Toby Martin: In-house Investigator

By Barbara Grengs

When Toby’s mom asks her to clean out the attic to make way for a remodeling project, Toby quickly discards her old Barbie dolls, her Cabbage Patch Kids, and her outgrown clothes, only to find a stash of mysterious artifacts beneath the attic floorboards: an old doll, a locket, a diary and a treasure map.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: Jul 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781594317927

Book preview

Toby Martin: In-House Investigator

Toby Martin Series, Vol. 3

by

Barbara Grengs

Published by Write Words Inc. at Smashwords

copyright 2010 Barbara Grengs

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author or Publisher, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.

WARNING: Making copies or distributing this file, either on disk, CD, or over the Internet is a Federal Offense under the U.S. Copyright Act, and a violation of several International Trade Agreements.

Chapter 1

Thank You Very, Very, Very Much.

Classs, I hope your winter break was restful and relaxing, Mrs. Trattles, my seventh grade English teacher and commanding officer, announced with her characteristic hissing. The first day of school she announced, My name is Trattles. It rhymes with Battles and that’s what you’ll get if you don’t do your homework. See what I mean?

Wearing a tasteful baby blue cotton sweater with a white turtleneck and brown, baggy cords, direct from the Land’s End catalog, Old Trattles looked like she’d lost a few pounds over the holidays. Before Christmas those relaxed fit pants weren’t so relaxed. You might say they were stressed, just like Trattles.

Restful, relaxing, yeah right. The Pearls (the club I belong to) and my school were nearly blown to smithereens, we were harassed by a name-calling terrorist, and I once again got ignored by my dad who had disappeared off the face of the earth. Merry Christmas.

There were two good things that happened over our winter break. One was adopting Lena, my new labradoodle puppy, a bundle of black curly wiggles. Mostly black with a white spot on her back, tail, and one paw, she’s the world’s biggest baby, even more of a baby than Watson, my five year old basset hound. Freddy, my best friend, and I both got puppies after we solved The Case of the Missing Dogs. I’m a detective. Actually you could say I’m a DIT, a detective-in-training. Gary, my slightly older brother, calls me a ditz, but I keep correcting him. Last month Freddy and I solved The Case of the Junior High Terrorist. Anyway, enough about me. I’m trying to be less narcissistic. Trattles called me that in one of her trash Toby sessions. It means self-centered. I made a bunch of New Year’s Resolutions and one of them was to act unnarcissistically. Another was to make my bed every day. So far I’ve only missed a few days on the bed.

Back to Lena. Even Lena got into the spirit of Christmas by eating a few red and green curly ribbons along with a gazillion decorated sugar cookies. Then she barfed all over the dining room rug. It was a totally awesome barf! Grandma and I cleaned it up before Mom had a hissy fit. The rug was a colorful antique Oriental, so some of the barf blended right in.

Actually, I don’t think Mom even noticed the barfy rug, she’s so ga-ga over Bob, which brings up the second good thing that happened over winter break. The day after Christmas Mom married Bob the Cop in a cool ceremony held in the living room that Gary and I decorated. White twinkling lights, poinsettias, red velvet bows, real evergreen boughs, and a seven foot tall real Christmas tree. Just call me Martha. You get the idea.

Narcissist Alert! For the wedding, I got to wear this long, green velvet dress and get my nails and hair done. I’m letting my naturally curly red hair grow out a little because I’m sick of being confused with being a boy, all because I haven’t started to develop, if you know what I mean, and my name, Toby, could go either way. After the big whoop ceremony at our house, the guests, all my pals and I got to go to the reception at Alley Cat Lanes.

Freddy’s family plays board games and cooks gourmet meals. Our family bowls. Grandma says, The family that bowls together stays together and she’s right. Even though Pops split (pun intended), the rest of us are bonded by bowling. That’s why a wedding reception at a bowling alley was such a great idea. Grandma also says Mom will probably get over the gushy, mushy part of being married after a month or two when the honeymoon is over. Grandma is the realist in the family. She’s had three husbands and a bunch of fiancés who come and go. When they go, she harvests their diamonds into some really awesome jewelry. Grandma’s current main squeeze is a hotshot bowler named Charlie. You wouldn’t catch Grandma playing kissy face with Charlie, even if he bowled a perfect 300 game. Grandma’s cool.

I’m getting used to having Bob around. Even Watson, our wannabe guard dog, doesn’t bark when Bob comes home. He barely wakes up. Grandma thinks Watson might be depressed because we adopted Lena, but I think he sleeps so much because Lena bugs him all day.

Being a detective in training, it sometimes helps to have a cop around, especially for the forensic stuff and for arresting the bad guys. Bob arranged our release from jail when the cops caught us spying on Cliff, the dognapping mailman. And he helped us plan a sting operation for catching Cliff. You might say he’s our chief consultant.

Now Bob and Mom want to remodel the third floor of our big old house, make a big master suite and bath so they can have their privacy. That’s okay by me because then I can have more privacy too. I mean sharing a bathroom with Bob. Eww. I can hardly wait for the demolition to begin. Remodeling a house with a new puppy should be a blast. She eats slippers, socks, and newspapers, so she should just love all that sawdust and junk from remodeling. Great, just great. I can hear Mrs. Trattles hiss, Sarcasm can be very powerful, Toby, as long as the reader gets it. You got it? Just checking.

For your first assignment of the new year, Trattles continued, spit flying, I want you to write a minimum of two thank-you notes. Even if your family doesn’t celebrate any of the many seasonal holidays, you should have someone to thank for something.

Freddy, my best friend, raised his hand, Mrs. Trattles, couldn’t we just e-mail them and forget the thank-you letter? Who writes those any more?

You do, young man. One of the most important skills that seems to be lost in this techno nightmare of e-mails, voice mails, and text messaging is the art of writing a good letter in your best cursive writing. And that’s exactly what you will learn how to do. Don’t forget to use transitions. Now… Trattles droned on while I started to mentally compose my thank-you letters…

Dear Bobby, our beloved junior high terrorist,

How can I possibly thank you for nearly destroying my friends and family? Your thoughtfulness was totally awesome.

First, the wonderfully endearing names like faggot, lard ass, and lesbo lover will forever warm my heart. How did you know emotional abuse was just what I wanted for Christmas? Furthermore, the harassing phone calls were bunches of fun to say nothing about the forking of my front lawn with those festive red plastic forks. We’ll think of you this spring when the yard thaws. Also, my grandma, the lesbo lover, really liked losing a couple of nights of sleep. You’ll probably get a thank-you from her and from the rest of the Pearls as well. Finally, my favorite of all your gifts was the bomb threat. It was way over the top, especially since we got a day off from school. You sure do know how to celebrate a holiday.

Thanks for making my Christmas extra special.

Your friend in terror,

Toby

Dear Pops,

Thanks for ignoring me and Gary for yet another Christmas. We absolutely love being erased. You do need to know that you’ve also been deleted. Bob, Mom’s