mystery story – Fun for Fluency!

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 8

I found Dad’s note two days ago, and I cannot stop thinking about it.

We still can’t find him. Every day I watch the news. Will they find a new ice body? Will this one be Dad?

While I am watching the news, Ms. Sato calls me. “Ari,” she says with a gentle voice. “Are you doing okay?”

“We can’t find my Dad.” I want to cry.

Ms. Sato is quiet on the other end. She finally says, “Well, I have some information that might help you know where he is. Some of our journalists interviewed the police. Yesterday, the police found something the same about all of the ice bodies. About a month before each person died, they all took out $50,000 from their bank accounts. It was cash, and they took it out in small amounts. About $5,000 ten times. Because they didn’t use a credit card or do a bank transfer, we don’t know who they paid the money to.”

My chest feels cold. I know what Ms. Sato wants me to do.

“Ari, if you check your Dad’s bank account, you can see if he took out $50,000 recently.”

I can’t speak. If Dad really took out $50,000, then I know he is an ice body.

Ms. Sato adds, “Don’t worry about work this week. And I hope you can find your dad.”

She doesn’t say, “I’m sure he’s fine.” We both know the possibility.

Mom is still sleeping, so I wake her up. With her eyes closed, she whispers, “Did they find him?”

“Maybe we can find him, Mom. I need you to check your bank account.”

“Why?” Mom sits up and reaches for her glasses beside her bed. Before I can answer, she turns on her phone and opens her bank app.

“I need to see if Dad took out money from the bank recently.”

“Oh, Dad keeps most of his money in his own account.” Mom looks worried. “But I can try to find his login info.” Mom walks to Dad’s desk and begins searching through a stack of papers. She never asks why I need to check his bank account, and I don’t want to tell her.

We look through Dad’s notes for an hour. Finally, Mom cries, “Here it is!” She opens Dad’s banking site on her laptop and types in the login and password with shaking fingers. My heart sinks when I see the screen.

December 22, 2023 -$5,000
December 29, 2023 -$8,000
December 30, 2023 -$6,000
January 5, 2024 -$7,000
January 11, 2024 -$3,000
January 15, 2024 -$8,000
January 22, 2024 -$8,000
January 25, 2024 -$5,000

That’s $50,000.

I tell Mom about Ms. Sato’s phone call. She closes the laptop and calls the police.

When Mom called the police, they said sadly that Dad is probably an ice body. They told Mom to keep checking the bank account. If Dad takes out more money, then they know he is still alive.

So far, the police have found 755 ice bodies. And now there are 82 missing people. Now, banks will have to call the police when any customers take out a large amount of money, but this won’t help people like Dad who already took out the money. The ice bodies were only found in or near Clayton. Local hotels are filled with scientists, FBI agents, and news reporters. They all hope to find more information about a disease, a killer, or a war. But no one has an answer.

I call Priya. I don’t know what to say to her. When she picks up the phone, singing “Ari Brooooooks!” in her usual way, I start to cry. I cry for several minutes, and Priya waits patiently on the phone. When I finally whisper the words “ice body,” Priya says, “My dad is asleep now. I’m coming over.”

Priya, who lives five minutes away from my house, runs through the front door and hugs me. We stand in the front hallway for a long time, just hugging. Priya’s shoulder is soaked with my tears. Priya holds my hand as we go upstairs to my bedroom. She says quietly, “I noticed your Dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. Is it your Dad?”

I nod.

“Did they find his body?”

I shake my head, crying more.

“Then there’s still time. He might be okay.” Priya grabs the tissue box from my desk and wipes my face. “How do you know that he died?”

I slowly tell Priya about the $50,000. She squeezes my hand tighter.

“Ari, Carlos told me that you found ice in the mall, right? At the cafe that closed?”

I nod.

“Then let’s go! The police aren’t being helpful. We can do more.”

I look outside at Mom’s car.

“I know your mom will worry,” Priya says, understanding the problem with her plan. “So let’s sneak out tonight.” She whispers, “I’ll pick you up at 2:00 a.m. We’ll come back before 5:00.”

I sigh. I couldn’t save Alex. But maybe I can save Dad.

Part 9>

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 2

When I get home, the house is dark. Mom and Dad left this evening to stay with my grandmother in Pennsylvania for the weekend. I usually don’t spend much time with them, but tonight my house feels too quiet. Too dark.

I lock the door, turn all the lights on, and put a frozen pizza in the oven.

While I wait for the pizza, I remember that Mom sent me a text message two hours ago. “How was the interview?” I reply, “same as before,” and throw the phone on the couch.

Really, I’m lucky. I’m not the two people on the side of the road.

I turn on the TV. The laughter of children in the theme park commercial makes the house feel less empty.

Suddenly, a red bar appears on the bottom of the screen, with the familiar screeching noise that plays during a bad weather warning. Words move across the red bar: Lockdown. Lockdown. Residents in Clayton, please stay in your homes. 30 bodies were found dead today. It is not safe to go out. Please stay in your homes until the lock down ends. If you see anything suspicious, please call your local police station. Lockdown. Lockdown. The message repeats.

