There’s been a murder in the old Gualictica Manor. Not only is the name hella hard to say, but the Manor looks like a grasshopper sitting on a dung beetle sharing loogies and babies on a pile of—

“Yep, yep. This is it, the old Guh-a-wall-a-tic-ah-ass Manor,” my boss, Private Investigator Teddison Williamson Junior oh-seven-one-two, says as we enter the thick iron gate surrounding the mansion.Oh, yeah, he’s also my brother. My younger. Brother.

I guess you can tell that I don’t try to correct the boy. He’s seventeen, literally just hit puberty, but is somehow my boss- and a horrible one at that, needless to say.

I’m twenty-two. Should’ve been boss, but noooo, mom had to pick her little bundle of… of just perfect roses. My redneck ass, by the leather of my boots he crawls under my skin like sunburn and Julia Lee from eighth grade chemistry class.

“Private Investigator Teddison Williamson Junior,” I say, “are you sure we’re suppose to enter the place? There’s been a murder, we ain’t got no weapons or no backup. No nothing ‘n we’re going in there bare assed like a pair of deers hangin’ up to dry for jerky.”

The child turns to me with an irritated pimple on his nose, bad breath and a faint blonde baby hair mustache. “Why, Bucky,” he says rather smuttingly, “did Superman say that? Did Batman or Ironman?”

I also don’t say that these are fictional characters. It’s like telling the kid Santa Clause ain’t real, it’d break the boy’s heart in two like a damn toothpick. And because I was half scared outta my whitey-tighties to turn and see my brother with the American flag leather buck boots on in just his underwear and a stick of wheat sticking outta his loudmouth.

“You see that, Bucky?“ The boy points to the ground. I stare in awe. At what? Well, I ain’t sure. Not yet, at least. My brother isn’t the sharpest chainsaw in dad’s ‘ol tool shed.

“Why, I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say, “I’ll be damned, ain’t that a fine piece of yard. That right there is an acre or five, might plant me some corn on that there. Get me a tractor ‘n puff, puff me some weed the crazy lady throws at you when you walk by the corner on Martin Luther King street.”

I pop the kid on the back of the neck, turning him red with a good one like I was raised. And boy, I tell ya, that left him a mark stinging like a wasp up my shirt at the swamp yards, no escape, I tell ya. He jumps back and hollers a little later than reaction time, molasses could’ve poured straight from the bottle faster than that boy could react to anything.

“Dat-dern horsefly, big as an elephant in Antartica,” I pat his shoulder oilman-lovingly and mutter the excuse.

“By golly, Bucky,” my brother goes to hollerin’ ‘n swearing him a blue streak. “Ain’t you tell me to take in all the evidence?”

“That doesn’t mean checking yourself out in a puddle of Mississippi muddy water. If I gave you a pine stick and a cotton swab you’d go fuck yourself in that there bathroom,” I point to the house.

“I’m telling momma on you, Bucky. You’s a cussin’ ‘n shit,” he stops and covers his mouth. “Now see what you done gone and did? I’m a cusser now.”

We enter the mansion while fussin’, the investigatortrips on something real big and toned and thick on the floor, he spins to inspect the damage he’s made.

“Goddamn, would you look at that thang,” Private Investigator Teddison Williamson Junior says, eyeing the dead woman on the floor.

“That’s a woman. Not a ‘thang’,” I bring out my notebook and start scratching notes on my dollar-cheap paper pad. When I glance over and up, Private Investigator Teddison Williamson Junior, bless his heart, smacks the lady’s ass like a drum at the high-school bandhall.

“I meant this thang. I ain’t never seen a dump truck like that since-“ he squeezes it hard, I half expect her left buttock to bust. Lord knows the thing was as big as Bubba’s lips off Forrest Gump.

“Would you shut up? We have a job to do, you foo. Make me lose my coo up in here,” I growl, eyeing the woman. And her ass.

“I think you already lost ‘yer cool. Or either your tongue,” Private Investigator Teddison Williamson Junior shoots back at me.

(😂😂😂 Bruh… what? Sorry. I wrote this at 2AM, where everthing is funny. Should I finish it? Idk. Prob won’t. 😂 Omg. The Southern American slang and jokes in here is so bad, I’m prob torturing y’alllll!)😂

Right now, in another life, she is on a stage in a theater full of people. Her performance of a lifetime is coming to a close as she pictures reviews that cite her as a breakout star. In this other life, she didn’t puke all over the stage at her audition, no, she thrived and everything she dreamed of was no longer a dream. Yes, in this life, she’s a star.

