G. H. Sherrer - The Mall Street Sleuth

All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by G.H. Sherrer

Scriptural quotes are taken from King James Version Bible.

ISBN 978-0-7414-6799-7 Paperback

ISBN 978-0-7414-9565-5 eBook

FIRST EDITION: Book Club

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I am indebted to the following for their kindness and literary support: Janet Perry Stewart for years of professional writing opportunities, Ginger Church, Samantha Hurst and other editors for many journalist and columnist gigs. Thank you, Writers Inspiration Group, Desert Ridge B&N, Phoenix, Arizona, where I first wrote Starrs story, with special thanks to Rita Ackerman, Cindi Reiss and Christine Del Deo. Thank you, Anne Nall Stallworth, for suggesting Starrs story novel-worthy. Im grateful for the support of numerous writers, including Bill King, Lisa Dolensky, Karl Johnson, Ida Lee Hodge-Latham and Larry Williamson, and also thank you, Susan Murphy, for your leadership at Birmingham Quill Club and Birmingham Pen Women (NLAPW) which continues to inspire. Thank you, Alabama Writers Conclave, for judging this novels first chapter prize worthy. My gratitude goes to Jerry Ellis for inspiring guidance. Many thanks go to my first, though not final, editor for this novel, Paul Hawley. Thank you, Joyce Norman, for encouragement and suggestions, and thanks, Lindsey Lovvorn for an early read. Im grateful for Roland Lees critique, inspiration and applause. Inspiration and motivation to reach higher continues from my most-adored, precious young reader, Reagan Danielle Addiss. If there be any praise for this work, it rightly goes to God.

After enjoying this story, look for more of Starrs adventures coming soon in my sequel, Volume Two of The Keeper Chronicles, titled, The Mountaintop Hijack.

For every Starr

Am I my brothers keeper?

Cain

My name is Starr. I sure dont feel like a star, more like a mud hole. My problems are many and one is a girl coming down the school hallway right now. Beatrice the Beast, older than me and tougher than gator hide.

Feeling my gut clench, I try to dodge the hulking brute by unloading my locker and heading back the other way. Too late. Its always too late with Beatrice. I hear her rushing footsteps, smell cigarette smoke in her clothes and hair.

Why is there no teacher in the hallway to protect me? I want to be strong, stand up for myself, but right now my nerve is sunk deep in that bottomless mud hole.

My spirit itself is mud.

Mouth dry and heart pounding, I walk ever faster though shes playing with me now, blowing warm dirty breath on my neck. I want to run so fast I can fly, fly away from her and all such ambushes, but my feet are so heavy I can barely lift them.

She begins to hiss, like a cat toying with a mouse. Then the strike comes, and with a sickening thud my head jerks sideways from the blow of her ugly palm as she smashes my nose against cold metal and growls stinky breath in my face.

Listen up, dork brain. You owe me for not snitching. Show me the green or youll get worse than this!

Focus, I tell myself. Say words slowly, dont stutter or youll show weakness. Go ahead and snitch, Beatrice. I dont c-care.

Well, I do care, but what else can I say to the thug? Shes right. Ive been caught pilfering before, mostly fruit at Hills Market, though no one knows about the chew bone I lifted for my beagle Sketch. A certain patterns developing. Likely the Beast is referring to a compass I stole for Dad so he can find his way home from his long fishing trips that rarely bring any fish.

Now a trickle of warm wetness says my nose is bloody. The bully steps back, surveying her handiwork with a sneer and thrusting a bulky finger into my chest, right at my BEAGLES RULE tee shirt.

Im sick of seeing you and that dog of yours. Better run see if hes still alive, though hell not be for long. Its real easy to snuff out a dog, so simple it cracks me up, cracks me up! She begins to roar, laughing so hard she doubles over.

My face goes cold. Hair on my neck rises up. Blood drips from my crushed nostril, splotching my shirt. I swipe my bloody nose on a gym sock, and deep inside of me a bit of courage builds, fueled by rage.

You touch my dog, Beatrice, and my dad will. He will do what? Youll be the one to pay, for this. Touching my nose, I flick blood onto her clothing.

Ill get you yet, geek. She curses, thrusting her middle finger inches from my smashed nose, and bolts away, leaving me dripping blood.

With gut clenching, I go running down Mall Street to check on my dog Sketch and find him on our front porch curled up on the sofa, napping.

Come here, boy. He wakes right up and goes to licking tears mingling with blood from my nose. His warm body is all the comfort Ill likely get today.

To set the record straight, Dad has never come to my defense on a single bully issue, though he could, given his great muscular build and quick temper. Ill be more vigilant keeping an eye peeled for toughs like Beatrice, and double up my watching out for Sketch, too. Thieving things? Maybe I will, and maybe I wont.

What I need is a better security plan.

After nuzzling Sketch a bit, I take up my well-worn spiral notebook which I call Surviving Bullies & Criminals and add Beatrices sinister threat under a page titled, Bullies: Case Number Fifteen, the Beast. And then, as a reminder, I flip over to the page of Safety Rules: Number One: know whos in your stomping ground.

Theres no better place for keeping an eye on toughs whore lurking around Mall Street than our front porch, though the floor boards grow hard to my skinny backside real quick. I shift my weight and hear a swoosh, swoosh of shoe leather on concrete getting closer and closer, an eerie sound stopping my study of red ants crawling onto bare feet and setting off an inner alarm and clenching my gut even tighter.

Whew. Its just my science teacher walking home from school.

Evening, Mr. Kent. My voice has a nasal twang now, what with my nose being so swollen and tender. I flutter a wave. Now theres a gentle man who would never whack a fly.

He salutes me with a big grin. Cute pet youve got there.