"Did you see it? They just lit the second word." Rachel beamed. I glanced over on the mountain to see they did light it. "Oh yeah." I murmured. Guess time flew by.

We decided to go to the Mt. Roosevelt Festival of Lights, wearing kimonos and all. It's been a while since I've been to this one, I kind of stopped going back in Junior High. But Rachel and Richard wanted to go and I didn't see why not.

I glanced at the string of lanterns that gave a soft glow and the smell of festival food is appealing.

Rachel glanced down at Jimmy, who had a rabbit shaped balloon tied to his hand. "Every year at this festival they light up three words in the sky, Conan. Heaven, Beneath, and Best. Each of the words are lit in order to ensure all the farmers produce good harvests for the year." She explained.

I glanced at my brother, who smiled at her but I knew that he was having some complaints.

Rachel always explains things to him that he already knows. He always complains that he's not a child. He always forgets that he is a child again.

Richard smiled in content, arms crossed as we walked around. "This is my best idea yet. Everyone needs a little R&R now and again." You were literally sleeping at your desk this morning. I eyed him wearily but decided not to make a comment today.

"Hey, Conan. Are you having any fun yet?" Rachel asked. I glanced down to see him stare away, displeased. But I don't think Rachel noticed.

I smirked, leaning down to look at him. "Do you want another bunny rabbit balloon?" I cooed. His face reddened and he glared murderously at me.

I just smirked more in turn. "Oh, do you?" She asked thoughtfully, scanning for another balloon stall. "No! I'm good!" My brother quickly declined, making me chuckle.

What a Dweeb. "Excuse me miss." Hm? Rachel and I turned to see a man wearing a nice looking outfit smile at us. He's tall, thin, very tan, and he has an instant camera. "Could I trouble you to take a picture for me?" He asked politely.

Rachel's smile brightened. "No, not at all." He seemed relieved and handed her the camera.

"Thank you, here's my camera. I'd like one of me with 'best' in the background." He moved so she could take the picture. The pictures with the lit up words are the most popular this time of year.

"Are you ready? Now say cheese." The man readied for the picture and the sound and flash went off.

Rachel blinked and frowned a bit. "Oh the balloon was in the picture, should I take another?" She offered. I nudged my brother harshly with my leg, making him stumble. "Way to go twerp." He sweat a bit before hanging his head. "My bad, I'm sorry." He apologized.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "No, that's quite alright. I'm on assignment here for a magazine to do a travel digest piece of local festivals. And this photo is just merely for reference."

Oh, he's a writer is he? Well that makes sense. No one comes to festivals dressed like that. "So you're a writer? But you're so tan. I thought writers were pale sickly people. I mean you must travel a lot."

My eyebrow twitched and I turned to my childhood friend. "Rach, they're not vampires."

She waved her hands a bit. "I didn't mean it like that, I was just surprised she defended. The man rubbed his face a bit, not too bothered by Rachel's statement.

"I guess you could say I've been around. In fact I've just returned from Morocco. If you'd like, you can have this in return for your help." He reached inside his jacket and handed Rachel a blue book from inside of it.

Who carries a book inside a jacket? Wouldn't a bag be more comfortable?

"Oh, why thank you." Richard and I peered over her shoulder at the book curiously. "Nickodemus Stanely?" Richard asked. I haven't heard of him before.

"It's but one of my pen names. I've also written under the pen name of Thompson Inez."

Wait. What? "I can't believe it! Are you really Thompson Inez?!" Rachel shouted in excitement.

This of course drew the attention of those around us. She flushed with embarrassment, hiding most of her face behind the book he gave her. "Ope. I read all your books in Junior High." She told him bashfully.

He's not Thompson Inez though. I've met the actual writer. I've seen a lot of writers because of my dad. And he wasn't the one that I ment. "If I'm not mistaken, that was also the name used by Salvatore Emmerson when he was first published."

Yeah. Although Emmerson wasn't really much if you ask me. Their books aren't bad, but not my cup of tea personally.

"I see you know your contemporary literature. Emmerson and I started our careers writing together."

