Q & Q, Kid Detectives

I was in my clubhouse reading a Hardy Boys mystery when the sound of banging on the door interrupted me. "Not him again," I thought and decided to ignore him. I wasn't about to get up when Quincy could open the door himself.
The banging continued, and I continued to ignore it.
"Quayyy, open the doooorrrrr. Come on now. I know you're in there reading. Open upppppp!"
Grrrr. My twin brother's voice broke through the silence of my sanctuary. It was Saturday and cleaning day for Quincy. Every week he thought he had to sweep and mop the floor of our clubhouse, and every week I chose to read a book.
Last summer while Quincy was at basketball camp, and I was at science camp, Dad and Uncle Ben built us a clubhouse for our birthday. We'd been bugging dad for ages to build us one because the one-car garage attached to our house wasn't exactly the best place for our business. We needed privacy from our little sister and her nosey friends. The cedar walls were painted red, Quincy's favorite color, and the doors were painted blue, my favorite color. A wooden sign above the door had been carved with Q and Q Detective Agency.
I loved that the clubhouse was underneath two huge oak trees at the very back of the yard which gave us plenty of shade. Plus, it was far enough away from the house and my little sister and her friends for me not to hear them. They could play on the swings and slide and leave me alone. No one bothered me, and I could read all I wanted if I wasn't out solving a case. Except for Saturdays.
I looked at my surroundings. The clubhouse was only a little dirty, but I was a boy, and it was supposed to be that way. There was a pair of socks on the floor by the window. My 796-piece battleship Legos set lay next to them. I'd only built the battleship but not the police helicopter, the patrol boar, or the cop car. They were still in their individual plastic bags. I suppose I could put them back in the box, but I wanted them out so I could remember to finish building them. It wasn't that bad. Besides, since I couldn't keep my room dirty, an almost dirty clubhouse was the next best thing.
"Walker LaQuayvionne Hundley, put down that book and open this door right now."
Boy, Quincy sure had a way of sounding like mom. He always knew what I was doing. I couldn't hide anything from him. I got up from my beanbag chair to open the door.
There stood Quincy trying to juggle a broom, a mop, a bucket of water, a trash bag, and a can of air freshener. On top of his head were some cleaning rags.
I stood in the doorway with my arms crossed. I didn't want Quincy or his cleaning supplies anywhere near the clubhouse. Clubhouses were supposed to be dirty, it was the law.
"If you don't move out of the way, I'm going to bring Taryn in here and let her clean."
I glared at Quincy, because he knew he had me every time he mentioned Taryn in our clubhouse and cleaning in the same sentence. Taryn wasn't allowed in the clubhouse.
The clubhouse was dirty and could use a good cleaning except for one corner where a bookcase stood. That bookcase was my pride and joy. On the top shelf books by Lamar Giles and Jerry Craft stood neatly and pushed out to the edge of the shelf. I'd gotten those for Christmas and had already read them twice. The Alston Boys were my new favorite adventure stories to read. The second shelf were books like A to Z Mysteries, The Jigsaw Mysteries, Geronimo Stilton, and Scooby Doo. I'd read all those when I was in second grade. They tood were pushed out neatly to the edge of the shelf. There were only a few books on the bottom shelf by Scott Peters, and I'd read his Zet and the Egyptian Mystery Cases series when I was in third grade. My dad and I were interested in Ancient Egypt, so he was letting me read a book called The Murder of King Tut that I was enjoying. My books were very important to me, and I always kept them standing up with the spines out and pushed to the edge of the shelf.
"Stop day-dreaming and start sweeping," Quincy said and threw a broom in my direction, which I caught with my left hand.
"How do you expect to run a detective agency if it's such a mess in here? It's not good business for kids to see it like this. Don't you want to earn money for our new DNA kits?"
I hated to admit it, but Quincy did have a point. The summer after first grade I'd been sitting on a lawn chair in my garage reading when Taj, a boy who lived across the street from us, came over to ask me to help him find his toy fire truck. Taj was only four and I didn't charge him anything after I'd found his fire truck underneath his porch steps. Taj gave me a dollar then told all the other kids on the block what I'd done. From that time on we became real detectives. We charged kids $2.00 for our services.
