4 Teen Detective’s Office

A few weeks later my dad pulled up to the curb in front of our new house and parked, leaving the driveway open for the moving van. I looked up at the tall stone mansion, holding my detective kit. The barren front yard was covered in dusty gravel, tall weeds, and wispy, water-starved vines. The roofline went up and down like a staircase. Or like more than one person had designed the house and they forgot to talk to each other about it before it was built.

The turret was calling my name, and I couldn't stop wondering how many floors there really were: three, or four? I congratulated myself on convincing my parents to buy this house, while they celebrated the deal they had gotten. We were all happy about how fast the sale closed, which meant we were able to move in before school started.

My mom had hired a cleaning crew, and all of the bird and rat turds and spider webs were gone. The broken windows had been replaced and we had new travertine floors. There was a lot of unpacking and organizing to do before I could start exploring, but I was so excited about moving into the mansion that I didn't even care. The only thing I was worried about was getting the bedroom I wanted with the cool spiral staircase. And the pointed room at the top of the turret for my detective agency.

One of my most cherished belongings is Grandpa's old desk. I love the slippery feel of the polished wood, and best of all it has secret compartments. The drawer in the center has a panel behind it that pulls sideways, revealing a little chamber. This is my favorite spot to hide money and my most prized possession. I thought Grandpa's desk would just fit inside that little round room.

"There are so many bigger bedrooms," my mother said. "Why would you pick the smallest one?"

My dad stuck up for me. "Hey, if I were a kid I'd want to live in that turret too. Like Rapunzel, right Skylar?" He took his microscope cases out of the trunk and gently closed the hood. He wouldn't let the moving men touch any of his equipment.

"Fairy tales have nothing to do with it, Dad." Wrapping long hair behind my ears, I looked right into my mom's eyes. "I don't care how small my bedroom is. I just want that pointy turret room above it for my office." It was the perfect spot for a detective to nestle in and solve a whopper of a mystery. Like where had Xandra Collins hidden her jewelry box before she disappeared?

I couldn't get Ms. Knight's words out of my mind. She hid her jewelry box somewhere on the estate. Whoever is smart enough and brave enough to follow the clues she left behind will be rewarded by inheriting her fortune in diamonds. And her heirs couldn't find a single clue in three years!

"You want an office to work in? That's a good reason," my mom said, turning to the movers. "The big desk goes upstairs." The one with the dark wavy hair looked at her until she gave him a nod. Then they picked up my heavy desk with their muscles bulging.

"Thanks, Mom." I carried a box of art supplies up two flights of stairs with a giant pair of moving men following, and led them into my bedroom. "My desk goes up there." I pointed up the spiral staircase.

The dark-haired guy groaned, and the short blond with the freckled arms swore. If my mom had heard him say the s-word in front of me she would have freaked. "I'm sorry, I know it's heavy. But you guys look like you work out like—all the time." Their arms were bigger than my thighs. "You can get it up there, can't you?" I smiled hopefully.

The blond nodded his head at me. "Smart kid," he commented. "Knows how to get what she wants." They grunted and heaved, turned my heavy desk on its end, and managed to get it up the stairs and into the little room in the tip of the turret. One of them yelled, "Where do you want it facing?"

I bolted up the staircase and made a careful decision, looking out all the windows and picking the best view. "Facing that way, please." I pointed across the railing at the edge of the yard. The rocky cliffs fell away into the canyon below. Beyond the other side of the mountains I could see a slice of dark blue ocean foaming in the distance. With my desk positioned that way I could look out over the canyon and watch the sun set or a storm rage while I was at my desk doing homework or working on the mystery of the hidden jewels.

After the movers positioned my desk, I followed them back to their truck and got a big box containing a multicolored stained-glass lamp I'd bought for four dollars at a garage sale. It had a brass base and dangly crystals hanging all around the edge of the shade. A few of the crystals were missing, but I just thought it made the lamp seem more antique, like something you'd find in the library inside an old castle. Which is exactly how I wanted to decorate my office.

Then I unzipped the pocket in my purse and took out the item I'd carefully wrapped in tissue. The gold shield had an eagle curled around the top, and DET. ROBBINS was stamped across the badge in block letters. I remembered when I'd gotten it. It was a horrible day, and I wasn't ready.

"Skylar, always remember to look for clues in unexpected places. They won't be sitting right under your nose, waiting for you to find them." Grandpa's papery fingers touched my arm and he pulled me closer to him on the hospital bed. I could tell by the look on his face that he was about to say something important. "I want you to have this." My grandfather pressed his detective badge into my hand and folded my fingers around it. "Skylar, don't ever let anyone tell you there is something you cannot do. There is no mystery or problem you cannot solve, and nothing you can't achieve if you set your mind to it."

It was the best advice I'd ever gotten, and some of the last words my grandfather ever spoke to me. I pictured his face as I turned the golden oval over in my hand and ran my fingers over its shiny surface. Then I set his badge on the cotton pad and closed the little white box.

My grandfather left me his beautiful wood desk in his will. Opening the center drawer, I slid the top drawer completely out and opened the chamber hiding behind it, slipping the box into the hidden compartment. Working on mysteries at Grandpa's desk with his badge inside would be inspiring, like he was close by. Thinking about it made me feel like a real detective.

I topped the antique desk with orange-, mint-, and chocolate-scented candles and a small fern in a clay pot, and then walked down the stairs to my bedroom. I wanted to hurry and finish unpacking so I could start to explore our new house and the yard. After my grandfather figured something out, he used to dust off his hands with satisfaction and say, "Case closed." Even though he was gone, I wanted to close my own case and feel like I'd made him proud of me. And there were clues hidden somewhere in this house just waiting for me to find them.