Really? I guess there might have been some mention, but Emmerson was very adamant about his solo writing. Then again I didn't pay much attention, it was rather boring.

"I've heard so much about you two!" Rachel spoke gleefully.

"I'm sure only a third of it is true. In fact Emmerson is here with me in town today. Perhaps later I could introduce him to you if you like." He slapped his jacket, the light coat of sweat on his face.

If he's hot he should take off the jacket. Why's he keeping it on? That's why you wear kimonos to these things.

"Could I maybe talk you into taking a few more pictures for me?" He asked Rachel again. And being Rachel, she agreed without any hesitation whatsoever.

She took a couple of him posing and some with the stalls. On the next one he bought a mask to use, but another man walked up behind him with a mean scowl on his face.

"Talk about a photo bomb." I said loudly, throwing my hands behind my head.

The others looked at the new person. "Are you Nicodemus Stanley?" I'd ask if he was a fan, but he doesn't look the least bit happy. "Yes?" Stanley answered. The man pulled out a badge book and I cringed.

"Ugh, cops." I was about to take off but stopped. Wait a second, I didn't do anything this time.

What'd the square do? "I'm Inspector Worthington with the Southside Police Department. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you Mr. Stanley if you don't mind?"

Although he phrased it like one, it sure as hell didn't sound like a question.

He's so serious too. "Jeez, talk about a grouchy face. Who died?" I asked. Rachel shot me a disapproving look. "Stella. That's rude." I gestured to the stern-faced man.

He's worse than Megure!

"Emmerson's been murdered. He was found dead in the hotel room you were sharing. " Everyone froze, eyes widening.

There was a moment of silence and I held my hands up. "Okay, poor taste in words." I admitted, to which Rachel smacked my arm.

"Stella!" She shouted. I gave her an incredulous look. "What?! I apologized!" I shouted.

"No, you really didn't!" Jimmy shouted back. I threw my hands in the air. "I didn't think someone would actually die. God!"

~

We ended up tagging along to the hotel room where the crime took place. For one, Richard and Jimmy are nosey as hell. On the other hand, we are a possible alibi.

The room is ransacked and there's Emmerson, on the floor near the bathroom. A robbery maybe?

"The murder weapon was a pistol, which is missing. Time of death is just past eight p.m. Some of the neighbors reported seeing a young man fleeing from the scene. Is there anything else?" Worthington asked the man by the entrance of the room.

A couple of bystanders were peering in, as well as Stanley. Richar, Jimmy and I went into the room to check things out.

"I was watching TV and I remember hearing the gunshot as soon as the first word was lit for the festival."

Hm. The tree of us crouched around the body. He was shot in the head, eyes wide open, and there's something around his mouth.

Toothpaste? Was he brushing his teeth?

"One shot to the head. That's one clean piece of work." Richard muttered to himself. I nodded in agreement, but Worhtington was not thrilled. "Hey, what are you doing, get away from there!" He shouted.

I frowned at him and stood along with Richard. "Just helping. But if you don't need me . . ." Richard peered at him from the corner of his eyes. "You. You look familiar."

I smirked and motioned to him with one hand. "This is Richard Moore. Y'know, the Sleeping Sleuth? He's pretty famous around these parts." I bragged, confusing the hell out of Richard.

Jimmy said that sticking with Richard and helping him get cases can help lead us to the culprits behind his shrink. So if I gotta advertise him a bit, so be it.

Worthington's perma scowl evaporated as he grabbed Richard's hands in excitement. "I'm a huge fan of your work! I knew it, you are the famous detective! I've read all about you in the papers. I'd be honored to have your assistance on the case!"

Wow. What a fanboy. Huh?

Stanley looks . . . taken off guard. Is it that big of a surprise that Richard's famous? "I'll do what I can." Richard responded weakly.

Well that's reassuring. Not like he's ever been of use. It's the Dweeb who's impressive.

Though I'll never say it aloud.

"Feel free to have a look around and I-I'd like to hear your take on the situation. I don't get this stuff sometimes."

