repeat of the fiasco with the Anderson’s dog. When did you last see Mittens?

I fed him breakfast yesterday and then he went outside and jumped over the back fence. He hasn’t been back since. The moll broke down again and wailed, He never misses a meal. At this rate, I’d have to buy another box of tissues before my next case. I’d counted 48 of the 74 nails in the ceiling before the crying stopped.

I charge a dollar a day, plus expenses. I’ll need the first dollar now with the remainder paid after I close the case.

She nodded, still clutching a tissue, and pulled a change purse from her pocket. I watched as she counted out a dollar in nickels and dimes on my desk. I looked at the cat clock hanging on the wall—the eyes and tail no longer moved but it still kept time. It’s two right now. I’ll search this afternoon and let you know what I find tonight.

She nodded again. I’ll be waiting. I live in the big yellow house next to the dog park.

I knew the place.

I watched her climb down through the hole in the floor and then dropped the change into a piggy bank I kept stashed in the left cinder block under my desk. You get used to handling a lot of change in my business.

I pushed back from the desk. I was going to need some help for this one. I picked up a tin can from a hook next to the window, pulling the string connected to it taut and ringing the bell on the other end.

Jimmy the Nose lived in the house behind mine, his bedroom facing the treehouse. I called him the Nose because he was the best informant south of Main Street. And because