Here’s
a start to my League of Sleuths story I’m considering:
Two
extraordinary things marked that dreary November morning as the day his life
changed forever. It was the last time he saw his mother, and it was the first
time he met his uncle.
He
watched his mother’s coffin lowered into the ground. When he looked up, he saw
an older man watching him from beneath a black fedora. The man nodded and
climbed into a black sedan parked by the curb just outside the cemetery gates.
Twelve
year old Euston Hood gave one last glance at the tombstone engraved with Marion Hood, Loving Mother, Widowed Wife.
He wiped his nose, turned away from the grave, and headed for the sedan. He
climbed inside, but did not face his uncle. Instead he studied the rain droplets
melting into his black wool coat.
“Drive
on, Chester,” the uncle ordered softly.
The
chauffer steered the car away from the curb.
“You’re
rather tall, boy,” the uncle said, staring out the window to his left. “But
then I remember your father had been a tall man. Six foot, I’d say he was.”
“Yes,” Euston croaked.
Yellow. A mustard shade of yellow.
The
number six danced around in his mind. And it was chartreuse yellow. Always was,
always had been.