“Do you have my investigating lipgloss?” Her boss, Paige Adams, asks, holding her camera up as she studies her appearance.

Her question is a reminder that Pearl Miller would never be a star in this life. No, for she was too busy being a meteorite stuck in the ditch of her own creation.

“The pink or the clear one?”

“Whichever one feels more investigatey,” Paige unhelpfully replies.

She grabs the clear gloss from the makeup bag inside a tote she’s carrying and applies it to her boss’s puckered-up lips. Once done, she's shooed away and stuck standing on the sidelines as Paige goes live. Years ago, when she applied for the job, she expected it to involve picking up coffee or packages not…

“Hi, guys! It’s me Paige Adams, and I’m live with you guys at an actual murder scene, I’m investigating!”Paige announces, enthusiastically.

This. This is exactly what she hadn’t expected from the job. When she first applied Paige was a known beauty influencer but out of nowhere( after binge-watching a true crime podcast) Paige decided to become a personal private investigator influencer and yes, Pearl’s still unsure of what that is. At least, this crime scene is fresh and the smell of a rotting corpse isn’t an unpleasant beacon of dread. She watches as Paige goes over to the corpse, lifting its arm as she tells her viewers perfect ways to prevent arm wrinkles.

How did they always end up at a crime scene? Usually, they were hired for missing person cases that sounded cut and dry but somehow these missing people always ended up dead. The police had warned Paige against contaminating these crime scenes but every time without fail she would. This time around, the police are quicker to the scene than usual, coming just as she’s explaining the best way to prevent blackheads

“Hey! What are you doing?” An officer shouts, making his way out of the car.

“Investigating,” Paige responds, a bit offended. “Privately.”

“You’ve been told several times that this isn’t what a personal investigator does but you just don’t listen do you.” The officer replies back.

“Please,” she says, scoffing. “You’re just bitter I’m way better at my job than you. And I’ll have you know this is my case, Pearl show him the file!”

Pearl scrambles to open the bag she's wearing and brings out the case file for the officer to look over. As he does so, his partner leaves the car, checking over the scene himself.

“Look, there’s another confetti heart!” He says with dismay.

“It’s the pink heart killer again!” Paige says , her tone dramatic.

The pink heart killer is a serial murderer that seemed to follow them wherever they went. The police theorized it’s probably an obsessive fan of Paige trying to gain her attention. Most likely, they gained the information from Paige’s current case livestreams where she recruited her followers to help her. Paige herself’s methods of research was just googling someone and groaning that someone’s socials didn’t have their government name in the handle. If there was a list of private investigator rankings Pearl is sure that Paige’s rank would rightly be put in the negatives for her zero capabilities in investigating. Yet, somehow, they still always had a case even though they always turned fatal.

The officer going over the case file pushes it back into Pearl’s hands as he curses loudly. He moves for the radio on his waist and motions for his partner to do something. His partner approaches Paige.

“M’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Paige huffs in annoyance.

“You guys are just mad that I’m so great at my job!”

With a frustrated sigh, she addresses the viewers of her livestream. “Sorry guys, I gotta go but come back in an hour where I’ll do my vent stream. Bye! Love you, my paigers!”

Ending the live, she walks away from the crime scene in a huff. Pearl follows after her and they head to Paige’s car. Once inside, Pearl takes the drivers seat as Paige stews in the passenger side.

“Can you believe that?!” She shouts in fury. “You would think after I’ve made several citizen arrests and did their job better that they’d actually respect me!”

“None of the people you accused were guilty of being the pink heart killer,” Pearl says, starting the car.

Paige glares. “I tried. And my process of elimination has definitely helped the case. Plus, who was the one who found out the commonality of all the killings?”

“That would be the viewers of your livestreams.” Paige’s glare intensifies, causing Pearl to clear her throat. “I mean, you did after you made that clue board.”

Pearl starts driving, heading to Paige’s house which is thankfully close.

“Exactly! I’m so great at my job that the actual job description can’t confine me, you know? Like, I could even psych evaluate the killer!”

“Is psychology going to be your new thing?”

“Umm no, I’m just an empath. Like, I just know these things though I would make a great therapist. Probably too good, you know?”

“Uh yeah.”

They reach Paige’s house, and Paige bolts from the car, desperate to update her fans. Pearl stays back, gathering Paige’s stuff before she even attempts to leave the car. She spots Paige’s jacket. Picking it up, something drops from the jacket which makes her notice the jacket pocket is torn. She goes to look to see what has dropped. Confetti. All in the shape of pink little hearts.