I turn the TV channel to the news station. The red bar is still on the screen, so I cannot hear the news reporter. I turn on the subtitles. They read: Today, thirty bodies were found dead around Clayton. Most of these bodies were found outside by roads and in fields, and a few were found in parking lots in the city. All thirty people were naked. No one has seen these people being killed, but police ask anyone with information to contact them now. Police believe that there is a group of killers in our area. There are no cuts on the bodies, so police do not know how the murderers are killing. Doctors wonder if there is a new drug or a new disease that affects the brain. Maybe it causes people to take off their clothes and stay in the cold until they die. Because we do not know what is causing these deaths, the government has asked everyone to stay in their homes as much as possible. It is not safe to go out.

I turn the TV off and open my phone. Mom called five times. I call her back.

“Ari, are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine. I guess you saw the news about the bodies?”

“Dad and I are coming home right now,” Mom says. “We’ll be back around 2 a.m.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer to stay at Grandma’s?” I ask. “I’m fine, really. I won’t go out. There’s enough food at home.”

“We’re coming. Just don’t go out at all, okay? I don’t want…” She stops talking, and we are both quiet. I know that she is talking about Alex.

“Okay,” I say. “Be safe coming back.”

I hang up the phone as the timer beeps. I bring my pizza into the living room and turn on the news channel again. Here is what they know about the deaths so far:

Thirty people between the ages of 25-80 died.
All thirty people were naked.
All thirty people were found outside.
No one saw the killers.
They did not seem to die because of drugs, guns, or knives.
None of the thirty people knew each other before they died.

On the news, there is a smartphone video of three teenagers lying in their bathing suits in the snow. Suddenly, they sit up and scream at the camera, and the person holding the camera runs away laughing.

The news reporter repeats that everyone must stay inside and that it is dangerous to make videos like this.

I turn off the TV, and the living room is silent. The snow shines coldly under the front porch light.

By Sunday evening, fifty-two people were found dead. Mom and I spent the weekend watching the news. Dad stayed in the garage to finish building a new bookshelf.

“I hope this is not like coronavirus again,” Mom says while we watch the news Monday morning. “I can’t do another lockdown. How will we go to the store and to work?”

“Mom,” I say slowly. “I saw two of the bodies…”

Mom turns off the TV. “When? Where?”

“On my way home from the interview—well, the interview that Mr. Jones didn’t come to. You know, I don’t think it’s a disease. Everyone was naked. And…” I pause. “They looked like they were in the cold for a long time. Maybe they died from the cold.”

“Why didn’t anyone notice them?”

“I don’t know.”

I want to believe that these people died by accident. Maybe they were making stupid videos for the internet, going out naked in the snow. Maybe they did take drugs that the doctors couldn’t find.

But fifty-two totally different people…

My phone rings. It’s the number of The Observer, the newspaper company I was supposed to interview at last Friday.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Ari Brooks?” the familiar soft voice of the receptionist says. “Emily Sato, our managing editor, wants to speak with you. May I put her on the phone?”

As soon as I say yes, a strong iron-like voice says, “Ms. Brooks, are you still interested in a journalist position at The Observer?”

I am shocked. Where is Mr. Jones? I say, “Yes, but I thought that Mr. Jones—”

“To be honest, we do not know where Mr. Jones is,” Ms. Sato speaks before I can finish talking. “But as you know, right now we need journalists.” She sighs. “Since there is a lockdown now, I can’t invite you to the office, so I will email you a link for a video interview. Can you interview now?”

I look down at my pajamas. “I’m not exactly dressed for—”

“It’s okay. This interview can be casual.”

I quickly run upstairs and put a sweater over my pajamas and tie my hair into a ponytail. When I open the video chat, Ms. Sato is wearing a gray suit and is sitting in a home office. A casual interview? Sure.

“This will be short,” Ms. Sato says. “One of our journalists, Tom, was one of the fifty-two who were… who died. We do not know if Mr. Jones is alive, and we already do not have enough staff. The whole country wants to know more information about the people who died, but we don’t have much information to tell them.” Ms. Sato crossed her arms. “I called five other people who applied for this journalist job, and none of them want it. They don’t want to leave their houses.”

Great, I think. I’m Ms. Sato’s sixth choice.

“This journalist position could be dangerous. You will have to leave the house to learn more about the people who died. You can make calls and emails from home, but sometimes you will need to go to the place where the bodies were found.”

I think about Mom. She will be upset if I take this job.

But this is my chance.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

“Great.” Ms. Sato’s voice sounds happy, but she does not smile. “I’ll send you the job offer letter with your salary and the job description. After you sign it, I will send you Tom’s notes before he…” She does not finish the sentence.

“Thank you,” I say gently. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

Mom hears that I finished my video interview and comes into the living room. Her face is rock hard. “Please don’t take the job.” She was probably listening to my interview from the kitchen.

“This was my only job offer,” I argue. “Besides, the lockdown is just for people who go out for fun. Most people still go to their jobs.”

“But we don’t know why those people died! What if you—”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Alex was careful, too.” Mom’s eyes were red.

Neither of us says anything. I look down at the floor, and Mom leaves the room.

Part 3>