My brows furrowed. The hell? You're a detective dude, you're supposed to get it. Richard cleared his throat and looked around.

I crouched next to my brother while he did. "Yo Dweeb. Wrap this up, I want a carmel apple and I don't want this to go past the festival."

He gave me a flat look. "You can't rush an investigation." I rolled my eyes and nodded to the body. "You can try. Now get to it." I stood, crossing my arms.

He grumbled under his breath and he moved around along with Richard.

Richard had picked up the wallet and inspected it. He and Jimmy checked out the foam around his mouth. "What's this?" Both he and Jimmy poked it before sniffing.

My face twisted in disgust. "Gross. It's toothpaste dumbass." I pointed at the toothbrush that's circled with chalk. Richard glanced at it, then back at Jimmy, who was also snooping.

He narrowed his eyes and struck him atop his head. "That kid's always getting in the way."

While that's true, he's also the one that solves these cases. "So do you have any idea what happened here Detective?" Worthington asked gleefully.

Richard looked down at Emmerson, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. "To me, it looks like a simple case of robbery." He pulled it out and lit it. I gazed at the nicotine, itching for one myself. It's been forever since I've had one.

Rachel keeps tossing mine away. While I was never an excessive smoker, not having one available is worse.

Worthington seemed a little disappointed by his conclusion, but he doesn't have one for himself.

"There was only cash taken from the victim's wallet, and the room's been ransacked. They were no doubt looking for something else to take. I see it all the time. It's sad what greed will make some people do."

Again, Worthington doesn't seem as sure as Richard. "Based on the victim's proximity to the door, it's my opinion he heard a knock, answered carelessly without checking to see who it was, and was shot down on the spot."

I mean that does seem plausible. But it came from Richard so it's probably not what happened.

"But Detective, have you given any thought to the possibility there may be much more to the story than a simple robbery? Maybe the robbery was staged to sidetrack us from the real murderer, his roomate." Stanley huh?

I mean it could be I guess. "I don't appreciate your implications Inspector. And besides, as you said, the murder was committed just past eight p.m. I was at the festival then. That's where I met Detective Moore and his family."

That's true. But wasn't Emmerson killed at the lighting of the first word? We met him after.

He could have done it. Worthington didn't seem to see that coming. "You saw me tonight, isn't that right Detective? Tell him, please." Stanley's question drew the attention to Richard.

He placed his hand on his chin, looking off thoughtfully. "Hm, but we met towards the end of the festival if I'm not mistaken." He could have killed him and ran down there.

Stanley turned back to Worthington. "But I'm telling you, I was there from the very beginning. And if you don't believe me . . ."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out his camera. "Then here. Develop the film in this camera, it will prove my innocence."

Oh, he was taking a lot of pictures. It might just be true. Worthington handed this to another officer. "Have this taken to the lab immediately." Jimmy moved around, checking out things himself.

I didn't know what to look for. It looks like a robbery. But Jimmy doesn't seem as sure of it, which is making me second guess it.

Not a lot of people would answer the door when brushing their teeth. I have, but not everyone is me. And if that's true he had to know the killer, right?

Or maybe he was careless.

Ugh, I don't know. This is starting to give me a headache. Jimmy returned to my side. "Stella. What do you think of Stanley?"

Huh? What? I peered at the man in question who seemed pretty calm. "Not much. Doesn't really give off a presence. Although . . . nevermind."

My brother grabbed my kimono sleeve. "What is it? Even the smallest thing matters." That's weird.

Jimmy doesn't usually ask me my opinion on these things.

"I don't know. He's really calm. Especially calm. His friend and coworker just died. I don't know, don't people usually grieve or get anxious?" I shrugged.

He just seems . . . confident. It's weird. Jimmy nodded, staring him down. "Do you think he did it?" I asked, trying to see how he could have.

"It has to be him. There's just two things that are bothering me. Why is he so confident? And what could be in those pictures?"

Hm. He seems so sure. So that must mean that Stanley did it.