I went to college without my mother. She took her life when I was sixteen. Before that we made music together. Despite her depression she encouraged me. In return I mothered her. You could say we were symbiotic , meaning we fed off of each other. It was as though we were each other. In this painful relationship I succeeded in music while she played the piano. The summer before she died, i was chosen to be a soloist for a Rodgers and Hammerstein production I was one of three soloists and sang in front of one thousand people. I was sheer nerves about performing. However, my mother told me I could do it! The night I performed, she helped me bathe, and she soothed me. To have my mother beside me, is beyond what I can express. My father remarried a woman who had been married five times, To my disbelief she gave away my childhood treasures. By the time I got to college, I had lost the resilient girl i had been. The world was sad and bereft for me. I had to stuff my grief inside. I had to smile my ‘dimples smile’ while I cried inside. .

One thing I thought I could do to find myself was sing. Despite stage fright, I came around on stage, i blossomed and sang my heart out as a young Songbird. The university was having tryouts for students to entertain before Chris Kristofferson performed. I decided to try out. I chose a song and practiced, but when i sang before the judges, my voice betrayed me, The songbird had died. Mother wasn’t there. Since then, I have taken millions of steps forward. I lived through embarrassing myself with a hopeless tryout. Since then, I have learned to find the treasures that abound. But believe me when I say, a songbird’s death is not easy.
You have to work to fly free and sing again

i have hurried my stories. I am going to cut back and strive to perfect them

Leave it to a man to be all up in a woman’s business without rhyme or reason. They’ve been terrorizing us for centuries, I don’t know why I thought working for Investigator Abrams would be any different. And before you ask, no- there aren’t any women PI’s in Starkville. I will be the first one. That is, if I can survive this internship.

Abrams has been hired by a suspicious local businessman who believes his wife is sleeping with someone. He’s a portly, crass man and I can’t imagine why she would want to do that. Abrams has been on this case for weeks to no avail. As it turns out, their gardener (that was his number one suspect) happens to be happily married to his husband of 10 years. He spent far too long trailing the poor fellow from hot yoga to whole foods on the daily.

So we have no leads. Abrams is listless, poring over the case file & cursing over his whiskey glass. He has a brilliant idea and cajoles his client into inviting anyone his wife interacts with to a soiree chez eux.

The night of, we stand against the wall, surreptitious as possible. The lady of the house is a vision in a pearl opalescent gown, her smile wound by a red ring of lip stain. The night progresses, people get drunker and Abrams sniffs like an old bloodhound. He too imbibes and grows dull. The only scent he caught by nights end was an obtuse side eye from the client’s cousin once removed (he was checking the client’s wife out.)

I had done my research. There is a stunning administrative assistant that Mr. Crass recently employed who has been helping around the house, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t see red lipstick on her blouse collar.. but I think I’ll let this underserved wife have her fun.

After all, once I get started, no one in this town will have secrets.

Braided garlic, wooden stakes, vials of holy water, the shopping bags of supplies rattled in the back of the StationMaster. Ronny fiddled with the radio dial. Regan slapped his fingers.

“Focus on the road, Sherlock. Your last shortcut wasted twenty minutes and rattled my spine.”

Ronny grumbled while his assistant Regan selected the Taylor Swift channel on Spotify. They had left the god-awful back roads and made their way back to the highway. Ronny loved to disagree with the GPS. Once he had missed the entire state of Pennsylvania and called her from Maryland completely frazzled.

The bouncy beat of “Bad Blood” filled the station wagon. The pair tapped to the music.

“You’re the reason we are behind schedule to meet the client. Our first juicy case in weeks and it involves D’Angelo, the Central Jersey vampire patriarch. And you want to offend his entire flock smelling of garlic—“ Ronny groused.

“Wait what do you mean his entire flock? We are meeting in a neutral spot right? You’re not delivering us to a vampiric lair right?” Regan said.

Her skin prickled. For a paranormal investigator, Ronny Drinkwater was surprisingly trusting. Honest and earnest, he saw the best in people even undead people.

“Lucian said D’Angelo wanted to discuss a very high level private matter with us. Lucian hinted it is about these vamps in the news that have gone missing lately. The vampires are shaking in their coffins and want a real pro.”

Ronny swerved the car when Regan slapped him upside his forehead.

“Pull over at the next exit. I have to think.”

