I hold out my business card like a badge, doing my best to look competent, professional and non-threatening.
Pretty sure I couldn’t look threatening if I tried, not with ‘My Little Pony’ standing next to me, her shoes blinking away.
The woman looks from me to the card, then to Paxton, who gives a tiny wave and a smile straight out of a Disney cartoon.
“I’m looking into the recent... sleep disturbances mentioned in theOrange County Register,” I say. “Your daughter Emma was quoted as to having lost a tooth and having nightmares?”
Her expression tightens. “We already talked to the reporter and the local news station. We really don’t want to—”
“I understand,” I say quickly. “But I’m not with the press. This is something I’m investigating privately. I think I might be able to help you.”
The woman hesitates. Her gaze flicks down to my notepad and pen, to my awkward stance, and then to Paxton, who’s currently balancing on one foot like she’s trying to impersonate a bird.
“Please,” I add. “It’ll just take a few minutes.”
Another pause.
Finally, the woman sighs and unlatches the chain, opens the door wider. “All right. Come in. But let’s make it quick. It’s kinda late.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, stepping inside, with Paxton trailing close behind.
The house smells like lavender and freshly baked cookies. Comfort food, surely. A wide staircase winds upward to our right. On our left, a long couch faces a flat-screen TV. Family photos line the walls—there’s Emma at the beach, Emma at Halloween missing her two front teeth.
I make a mental note to ask how recent the Halloween photo was.
The woman, Karen according to the article, leads us into the living room and gestures toward the couch. Paxton and I sit obediently.
“You said you’re a private eye?”
“In training,” I clarify. I rest my notepad on my knee and tuck my pen behind my ear. Then I nod toward the business card she’s holding but not looking at. “It’s my mom’s agency. She’sthe actual PI. I’m studying criminology and helping out with her cases.”
Karen seems skeptical, but nods. A man steps into the room and stands listening. I’m assuming this is Dad.
“I read your quotes in the article,” I continue, opening to a fresh page in my notebook. “But I was hoping you could clarify a few things.” I flash an encouraging grin.
To my surprise, Karen laughs and nods. “Sure. What would you like to know?”
“When did your daughter’s nightmares begin?”
“Let’s see... Emma lost her tooth last Friday. That night, we did what we always do: we put it under her pillow. The next morning, the tooth was gone, but there was no money in its place. She said something had been scratching at her window all night, but it might’ve just been a dream. She’s not sure.”
“How long before that had she lost a tooth?” I ask.
“It’s been a few months since her last one.”
“Were there any issues then?”
“None. It was a normal tooth fairy transaction. Put the tooth under her pillow, tooth is gone the next morning, to be replaced by a crisp five-dollar bill. Used to be a one-dollar bill back when I was a kid.”
“Two dollars for me,” I say.
“Emma said it got in a few nights ago,” says Karen. “She said it finally worked her window open enough for it to slip in, where it proceeded to crawl along the wall to her bed and straight into her dreams. She’s afraid to go to bed now.”
I didn’t say anything, but I sure as heck didn’t blame Emma. I would be afraid to sleep, too. And I’ve had legit demons come after me!
I finish my notes, look up and ask, “Would it be okay if I spoke to Emma?”
They hesitate, then Karen sighs and heads for the stairs. “She’s probably watching TV.”
