Free Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook by Mary Amato

home as soon as it started to drizzle?”
    â€œBecause he left his brain in his cubby,” Henri, proud owner of a middle-school locker, said as he poured himself a glass of milk.
    Edgar smiled. “Mom, you should get Henri’s eyes checked. He can’t seem to see brilliance when it’s standing right in front of him.” He took the glass of milk that Henri had just poured, drank it, and said, “Thanks!”
    Henri was speechless.
    Dinner that night was his favorite. Tortellini tossed with olive oil and parmesan cheese. He ate every bite. Henri hogged the conversation again, but Edgar didn’t care. Something had happened to him. Something big. He had written Destiny a poem that made her feel better. And together they had witnessed a profound and beautiful scene when they saw Taz try to care for Bandit with such love. Then they had written a poem to make him feel better, too. Mr. Crew was right. A poem was a gift.
    After dinner, he took his notebook outside and sat on the concrete steps. The air was damp, but he didn’t mind. The sky, dramatic and brooding, was folding over itself in different shades of gray. He wondered if Bandit was still alive and if Taz was watching over him.
    I know that everything has to die, but sometimes I wonder why it has to be that way? Why can’t it be that everything lives a really long time? Like hundreds of years? Perhaps I will be a doctor in addition to being a detective, and then I can find a cure for cancer.
    I just looked at my own hand holding this pencil, and I thought, some day I’m going to die and then this hand will turn to bones.
    I think there’s something in me that’s stronger than bones. My spirit. I don’t think it has any one place in my body where it lives. I think it swirls and floats and zips around inside me. It’s the moving part of me, the part of me that
feels
. When something really big is happening—either in a sad way or in a joyful way—I think my spirit expands and fills up my whole body. That happened today in a sad way when I saw Taz with Bandit andagain in a happy way when Destiny and I left that poem for him. When we were riding our bikes together, my spirit was filling up my whole body. Even the puddles looked like works of art.
    Destiny could feel it, too. Eyeballs never lie.
    Edgar pulled out his notebook. He closed his eyes and let a great silence wash over him. Then he opened his eyes and wrote a poem. He read it over to himself. He crossed out a few words and chose better words. He read it again. Satisfied, he took his notebook into the living room. His parents were sitting on the floor, practicing a new card trick. Rosy was jumping up and down in her special Baby Bouncer harness that was attached to the doorjamb.
    â€œI just wrote a poem,” he said.
    They looked up.
    â€œDo you want to hear it?” he asked.
    â€œSure. Let ’er rip,” his dad said.
    Edgar read.
    Inside
    by Edgar Allan
    There is a you
    inside you
    stronger than bone
    lighter than wind.
    It shines like sunlight
    through green magnolia leaves.
    Ride through the rain,
    it whispers.
    Don’t be afraid,
    it whispers.
    If a friend needs you,
    sit down next to him
    even if the grass
    is wet.
    His parents were silent. Then his mother smiled, her eyes brimming. “Wow, Edgar.”
    â€œWow indeed,” his dad said. “That was beautiful.”
    Even Rosy had stopped bouncing and was looking up at him, her toes just touching the floor, her big eyes filled with wonder.
    â€œThank you.” Edgar took his notebook with him into the kitchen and helped himself to an extra large bowl of ice cream with whipped cream on top.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

    The next morning on his way to the bus stop, Edgar saved three worms from drying out by picking them up and putting them back in the wet grass. The bus was late, so he had time for a quick entry.
    Maybe the reason people have pets is because it feels good to take