Regan tented her fingers. Lucian was vamp informant and willing to make friends with anyone with a Jackson or a pint of O positive. Regan also knew he was a gambler and D’Angelo was among other things a bookie. Ronny was right the vampire community was shook about the missing vampires. Some powerful creatures had been taken without a trace. Only a playing card left where they were last seen. Why ask for Ronny?

Ronny took the exit as Regan punched a new destination into the GPS. In a few minutes they pulled up in front of a WaffleHouse. Ronny was the epitome of confusion. It’s a good thing they were best friends or she would punch his lights out.

“So here’s the deal Sherlock. Text the vamp we will meet them here in the WaffleHouse it’s a house we have to invite them in that way we can control how many vampires are around us. And this is HellHound terrority so the vamps won’t want to stir up shit on werewolf land.”

Regan loaded her big backpack with stakes and holy water. Next, she fished her revolver with silver plated bullets out of the glove compartment. Regan took in Ronny’s crest fallen countenance as they put in their comm devices. She draped a rope of garlic around his neck.

“I don’t think Lucian would set us up.” Ronny said. “You don’t trust anyone.”

Regan slipped her gun into her waistband.

“I trust you. Trust me now. I’m heading to the roof.”

Ronny shook his head as her retreating back and retrieved his battle axe from the backseat just to be on the safe side.

6am: I wake up at 6am and write in order who is talking with Shawn today. Then I eat, and rush out the door at 7am to get to his house. 8am: first client arrives, I stand outside listening, writing notes and pray he won’t make mistakes. 8:30am: I talk to him about the mistakes he made and how to improve his side of the talk (ie be more sensitive (like not saying “your grandma died? Cool.”)) 9am: next client. 9:30: talk about mistakes. It basically went like that. On the hour, client, half hour, break and talk.

12:00am: lunch break

12:30am: repeat morning with different clients until 5.

5pm: go home and have dinner

7pm: look through notes about day

8pm: binge watching a movie series

9pm bed.

(Now, don’t ask me why my boss wanted to be a therapist, and don’t ask me why I decided to work for him. The only thing I know is that soon the therapist will need a therapist.)

Another terrible day. Another terrible way. Terrible is the job. Terrible like a mob.

This man is a jerk, But the job has perks. At times he just hurts With his insulting words.

His way is harassment. This job is entrapment. Like living in the basement. But that’s not what I meant.

Leaving is not an option. I’m under the spell of a potion. I need sunscreen and lotion. But being the wife is devotion. Tessa🦋

-Idiot- I thought

How the hell was it possible that I was working for this idiot who knew absolutely nothing about his work?

Steve, he wasn't a bad guy but being his secretary and being with him all day he knew that he wasn't very smart and he was too bad at his job, in fact it was terrible, our building was a disaster there was garbage everywhere, I don't know how people kept coming, I guess this place had a good reputation before it opened or simply people were too absorbed

Today a middle-aged woman arrived, surely she was about 30 years old, her blond hair looked very stylized, just like her face, it was seen that her appearance obsessed her but she was somewhat sad and frustrated, I could notice the mascara stains under her eyes, I guess from so much whining.

He came with me saying that he wanted to talk to the private investigator, he would know that it was going to be a waste of time but I was excited to see the show, I told him to wait a minute that I would talk to him right away and to take a seat, clearly the woman was quite upset and said that she would not wait.

She looked very upset so I decided to hurry and quickly let her go to Steve's office without making a fuss, even so when she made a gesture of surrounding my desk, she rolled her eyes and whispered some incompetent people that I didn't take much attention to her, since I listened to him almost daily and it didn't bother me a little.

Then I heard her noisy steps going to Steve's office, she entered without even touching since she was very upset, to be honest this job was not so bad, I loved listening to people's cases and seeing how Steve did not have the slightest idea of how to solve them, in fact I was still not sure why they had not closed the place yet.

After the woman opened the door shamelessly, she began to scream and sob as she told her suspicions that her husband was being unfaithful to her and who would stay on the street and who wanted to find out who the other woman was.

Judging by his clothes and his comments, I came to the conclusion that the unfaithful husband would definitely have a lot of money, more than anything, that's why it hurt the woman so much.

After yelling a few things at her, Steve told her to calm down and that he would help her solve this in a matter of minutes and he started babbling some other things until he finally did something right and asked the woman if she had any list of suspects or something similar.

The woman grimaced as she tried to take out a small sheet of paper folded in half, took it and showed it to Steve, while he examined it with his eyes she began to tell him about each of the names on the list.

