Summary Of Chapter 13: The String Starts To Unravel
Chapter Thirteen
The String Starts to Unravel
Mr. Greene’s House
942 NE Wiretap Way
Whodunit Hill
July 20
11:30 a.m.
An old man hobbled out of the car and closed the driver’s side door. He wore a crumpled suit, scuffed black loafers, a fedora hat that shadowed his face, and he carried a newspaper. When he tilted his head, I could see it was Mr. Greene—older somehow, and more withered, but definitely the same kind face.
“Hello,” I said with a wave.
“Horrible morning isn’t it?” he called back. “This heat is atrocious.” He staggered slowly up the front steps and unlocked the door. “Why don’t you kids come in and let me fix you a pitcher of lemonade?”
“Thank you, sir,” I told him. “But we can talk out here.”
“No, it’s too hot. Now, please, come inside.”
“All right, but just for a moment, sir,” Twist said. …show more content…
“Whatever. It’s the same thing. You’re just using a different term.” I jumped on my bike, my arms stiff as I leaned above the handlebars and pedaled down the driveway so fast, my thighs felt like they were on fire.
Twist rocketed up next to me. “Different word. Different meaning, Madison.”
“He’s right.” Seth darted between a fruit stand and a flower vendor.
We rode through the downtown flea market, dashing around a man standing at a table selling homemade jams. We barely missed the two women knitting mittens beside him.
“Fine, we’ll question the witnesses after lunch,” I said, flying past a woman in a yellow pantsuit placing an order at a roadside food wagon.
The woman smiled and waved. She was my fourth-grade English teacher, Ms. Mills.
I waved back. Ms. Mills knew I wasn’t dumb, but my backward way of deciphering sentences had baffled her. She would often sigh and call me “a little unusual,” so my mom used the strengths of my dyslexic mind to teach me to read.
“Madison has finally admitted defeat.” Seth threw his arms up in the shape of a V—meaning Victory—and nearly careened into a crate that held
The String Starts to Unravel
Mr. Greene’s House
942 NE Wiretap Way
Whodunit Hill
July 20
11:30 a.m.
An old man hobbled out of the car and closed the driver’s side door. He wore a crumpled suit, scuffed black loafers, a fedora hat that shadowed his face, and he carried a newspaper. When he tilted his head, I could see it was Mr. Greene—older somehow, and more withered, but definitely the same kind face.
“Hello,” I said with a wave.
“Horrible morning isn’t it?” he called back. “This heat is atrocious.” He staggered slowly up the front steps and unlocked the door. “Why don’t you kids come in and let me fix you a pitcher of lemonade?”
“Thank you, sir,” I told him. “But we can talk out here.”
“No, it’s too hot. Now, please, come inside.”
“All right, but just for a moment, sir,” Twist said. …show more content…
“Whatever. It’s the same thing. You’re just using a different term.” I jumped on my bike, my arms stiff as I leaned above the handlebars and pedaled down the driveway so fast, my thighs felt like they were on fire.
Twist rocketed up next to me. “Different word. Different meaning, Madison.”
“He’s right.” Seth darted between a fruit stand and a flower vendor.
We rode through the downtown flea market, dashing around a man standing at a table selling homemade jams. We barely missed the two women knitting mittens beside him.
“Fine, we’ll question the witnesses after lunch,” I said, flying past a woman in a yellow pantsuit placing an order at a roadside food wagon.
The woman smiled and waved. She was my fourth-grade English teacher, Ms. Mills.
I waved back. Ms. Mills knew I wasn’t dumb, but my backward way of deciphering sentences had baffled her. She would often sigh and call me “a little unusual,” so my mom used the strengths of my dyslexic mind to teach me to read.
“Madison has finally admitted defeat.” Seth threw his arms up in the shape of a V—meaning Victory—and nearly careened into a crate that held