Soon the policeman came back with the developed photos. "Seven photographs in all. But what use are these to us? They could have been taken at any time." Rachel and I peered at the photos Richard had and Rachel snatched one.

"This is the first picture I took of him tonight. You can see Conan's balloon on the left, can't you? And if you look closer you can see the word 'Best' in the background which had just been lit up seconds before!"

Hm. That's right, it was during that time. He asked to take that specific photo.

That's the only request he made now that I think about it. "The problem is; 'Best' isn't lit until 8:40 P.M. And that would have given him plenty of time to drive from the hotel to the festival after committing the murder. So, uh, this picture doesn't help us."

That's true. Worthington's not too bad.

"But Inspector. The first word heaven is lit at eight o'clock, right? So how long does it take until the lights burn out so the word goes dark?" Richard questioned.

Let's see what his picture has. Oh. Well then. "Well, I think it usually takes about twenty-five minutes."

I grit my teeth. Well shit. "Then take a look at this photo." Richard showed them. It's a photo of him with the word 'Heaven' lit in the back.

"This proves that he was on the festival grounds by 8:25 at the latest. Which doesn't leave enough time for him to drive from the hotel to the festival after the murder, no matter how fast he was driving. Don't feel bad about missing that detail Inspector. Only the most discerning eye can pick it out. Nickodemos. It looks like your alibi checks out."

He didn't seem the least bit concerned, in fact, he looks smug which just pisses me off. "I'd expect no less."

I clenched my fist. One hit wouldn't hurt, right? I don't trust the smug.

"But couldn't this photograph be manufactured? Altered somehow to make it look like he was there at that time? I'm sure it's something anyone could do." Worthington tried.

Which I got to give him props. He's trying. Not very well but he's trying.

"It's possible, but I gave the camera directly to you for the film to be developed, you do remember that right? Don't forget that it was a disposable camera. I had no means of editing the picture."

That's, unfortunately undeniable . . . it's hard to even edit a disposable camera's image too. "And then I gave the camera to you to get developed at the lab." Worthington turned to the officer who carried it out.

He saluted him in that dorky way cops do. "Yes sir! And there were no signs of tempering on the camera or film." He confirmed.

Tch. Of course not. "Satisfied?" Stanley asked. My temple throbbed and I held up my fist. "I'm going to knock that smug look off his face." I hissed, to which my brother grabbed my leg.

"Calm down Stella!" He whispered hurriedly. I'm going to wail on him I swear.

"Don't feel so bad Inspector. We can't all be brilliant all the time. Even I have a bad idea now and then."

I snorted loudly. "Now and then?" Richard shot me a look which I matched. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you do. But something still doesn't feel right. It seems like he's trying too hard to establish his alibi. When he left at 7:30 he asked the desk clerk for the time on three occasions."

Huh? That is really weird. Worthington seems to have good instincts. "I wanted to make sure I'd be at the festival in time to see the lighting of the word 'Heaven'. And as you can clearly see, I've somehow managed to misplace my watch today."

Yeah, there's that lighter skin tone where his watch once was. But it's still weird!

"All I'm saying is that everything seems too convenient for you. Like you planned your entire alibi beforehand."

Which he most certainly did. I just don't know how. "Enough! I've had all I can stand of this. Instead of wasting more of my time on this nonsense, why don't you get down to business and start looking for the man who murdered my friend. I'd be very surprised if you did find the murderer though."

What a dick. "Okay, maybe one hit." My brother muttered. I was about to do just that, but a man's shout stopped me.

"Emmerson! Oh no. No, it can't be!" A man rushed in, face morphed in despair. "Hey, hey! Entrance to the crime scene is strictly prohibited. Tell me who you are and how'd you know him." Worthington demanded.

Why are cops so harsh sounding? That's why no one listens to you. "My name's Johanson and I'm with the Book Lovers Review. I just got a call. They informed me of what happened, but is he really dead? Please say it isn't true." He looks like a sad puppy.

Now that, that is the proper reaction to a dead colleague.