The first suspect was her sister who had gone bankrupt and had asked them to sleep a few nights at home, clearly how it was to be expected those nights turned into a year, the woman suspected her since she and her sister never had a good relationship.

The second on the list was the housekeeper, a very calm woman, being honest but she had too much contact with us since we hired her many years ago and she had become very close, who knows what a beautiful woman with needs could do.

The third was her husband's secretary, you know the classic story of what spends a lot of time with her, she falls in love with her and her bright and expensive red lipstick that she casually leaves on her white clothes and that's it.

For the woman all the options seemed to fit with something that her husband would definitely do, before she could continue Steve interrupted her and told her that he already knew who her husband's lover was, but I could no longer stand his talk and got up from my chair and went to Steve's office before he could say some secretarial cliché, I entered the office and went to the side of

I know that I am not a personal researcher like him but what I know is that this is much better than him - I said shamelessly without thinking about the consequences of losing my job -

Obviously this case is simple, and everyone in the room knows that the secretary was not because it would be too cliché so we only have your sister and the housekeeper, I know that your sister could do it without any problem but I know that it is not like that because I think she would have some dignity and at least she would have already moved out of your house, so there is only the

The woman took her phone enraged while I sketched a small smile, she called her husband but did not answer him, after about twenty calls she got much more angry and left annoyed slamming the door, I think she only had to say goodbye to the housekeeper.

On the other hand, Steve was sitting sad and thinking about how stupid he was, I felt a little bad and I told him not to feel that way, he just looked at me and rolled his eyes.

He told me in a low voice that when he died I could have his job, then he made a gesture to leave his glass of water after giving him a small sip, the moment I looked unconscious.

Great one more case to solve.

“Mark, come in here.” Sutton is sitting at his desk shuffling through the piles of papers that he considers his filing cabinet. He looks congenial and I hate to ruin his mood but I have been working for Sutton for about three months now and it is high time that he gets my name right.” “It’s Matt.” I say stepping into his office. “Oh yes, of course, Matt. Well come in here. We have a new assignment.” That explained his good mood this morning. Business had been scarce. I have even been afraid that if things did not pick up soon then I would have to be let go. I thought of my studio apartment that I was struggling to keep and knew that I could not lose this job. Sutton didn’t wait for me to ask what the new assignment was, he immediately started to fill me in. “We had a call this morning from none other than Julia Whitestone.” He says her name with a reverence and I nod my head encouragingly, even though I have no idea who Julia Whitestone is. “She is hiring us to watch her . . . “ “Husband!” I interrupt. Sutton scowls, “No, I was going to say dog.” “Her what?” I can absolutely not believe what I am hearing. How can this be a real assignment? “Mitzi is her prized show dog and she believes that she has gentleman caller visiting her at all hours of the day. She has asked that we come and investigate.” A laugh almost escapes my throat and I have to bury my face in my coffee mug to hide it. “Now we are not to approach the said gentleman caller. We are just to observe and report. If anything nefarious is happening, we are just to alert Mrs. Whitestone and she will take it up with the proper authorities.” Sutton continues in a serious tone. “Why yes, absolutely.” I am nodding my head into my coffee mug. “I’ll be happy to let the dog catcher take matters from there.” “Excellent!” Sutton stands up enthusiastically from his chair and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s get a move on.” Five hours later and we are still parked outside of the Whitestone residence. There has been no activity and no signs of the perpetrator. I’m busying myself with a crossword puzzle and Sutton is snoring in the driver’s seat next to me. I grab another handful of sunflower seats and toss them into my mouth, spitting the shells out of my open window. All of a sudden there is a commotion from the side of the house. “Sutton.” I shake my employer’s arm. No response. “Sutton!” I say again, louder this time and shaking his arm more insistently. Finally his eyelids flutter open. “What is it?” he asks through the drool that his dripped down his stubbly chin.” “I think I heard something.” He nods and opens his door. I get out of the passenger side and close the door just in time to hear the commotion again. Now Sutton and I are both running for the side of the house.