My favorite case that summer had been when I used my night vision goggles to investigate strange noises in Mrs. Washington's attic. Mom had let us stay up way past our bed time to help Mrs. Washington. A family of squirrels had made themselves a home out of leaves, and nutshells were all over the floor. Mrs. Washington paid us $20.00 to clean up the mess. Dad came over the next morning and boarded up the hole in the attic so the squirrels wouldn't come back.
After that, Quincy suggested we charge adults $10.00 since they had more money than little kids, and ever since then, we've been known as Q & Q, Kid Detectives. If something was lost, missing, or stolen, we would find it.
Next to reading mysteries, spying was my favorite thing to do. I knew if I wanted a DNA kit that cost $79.99, I had to earn my own money for it. Plus, I needed a new pair of night vision goggles since I'd lost my old pair. Quincy swears they're somewhere under my bed, but I really think Taryn has them hidden in her dollhouse.
I swept as fast as I could, so I could get back to reading. I knew that sweeping would almost get Quincy to stop bothering me. As I was sweeping dirt out the back door, I heard Taryn's voice.
"Quay. Quincy. Are you in there?"
"Oh brother." I flung the broom over in the corner, flopped down on my beanbag chair and opened my book. I had done enough cleaning, and I wanted to know what Frank and Joe had found in the attic. In The Hardy Boys Book number 2, The House on the Cliff, two brothers named Frank and Joe were searching for clues to find their missing father in a haunted house.
"I got lunch. Can I come in?"
"Don't you dare," I said to Quincy, but he opened the door anyway.
I looked up from my book. Taryn was okay as far as little sisters go, especially when she stayed away from the clubhouse. Today she had food, so I guess she was still okay.
Taryn had three plates of fried chicken and biscuits and a pitcher of iced-tea in a red, Little Tikes wagon. She even had my favorite Scooby cup. What can I say? Scooby Doo was my favorite cartoon to watch because of the mysteries they had to solve. I loved watching Scooby and Shaggy and the rest of the gang solve mysteries.
Mom was not far behind and even though she was smiling, I had a feeling she was going to say something I did not want to hear. The last time mom and Taryn had come out to our clubhouse it was to tell me and Quincy to "look after Taryn for me." Translated that meant we were free baby-sitters.
"Taryn, isn't it nice of your brothers to invite you in their clubhouse after you made this wonderful lunch for them?"
Bam. Mom was good. No wonder why she was smiling so much. We were baby-sitting again.
Taryn skipped into the clubhouse and plopped down on my beanbag chair.
"Hey, sit someplace else," I told her. Mom gave me a look, so I sighed and gave in. My stomach rumbled, so I wheeled the wagon in front of Taryn so she could eat. Quincy sat next to her on his beanbag chair, and they had a contest to see who could finish their iced-tea the fastest.
I chewed on a chicken leg and rolled my eyes at their silliness.
Mom ran her fingers through my curly hair and laughed at me. "You love Taryn the most," she whispered and winked at me.
"I'm going to get some cookies," I said. I left my plate of food in the wagon and ran across the yard for the back door that led into the kitchen. I had to get away from mom and her mushiness.
I heard the phone ringing as I entered the kitchen. I was out-of-breath as I said, "Hello?"
"Walker, this is your grandmother." Uh-oh I thought. Grandma calling me by my first name could not be a good sign, but I didn't remember doing anything wrong. "The rain stick is missing. I need you and Quincy over here right away."
I didn't know much about the rain stick that had been in our family for generations. I knew it was a stick filled with pebbles that you shook to bring on the rains to water the crops when there was a drought. You danced and chanted while shaking it. My father once told me it had come all the way from Nigeria, in Africa, where our ancestors had lived before being stolen from their homes and forced into slavery.
"Grandma, have you looked…" I started to say, but a dial tone stopped my words. I put the phone back in its cradle. Grandma had not sounded like herself. Her usual happy voice sounded tense, and she was the only one who ever called me Walker and could tell my voice from Quincy's. Grandma never got us confused.