"Wasn't Mr. Emmerson writing for your magazine?" Richard asked him. However the sad man didn't answer, no it was that cocky bastard. "Yes, he was just about to submit his work, 'The Legend of the Soul'."

He sure knows a lot about that. "You wouldn't by any chance happen to be Mr. Stanley." The new guy asked.

Stanley smiled at him politely. "That's me. I was here with Emmerson and he mentioned your magazine, something about an article he finished."

Before or after you out a gun to his head? "That's right! It was due tomorrow and now I have nothing, what am I gonna do?! Ahh. I feel bad worrying about such a thing about finding out that Emmerson's been murdered. But I need that article. How am I gonna find a replacement now?"

He sure is freaking out. As I thought that, Stanley walked over to one of the open suitcases and began to rummage through it. "Let me see what I have."

It didn't take long for him to fish out a stack of neatly clipped papers and handed it to him. "Here."

What the? I narrowed my gaze at the action. "What is this?" Johanson questioned, looking at the paper curiously.

"It's your lucky day Johanson. In your hands is a manuscript of my latest work. I'm sure its no match for Emmerson's writing, but at least you now have something to print in your next edition." He closed his eyes, walking away from him with a sly smile.

Uh-huh. You just happened to have a manuscript and are just giving it to him out of the kindness of your heart.

I don't buy it.

"I'm sure your work is well worth putting in my magazine. I've followed your career over the years and have always been impressed. If you wrote it, it's good enough for me."

When dad had a manuscript, he wouldn't let anyone else have it, just his published because it was due. It was for a specific project.

Not just some random novel. This was definitely planned.

"And it's really only the beginning of a very long involved story." He just keeps adding onto it. Now before this he probably could have gotten away with it, but now he's definitely suspicious.

Right, Richard? Surely you must see it too.

This isn't how life naturally works. "Then could I persuade you to possibly consider a serial publication with us?" Johanson asked, with some desperation in his voice.

Stanley seemed to think about it. "Hm. I do have a cramped schedule coming up." Johanson seemed to worry about that. "We can make it worth your while."

That sold Stanley. "Okay then. But I'll only do it to honor the memory of Emmerson."

I threw my hands up in the air with disbelief. "Unbelievable! You're not actually buying that are you?" I asked Richard and Worthington.

The two consulting the deal didn't seem to hear me, but Richard frowned at me. "Can't a guy have a stroke of luck?"

What the fuck?!

"No!" I argued.

Johanson thanked him and ran out with the manuscript, only then did Stanley turn his attention back to us.

"Well Inspector. Trust me, I'd love to hang around and chat all night but it looks like I've got some work to get to and so do you. I can honestly say our time together has been nothing if not entertaining."

Shit. If he leaves, then there's no way they'll solve this. What do we do? Jimmy!

I turned to my brother who had a serious look on his face. The issue is evidence. But what can we do? His alibi is rock solid. "No, hang on, wait!" Worthington tried, but without any evidence he can't hold him here any longer.

Shit, shit, shit! What do we do? "I said wait. I still have a few more questions to ask you!"

Worthington grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. "And I could give you answers all night Inspector but you're boring me!" Stanley ripped his arm away from him.

I felt eyes on me and turned to my brother. He was staring at me and nodded, flipping his watch open and taking aim at Richard.

He's got it. Great! The dart shot out and struck Richard's neck and he began to fall unconscious.

I caught him, without anyone noticing and and positioned him in the chair at the small table in the room.

Alright, looks good.

Jimmy worked at arranging the pictures and hurried behind him. I stood next to the unconscious man and crossed my arms.

Showtime. "How much proof of my innocence do you need Inspector, you're harassing me. Detective, will you please try and talk some sense into him? I can't get anything through his thick skull."

"I'll try." Richard's voice spoke. Here we go. "Inspector, I must say I'm very disappointed in you."

I rolled my eyes. Always with the dramatics Dweeb.

"But Detective!" Worthington pleaded. Get it together man. "You'll never get anywhere talking to this man. He's a master at manipulating words. And instead, you've been taken in by a simple photo trick."

