I started writing a murder mystery book on Wellingtons death, but you cannot finish writing a mystery novel if you haven’t solved the mystery yourself. However, Father didn’t want me investigating Wellingtons murder. He said it wasn’t my place to stick my nose in Mrs. Shears business. I don’t think I was poking my nose in anyones business. I was trying to find a criminal, and a criminal on the loose should be everyones business. Father said if I did more investigating, I’d get myself into more trouble with the police. I don’t see the logic in that either. I am doing the policemen a favor by solving a crime that they aren’t concerned with anyway. But I understand why Father is telling me all this. Its something all adults do. They restrict you from everything you want to do for your own safety, and frankly, everything kids want to do is dangerous. But I couldn’t let this rest. I had to prove to the police, Mrs. Shears, and even Father that I didn’t kill Wellington.
Mrs. Shears had seen me poking around her garden the other day, and called Father about it. He got very cross with me, and made me promise to not go digging again. I didn’t understand what he meant by go digging, he told me it was an expression that meant to mind my business. So I promised him I wouldn’t “do digging”, and we finished supper and that was that.
I know I shouldn’t have broken my promise, but I did anyway, and went “digging” around the neighborhood for more answers, which I added into my book. Soon enough, I’d be just one step away from solving this mystery.
A few days after that, however, Father found my novel. He had read all my research and conversations I had had about Wellington. He grew furious. He yelled curse words at me I didn’t even know existed. I found out some sensitive information on things Mother was doing with another man while she was married to Father from Mrs. Alexander, and I would like to say that that is what triggered him into erupting in anger.
Father grabbed me, and I do not like being grabbed. So I hit him back. And then things just turned into a blur and the world moved so fast. Suddenly, I ended up on the floor, and Father was bleeding from somewhere (I believe his face). He muttered some more curse words, and got himself a beer. We didn’t talk very much after that.
I’ll write again soon. It’s been a long week.
-Christopher
Christopher Boone 