Ghostwritten by Ronald Malfi

Author:Ronald Malfi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Publisher: Titan

This book belongs to Olo.

And below that:

Do not open.

As he stood before the mirror straightening his clip-on tie, Olo’s gaze shifted to the reflection of the book. Once more, that strange brain-shout intervened—

(BEWARE)

—and for the first time, he wondered if Detective Lewis had a gun in a holster beneath his suit jacket, like the detectives in Mother’s novels.

(BEWARE)

“Go away,” he told the brain-shout. He liked Detective Lewis and didn’t appreciate the brain-shout trying to convince him otherwise.

He returned to the parlor to find Roger smoking a cigarette and pacing the floor beneath the watchful, disproving stare of Grandfather Tiptree over the fireplace. Detective Lewis hadn’t moved from his chair, and was studying the pages of his notebook when Olo came into the room.

“Ah, now there’s a proper young gentleman,” Roger said, his cigarette trembling between two fingers.

“You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me,” said Detective Lewis. That smile was still on his face; Olo thought maybe the detective had been down here smiling the whole time he had been upstairs changing his clothes, and that in turn made Olo smile.

Olo crossed the room and sat on the sofa, in the exact spot where Roger had been sitting earlier. He kept both his feet on the floor and his hands in his lap.

Olo’s first conversation with Detective Lewis had taken place less than a month before, soon after Iris’s disappearance. He and the detective had talked in the dining room on that occasion while they drank large glasses of chocolate milk. On that visit, Detective Lewis had been intrigued by Mr. Tooms, the Keeleys, and Lulu the Dancer, so Olo had explained how he had found the mannequins discarded in the woods behind the house, and had wheeled them back in his wagon all on his own. He’d dressed them in old clothes and posed them in the yard. When Detective Lewis asked why Olo had done this, Roger, who had been leaning in the doorway, cut in with a comment about how creative Olo was, always coming up with new projects, what a hell of a kid, he and Maribel were both so proud of him.

Olo and Detective Lewis had also talked about Iris. That was okay by Olo, because he liked Iris—he liked her a lot—and he liked talking about her. In fact, he must have run at the mouth for nearly twenty minutes about what a wonderful tutor she was, and how since Mr. Cooper and Ms. Betty and the entire cleaning staff no longer came around to Helix House, Iris was his one and only true friend.

Detective Lewis leaned forward in his chair now, closing the distance between them. His coffee-colored eyes sparkled. Olo was instantly glad he’d chosen a similar necktie to the one the detective was wearing, and he wondered if Detective Lewis had noticed.

“I know we’ve done this once already,” Detective Lewis began, his voice smooth as a fitted bed sheet, “but I wanted to go over everything that happened the last time you saw Iris.

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