The Ghosts of Tupelo Landing (Mo & Dale Mystery)
Sheila Turnage
Language: English
Pages: 368
ISBN: 0142425710
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The eagerly anticipated followup to the Newbery honor winner and New York Times bestseller, Three Times Lucky
Mo LoBeau—one half of the (probably) world-famous Desperado Detective Agency—is back!
When Miss Lana winds up the mortified owner of an old inn with an unidentified ghost in the fine print, Mo’s itching to take the case. Plus, a historical ghost might make for some much needed Extra Credit in history. Who’s haunting the old inn? And why? Mo and Dale set out to solve their second big case—only to find the inn might not be the only thing in Tupelo Landing haunted by the past.
A laugh out loud, ghostly, Southern mystery that can be enjoyed by readers visiting Tupelo Landing for the first time, as well as those who are old friends of Mo and Dale.
"A rollicking sequel." —Wall Street Journal
"An irresistible Southern narrator—a literary descendant of Scout Finch of To Kill a Mockingbird." —Newsday on Three Times Lucky
“This year we’re studying fractions, history, analogies, sentence construction, science . . . Anna, would you pass out the science books?” Attila jumped like a puppet possessed. “Any announcements before we get started?” Miss Retzyl asked. “Miss Lana bought a ghost,” Atilla said, gathering an armload of books. The class snickered. I went for a diversionary tactic, which the Colonel says makes a good defense. “Thank you for that intro, Anna,” I said, very smooth. “And let me be the first
slipping a clue pad into my pocket. Few people know it, but waitressing is like deep cover—with tips. I ferried a tray of ice water to their table. “Did you mention a murder?” I asked, dealing the glasses around. “Because Desperado Detective Agency is now accepting new clients. Misdemeanors and felonies are our pleasure. Murder’s our specialty. How may we help?” It was borderline true. Dale and me opened Desperado Detective Agency at the beginning of the summer and solved our
Dale’s always claimed two speeds for forgiving: fast or never. Lately I suspect he’s developing a new gear just for his daddy. One that grinds slow. Real slow. “So what’s this I hear about history?” Miss Rose asked, turning to her measuring. “Ghost,” Dale blurted. I winced. She stopped scribbling. “What?” “Mo volunteered us to interview a ghost for history. I’m going to fail sixth grade. I hope you aren’t disappointed.” Silence settled over us like plaster dust. Miss Rose
to the ground. Queen Elizabeth took off like a rocket, ears back, yelping as she shot across the graveyard and zipped into the woods. “Squirrel,” Dale explained, his voice too high. “Liz!” he called. “Liz. Come here.” Her yelps faded into the forest. I looked around the graveyard. “Over there,” I said, pointing to a pale white stone towering above the rest. I ran my fingers across its chiseled letters: BLAKE. “Here she comes,” Dale whispered. The mist flowed through the gate and wound
situations don’t require my input. “Grab your flashlight, Dale,” I said. “Mr. Red’s on the prowl.” We blasted past Miss Rose with a promise not to miss Dale’s curfew. A little later we ditched our bikes and crept across Mr. Red’s barnyard. An owl hoo-hooed above us and flapped heavy and awkward as a flying encyclopedia to a nearby tree. “I don’t see why we have to come over here now,” Dale whispered. “Why don’t we wait until Mr. Red checks his still in the daytime?” “He’s a moonshiner,