“Do you have your gun, Meyer?” Sutton asks me as we near the gate. “No.” Is all I manage to get out of my mouth. Sutton should know better. We have never done anything exciting enough to warrant either of us carrying a gun, and then there is the small matter of my name. Doesn’t matter, we are opening up the gate and Sutton is holding his hands up as if he is holding a weapon at arms length. He looks absolutely ridiculous but I don’t have time to mention this as I am far too distracted by the set of eyes staring at us from the top of a trash can. Two dark, shiny eyes in the center of a dark mask. A raccoon. It has an upside down triangle shaped face and two little ears. It’s body is dark, with a stripped tale and it is wringing it’s little hands in nervous anticipation. “It’s just a raccoon.” I say relieved. “Are you sure it’s a raccoon.” Sutton asks me, fingers still pointed at the animal as if he could really pull the trigger. “Yes, I am sure.” I say turning around and giving Sutton a pat on the shoulder. “All Mrs. Whitestone needs to do is set some traps.” “Ah yes, well, excellent work Mike.” I shake my head, ready to give up on the name thing for the day and try again tomorrow. “How about we see if we missed any calls. Maybe tomorrow we can hunt down a fox.” I joke as we walk back to Sutton’s honda civic. “Oh I doubt that very much. Foxes are very clever animals.” Sutton tells me. I close my eyes. I need this job, I need this job. “Yes, that they are Mr. Sutton.”

Ally stared at the clock. ‘8:45 a.m.,’ she thought. ‘Uncle Tom is late again.’

Ally tapped her pen against the notebook on her desk. ‘I wish Uncle Tom would buy me a computer,’ she thought. ‘It would make my job so much easier.’

At 11:45 a.m., the office phone rang.

Ally snatched the phone up and held it to her ear. “Uncle Tom,” she said. “Are you on your way? Where have you been? You’re almost 4 hours late!”

Ally almost dropped the phone when she heard her mom’s voice coming through the line.

“No, Mom,” Ally said. “Uncle Tom isn’t in yet.”

Ally’s mom had a lot to say about that.

“Yes, Mom,” Ally said. “I’m keeping an eye out for his business just like I promised I would, but I really wish I’d chosen another summer job. With the way Uncle Tom treats his business, I’m not likely to even get a pay check to help out with school.”

Ally half listened to her mom’s reply. She tried to drone out as much of her mom’s guilt trips as she could.

“Yes, Mom,” Ally said. “Of course I know that family is the most important.”

As Ally was putting the phone back, the office door opened.

“Uncle—“ Ally began. She abruptly shut her mouth when a well-dressed middle-aged woman walked into the room. “How can I help you?” Ally asked.

The woman marched up to Ally’s desk, placed her hands on the edges and leaned over, getting into Ally’s space and very close to her face.

Ally stared at her cooly. ‘I’m not going to be intimidated by someone I don’t even know,’ Ally thought.

“Please sit,” Ally said, pointing to a chair.

The woman looked at the chair and stuck up her nose.

“Please sit,” Ally repeated. “I insist.”

The woman sat in the chair.

“How can I help you?” Ally asked.

“I want to see Tom Marina right now,” the woman said. “I want to see him right now. Or I want my money back right now. If you can’t help me, I’m going to make sure this place gets shut down.”

Ally knew Uncle Tom didn’t keep any money in the office, and she felt almost 100% certain that Uncle Tom had already spent this woman’s money. Ally had no money to give this woman.

“Where is Tom Marina?” the woman asked.

Ally didn’t know where Uncle Tom was or when he would get there.

“I’m Tom Marina,” Ally said. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it or why she had lied. She only knew that she wasn’t going to let some stranger sabotage her uncle’s business.

“You’re Tom Marina,” the woman repeated. She looked down her nose at Ally.

“Yes,” Ally said. “Tom is short for Thomasina.”

“You’re a child,” the woman said.

“I just look young,” Ally said.

At that moment, the office door opened. Uncle Tom walked in.

“Uncle Tom,” Ally said.

“Uncle Tom?” the woman repeated.

“Yes,” Ally said. “I was named after my Uncle Tom, and he’s probably the one that you want to see.”

Uncle Tom raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Tom?” he said. “Thank you for greeting our customer for me.”

“I want to talk,” the woman said to Uncle Tom.

“Let’s talk in private,” Uncle Tom said. He walked her into his office.

While, Uncle Tom talked to the woman, Ally fidgeted at her desk. She didn’t know how Uncle Tom was going to react to her having pretended to be him. She didn’t know how to explain herself. ‘Perhaps if I just apologize sincerely, then he will forgive me,’ Ally thought.

The door to Uncle Tom’s office opened. Uncle Tom walked the woman out of his office and closed the door. He looked at Ally.

“It’s all your fault, Uncle Tom,” Ally said. “If you had just come to work on time, then I never would have been forced to impersonate you.”