I ran back outside to the clubhouse at full speed to tell Quincy the news.
"Quincy, Grandma just called." I took a deep breath. "She wants us over there right away." Another deep breath. "We got a case. The rain stick is missing."
I held onto the doorway breathing hard. Quincy's eyes grew wide as he listened to me. Even Taryn was quiet. We all knew about the rain stick.
"Mom, can we go?" I asked.
"Of course. You boys hurry and don't keep Grandma waiting. Taryn and I will clean the clubhouse."
"Mom…" I began, but she interrupted me.
"Don't worry, Quay. You and Quincy just go to Grandma's."
"Okay, but don't let Taryn near my books," I told her, as Quincy and I ran out the door and towards the house.
I sat on the floor in our room, reached under my bed and pulled a gray, plastic case onto my lap. I opened it and dug through the contents of my detective kit to make sure all the pieces were there.
The flashlight, the magnifying glass, and the binoculars were missing. I searched under my bed, in my toy box, and the floor of my closet, but I could not find them.
"You know, Quay, if you put everything back where it belonged after you used them, we wouldn't have to go through this every time we get a case. I don't understand how you got to be so messy when I am so neat. Messy messy messy." Quincy laughed as he opened our sock drawer and found my flashlight.
Okay even I had to laugh. Quincy sounded just like mom.
Still I had to defend myself. "That's because we're identical twins. I'm messy, you're not. I'm left- handed, you're not. I'm handsome, you're not."
"If we're identical we have to look alike. So, if I'm ugly then you are too."
Grrr… Quincy always had the last word, and he was usually right. Anyway, I found my binoculars and magnifying glass under my pillow.
"I'm ready," I announced standing up. I put my detective kit in my backpack and zipped it up.
We were quiet as we rode our bikes to Grandma's house. She lived three blocks away on a dead-end street. Grandma knew we were detectives but she had never called on us before. Now that the rain stick was missing this would be our biggest case ever. I pedaled faster, anxious to get to Grandma's house.
Grandma Sarah was sitting on a wooden rocker on the front porch. Grandma was dad's mother, and she and grandpa had lived in the same house for over sixty years.
Grandma would not tell us her age, but I guessed she had to be at least sixty-years-old. Her long hair that was once black was all gray now, and she wore it in one braid all the way down her back. Today she was wearing a long pink and white flowered dress that went down to her ankles with white sandals. Dad said that grandma had never worn a pair of pants in her life.
We left our bikes and backpacks at the bottom of the steps on the walkway.
"Hi Grandma, the rain stick's gone?" I asked as I hugged her.
For a long time Grandma didn't say anything. She just sat with her eyes closed and her hands folded in her lap. She was humming her favorite song, Old Rugged Cross. I knew the words by heart.
"On a hill far away, stood an old, rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame…" she hummed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Grandma opened her eyes and looked down at us. We were sitting on the steps at her feet.
"You boys are about John's age when he was a slave a long time ago."
"Who's John?" Quincy whispered to me.
I shrugged and shook my head. I didn't know either.
"Grandma I thought you wanted us to solve a case," I reminded her. "You said the rain stick was missing."
I didn't understand what was going on. Grandma had sounded really upset on the phone, but now she didn't seem to want to talk about the rain stick.
"The rain stick is missing, and if John didn't come back for it…" Grandma was saying.
"Oh lord, she's lost her mind," Quincy leaned over and whispered to me.
Grandma looked right at Quincy. "Boy, pay attention, and my mind is right where it ought to be."
"Yes ma'am," Quincy mumbled.
Grandma rubbed her hands together. "So, you boys ready to learn about John?"
"We are Grandma," I said. "Is this our case?"
"Yes. You boys bring the rain stick back to me, and I'll pay you each $100.00."
"Whoa baby!" Quincy shouted, and I laughed at him.
"Okay, Grandma, tell us about John so we can find the rain stick," I said.
Grandma's sweet-as-honey voice said: "It all began at Carter's Grove Plantation in the year 1860…"