Annabel Lee, P.I.
It's eight-twenty in the morning. Another school day. Dad's in the kitchen grinding coffee beans. Mom's in the bedroom drying her hair. John's in the laundry room looking for clean socks. In the living room, the television is on, screaming a song about hunky-chunky cat food.
And me? I'm working the day shift out of headquarters. Annabel Lee. Private Investigator.
Call me Al. It's my initials, get it? A.L. Annabel Lee. But only my parents call me that. My friends call me Al.
"Mom!" A piercing yell from the laundry room.
My superbrain identifies it at once as belonging to my older brother, John. "Mom, where's my gray sock?" Mom comes to the top of the stairs.
"Look in the dryer!" she calls.
"I did already. It's gone," John wails. "I need that sock!"
"Did you try under your bed?"
"It's not there," John complains.
"Well, if you'd only remember to put your dirty clothes in the hamper in the first place.." Dad pokes his head around the kitchen door.
Mornings always make him grouchy.
I hear John banging around the laundry room.
"This is the third pair of socks I've lost this month! We need a new dryer. I think this dryer eats socks!" he says.
Sounds like a case for Annabel Lee, P.I. I pull on my battered old slouch hat and grab my notebook. Flip it open to a clean page. Pull my new fine-point marker from over my ear. Leap downstairs, taking the steps two by two, to the laundry room. I'll interview possible witnesses.
John first. "Just the facts, sir," I tell him. "When was the last time you saw the alleged gray sock?" I lick the tip of my pen, like they do on cop shows. It tastes real funny.
John gives me a dirty look. "Last time I wore it, birdbrain." He thinks for a minute, then says, "Let's see. I wore my gray shirt to the game on Friday. Must have been then."
"Can you describe the AMS?"
"Alleged Missing Sock. It's what we call them," I explain patiently.
Another look from John. He dangles a long, gray, woolly object in front of me. "It's a sock, see. What do you think it looks like? An elephant?"
Honestly, big brothers are a pain. I take the object from him. "Just the facts, sir. The missing sock matches this one?"
He nods. I take the sock and write "Exhibit A" in my notebook. Next I head up the stairs to interview Mom, following the roar of the blow dryer. I show her Exhibit A. "Excuse me, ma'am. Can you identify this sock?"
"Oh, you found it? John was looking for it. Get dressed for school, dear, or you'll miss the bus."
"This isn't the missing sock, ma'am. This is its mate." I lay the sock neatly on the bed to show her. "Have you seen this sock before?"
Mom sighs. "Listen. I do laundry ten billion times a week, and if you expect me to be able to tell you where one little sock is..." She switches the hair dryer off. "If you and your brother would offer to help once in a while . . ." She looks in the mirror and fluffs her hair, then catches sight of me. Her eyes narrow in The Mom Look. "Annabel, I thought I told you to go get dressed."
I head downstairs to interview the head of the household. I find him at the kitchen table, reading the paper and sipping coffee.
"Sir, have you seen a sock like this? Inquiring minds want to know." I hold out the gray sock.
Dad takes it, absentmindedly. "Isn't this the sock I lost last week? Where did you find it?"
I take Exhibit A back. "Sorry sir, this is John's sock. I'm looking into the alleged disappearance of its mate."
He goes back to his paper. "While you're at it, look into the disappearance of mine. We've only got ten minutes."
"What's that?" Mom comes downstairs-every hair in place-and pours herself a cup of coffee.
"Nothing, dear," says Dad. They both look at me. "Annabel! Go get dressed!"
If I were a sock, where would I hide? I pace through the living room, looking for clues. What kind of clue could a sock leave? Footprints? A bit of unraveled wool? A sticker that says "Inspected by No. 13"?
In the corner, the television howls about sugar-coated cereal. The sound makes it hard to concentrate. I head over to switch it off. Suddenly, there on the screen is a clue! Some man is walking down the hall, his pants all twisted up, a sock stuck to his back. The screen switches to a lady with her dress sticking to her slip and then shows a can of spray gunk for your dryer. I've got it! I click off the TV and race to the laundry room.
The gray sock is there, inside the dryer with the last load, clinging to Mom's new silk blouse. "I found it!" I yell. John comes pounding down the stairs. Mom and Dad poke their noses in from the kitchen. "Look here!" I wave the sock triumphantly.
"Solid detective work, Sis," admits John, taking the sock. He puts it on. "Now, let's have it."
"My other sock. The one I gave you. Exhibit A." He holds out his hand, balancing on one foot, one sock on, one sock off. "Give it here. I need it."
I look at my hands. Notebook, check. Pen, check. No sock. "Now let's see. I had it just a minute ago ..."