Stanley's confidence wavered at the Dweebs statement. Photo trick? Is that why he arranged them this way? "You mean?" Worthington asked hopefully.

"That's right. The one responsible for the murder of Salvatore Emmerson is the gentleman who's standing right behind you now."

At this Stanley's facade shattered. Gotcha. "But I thought you said it was a robbery?! A simple case of greed. You said you see it all the time these days!" He tried.

That may work on Richard but it won't work on my brother. Jimmy chuckled.

"I just said that to throw you off your guard. To put you at ease so you'd slip up. The minute I saw the victims face I realized he was murdered by someone he knew."

Stanley quickly put on his mask. The one he so carefully constructed for this purpose. "What made you think that?" He asked curiously.

My guess was what he was doing it before he got shot. "It was the toothpaste on his mouth and the toothbrush lying near him on the floor. Doesn't that strike you as quite odd Nickodemus?"

Stanley just shrugged. "But people brush their teeth everyday. I don't really see what you're getting at."

True. While it is something that I'd do, I'm not like most people. It's definitely not something Rachel or my brother would do.

And especially not a distinguished writer.

"Tell me then. Are you in the habit of brushing your teeth in front of total strangers? I should think not. I know it's not something that I'd generally do. And there is one more thing. I have to consider the condition of the room. It appears the murderer ran off immediately after the gunshot. There's no way he could have done that much damage to the room in that short of period of time."

Oh. Oh! He's right. This place is trashed and if a robber was really looking for something it'd take more time. But that's not how this went down.

Ha! The arrogance.

"You were in here chatting him up and destroying his room while he got ready for bed. To make it look like a robbery gone bad. And then you shot him." He concluded.

That makes perfect sense. Stanley was thrown off by that accusation but was quick to recover and laughed.

"I'm very impressed with your skills Detective, I'm sorry I previously mistook you for a bumbling idiot. But remember, you still have nothing. As long as my alibi holds up and it appears it does."

He pointed at the pictures displayed in front of Richard's body. "Yes, but things can appear many different ways, and what a difference a day in the sun makes. Let me explain. The film wasn't tampered with but all the pictures weren't taken at the same time. The first picture I believe was taken one year ago today. At the last Festival of Lights."

At his words Stanley paled. Last year huh? I looked over the photos again, looking for what Jimmy saw.

"It was a very clever trick. It tripped me up for a while, but then I suddenly got it why you didn't take off your jacket. I didn't understand why you left it on if you were so hot. But you had to. You had to be wearing the exact same clothes so that the pictures would look like they were taken on the same day. Am I wrong? I think not. But why don't you tell me."

That is a clever trick. It's impossible to tell when photos were taken with a disposable camera. Pretty clever.

Stanley just laughed again though. "You have the wildest ideas. You should be a writer. But do you have any proof to back up your accusation? If not then I really should be on my way." He turned, wanting to escape quickly.

"I have proof and it's as plain as day."

"Liar!" Stanley snapped.

Tensions in the air. Now it's getting interesting. Jimmy got up and moved Richard's arm to point at something.

"Here, in this picture you see-"

Jimmy was interrupted as Rachel stalked around me. "Conan!" She plucked him up off the ground away from Richard.

Oh shit. Not good!

"How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the way?" She demanded.

Shit! I looked at the pictures, specifically one that Jimmy pointed Richard's hand to.

C'mon Stella, think. What is in this that proves it all? It's Emmerson giving a peace sign in front of the first word. He's wearing the exact same clothes and his hair is the same.

But something in this proves the theory. It might even be the smallest thing. Clocks ticking. With Jimmy immobilized they're going to find out the truth!

If that happens its over. C'mon. You're Stella Kudo. Black Sheep or not, it's in my blood. What is it, what is it?!

Oh!

"His hand." I spoke quickly, drawing the attention away from both Richard and my brother. "His hand?" Rachel asked, lowering Jimmy.

I pointed at the picture. "Look. His wrist. It's perfectly tanned over, not a single pale patch. However if you look at his same hand now, there's a tan line where it's paler because of his watch." I pointed.

