Dad likes to read books about World War II. Betsy reads a lot of “English literature,” as she calls it. Mom reads short stories, and Pete reads picture books. I had been reading so many detective books I began to think I was a detective myself. “Hey, Dad, can I find anything for you?” “A new job,” he said, turning a page. I wasn’t that good. He had gone through five jobs in five years. “What about you, Mom?” “I lost an earring,” she said, without looking up. I went right to work. First, I searched where she said she’d last seen it. Nothing. So then I followed a hunch. Mom has glasses, but she doesn’t wear them. She doesn’t like the heavy way they feel on her nose. So when she vacuums around the house she picks up things she can’t see. Once she vacuumed part of my stamp collection off my desk. So I checked the vacuum-cleaner bag and, sure enough, found the earring, twenty-eight cents, and the tiny silver key to Betsy’s diary. When I asked Betsy if I could find something for her, she said, “You should go find something worth doing.”