Rachel dropped my brother finally as she and the Inspector hurried to the photo.

Stanley paled, mouth ajar. The Inspector stormed towards him and pulled his arm, revealing the truth itself. I couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped me.

Close call. "Looks like I have you now! Just as they said, the proof is here in the photo! The Detective was right. This picture was taken a year ago! Nickodemus Stanley, you are under arrest!"

Do you have anything to say to that? I waited but the fight just seemed to leave him. "Inspector, you win." He admitted defeat.

Phew. My shoulders sagged in relief. That was too close for comfort.

"You're both right. I began planning Emmerson's murder over a year ago. I wanted to take his place atop the literary mountain. I had a deal. With the Book Lovers Review for a serial publication one that spanned a year's worth of time. But in the final moments the editorial department changed their minds. Emmerson was awarded the contract, I was left with nothing. To me that was my final chance to make my name as a writer, to have so many people know my work. I know it's pathetic, what I did, but he took from me all I ever wanted without even a sign of remorse. I was infuriated. Devastated."

I could see how that could drive him to do it. But still. "But that gave you no right!" Worthington interrupted without any hesitation.

Stanley smiled sadly and closed his eyes. "How true. I'm more ashamed than you know."

They handcuffed Stnaley and began to take him away. "Please don't think too badly of me. There is some good in here. In fact, Emmerson won the Manchester Prize for the story we had worked on together in our early days. Perhaps I should have been satisfied with that. But who will believe any of my stories now?"

They led him away and out that door, headed to where he paved. It's strange really. Although he is most definitely guilty and in the wrong, he was just someone with nothing left, always in the shadow of another.

I can understand that.

I constantly live in the shadow of my family. My famous parents and brother. Any amount of recognition I get is always overshadowed by their greatness.

Only thing is I'd never murder them. Still. I can understand him. And that's what makes it all the worse.

~

Despite everything, we headed back down to the ending of the festival. Almost everything was over, and the stands were packing up. "Ah man. This blows!" I shouted, rubbing my head furiously.

Rachel eyed me wearily. "It's okay Stella. There's always next year." She tried to comfort me.

I slumped to the ground. "But I want one now." It was the main reason why I came!

I should have gotten one earlier. "Huh? Dad!" Rachel hurried to where her dad was hitting on a woman half his age.

Man, this sucks. "Stella." My eye twitched at the sound of his voice. "I'm not in the mood, Dweeb." I grumbled, not bothering to turn to him. However, a caramel apple covered in crushed peanuts was placed in front of me.

I blinked in surprise before looking to my brother. He smiled. "I asked the man if there was any way he could make one more. He was nice about it. Here. You've been wanting this all day right?"

I took the treat from him and took a bite of it, savoring the sweet and sour flavor of it. Nostalgia filled me and there was that moment of happiness.

Jimmy chuckled. "You've always gotten that every time we went to any festivals or amusement parks."

I didn't really say anything about it, just continued to chew on it. "You did a good job figuring it out. I'm impressed." I stopped chewing and swallowed, looking at the treat.

"I didn't realize how he did it until you pointed out the picture. It didn't occur to me at all." I admitted.

I've gotten lucky a couple of times. But it's times like this where it becomes painfully apparent how much my brother is better then me.

"Still. You noticed something was strange about him. You noticed how fishy his alibi was. And without me telling you exactly what was with the picture, you still figured it out. You don't even have an interest in detective work. But you really helped me out back there. Without you, things could have gotten bad. Thanks, for helping me."

I stared at my brother, a little surprised by his words. We had never seen eye to eye. We never even really worked together, not until he shrank.

But . . . it's not bad. I don't nearly feel as much resentment as I usually do. And it's funny seeing him in a new light. I stood, ruffling his hair roughly.

"Hey! Stella!" He shouted in protest. I stood, taking another bite. "C'mon. We better help Rachel drag him back. Let's go home."

Things are different now. For better or worse, I think it's changing our relationship.

Just a little bit though.

He's still a Dweeb.