Author's Note: I love Pokemon and mystery novels, so I decided that, "Hey, why not come up with a Pokemon Detective Story?"

"Heather Jones" takes place in Johto. I'm not that familiar with Fourth Generation Pokemon, so I wouldn't probably include them here. Anyway, happy reading! And please review. I'd love to hear what you have to say.

I would never forget the day I met Antonio De Vega.

It was summer then, and everyone at Olivine City knew that this was the season of sweat, sunburns and tourists.

The tourists, in their sunglasses and flip-flops, would annually invade the city. They behaved pretty much like a flock of birds returning from the South. First, they would fill up the coast and temporarily turn the shore into a kingdom of sandcastles and beach towels. Then, after every square inch of sand has been stepped upon, they would move inland, armed with oversized maps and Polaroid cameras.

Usually, I didn't mind this migration, as long as they stayed out of my favorite hangout. But that year, even the Olivine Café was filled. It surprised me when I started seeing people on the balcony tables. The balcony was hardly used. Ever.

Frowning, I walked over to a small table at the far end of the Café, with Vulpix at my heels. I set down my glass of lemonade and looked around. "What's with the sudden population boom?"

*At least we found someplace to sit. Wake me up when you want to go home.* Vulpix said wearily as she settled herself on the ground. She stretched before curling up into an orange ball of fur.

I nodded at her and gulped down the last of my lemonade. Despite the crowd, the Olivine Café was still my comfort zone. I heaved in a sigh. It was time to relax. Crossing my legs, I pulled out a Conan Doyle masterpiece from my backpack and flipped it open on the table. I turned the pages and mumbled to myself, "Now where were we?"

Suddenly, as if purposely ruining that moment of peace, Antonio De Vega approached. I had only seen the artist and his works in magazines. His paintings always depicted psychotic Pokemon with exaggerated expressions. There was the famous Wrath of a Magmar and the Psyduck's Laughter. Although, I found them a bit too weird for my taste, many people considered De Vega a phenomenal artist. One magazine even dubbed him the "Painter of the Century."

At first, it was hard to believe that I was actually looking at the Antonio De Vega. But who else in the world had a green goatee and a Mohawk? It was undeniably, undoubtedly, unmistakably him.

"Is this seat taken?" De Vega's casually asked. His voice was deep and hoarse. I stared at the green Mohawk and shook my head. For some reason, I didn't want to look at him straight in the eye. It was awkward enough to be in the presence of someone so famous, but talking to them was another thing.

Beneath me, I felt Vulpix's fur brush against my leg.

*Who's he?* I heard her ask.

I didn't answer. De Vega pulled the chair back and sat down in front of me with ease, as if we've known each other for years. What's worse was that he seemed to have just hopped off a flying saucer. He wore a silver leather jacket, with pink stripes all over the sleeves. His sunglasses were of the same metallic gray.

"Skarmory-inspired clothing," Antonio beamed proudly at me and jammed a thumb towards his chest. That did it. I closed my book shut and prepared to leave when he continued the conversation. "Now, what do you recommend?"

He paged through the menu.

"The croissant is good," I muttered, hoping he'd notice how uncomfortable I was getting. I pushed the chair back and got up.

"Two butter croissants, please," Antonio de Vega called out to a waitress. She swiftly took out her notepad to jot the down the order, "One for me and one for this young lady right here."

"Oh no no no! Wait!" I tried to call out to the waitress. I don't want to eat with this man! I watched in vain as her hairnet-clad head disappeared behind the counter. We just met!

I turned my gaze towards De Vega, trying to compose myself. "Thank you sir, but I really have to go home. My mom's-"

Antonio interrupted. "Do you live around here?"

I nodded nervously and swung my backpack over my shoulder. Look! I have to go!

"Then you must know The Artbox." Antonio stated, completely ignoring my attempts at leaving.

I nodded again. The Artbox was that quaint old art gallery on 15th Street, a short walk away from the light house. I remembered seeing a mural of a Girafarig above the door. Occasionally, I would glance at the paintings displayed on the shop front, but I never had the urge or the time to go in.

"Well, the other day, I decided to drop by, you know, to see their display," Antonio continued. He leaned forward and lowered down his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "And guess what I found?"

The artist paused and looked at me with a piercing, inescapable stare that sent shivers up my spine. Instinctively, I took a step back. What is this man's problem?

When I didn't say anything, Antonio declared in an excited whisper, "I found one of my paintings!"

Ridiculous.

"You're Antonio de Vega, artist extraordinaire!" I exclaimed. "You shouldn't be surprised!"

Antonio laughed heartily, causing heads to turn. He went on, "Can you not see? There are only two certified copies of The Weeping Charizard. One of them is at home. The other was brought by a private art collector."

Vulpix leaped onto my seat and tilted her ears backwards. "Vulpix?"

"Right. What does that mean?" I asked, repeating my Pokémon's question.

Antonio shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "I'm thinking something fishy's going on down there. I went to ask the man at the counter where they get their paintings. Told me they're all the way from a distributor in Kanto. A ship comes once a month to deliver them."

By now, the waitress returned with a plate of croissants. Before I could blink, De Vega had already devoured one of them. He offered the other to me, and upon my refusal, finished it in three bites. He brusquely wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up.

"It's been bothering me for days now. I'd like to look into it if I have time, but, an important man has more important things to do. Thanks for listening. I'll see ya' round, kid," he turned around with a flourish and walked away.

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"And then he turned around with a flourish and walked away!" I finished, waving my arms in excitement. "It was unbelievable, Mom. Out of nowhere, the Antonio de Vega came and decided to join me for breakfast!"

The first thing that I did upon arriving home was to pour out the whole story to my mother, who patiently listened as she struggled to bake another batch of muffins. I gave up all hopes of eating decent food that afternoon when a burning smell permeated the air.

Mom just laughed when I finished my story. She put on her mitts, bent down and pulled out a tray of black corn muffins from the oven, which was followed by a wisp of smoke. "Heather, Antonio de Vega had always been eccentric."

She set the tray upon the kitchen counter and took a paper towel to wipe her forehead. "He wears the strangest clothes. On TV, he always looked like he just came from a Pokémon festival."

"You can say that again. He was a total creep!" I remarked. De Vega was indeed an oddball with his Mohawk and all, but for some reason, his Artbox story tickled my curiosity.

What if I-? The thought made me smile. I slid off the dining chair and walked towards the door. I gestured for Vulpix to follow and as quick as lightning, she leaped off the couch she had been sleeping on and trotted towards me. I pushed the door open. "Mom! I'm going to take Vulpix out for a walk. We'll be back by six!"

"Alright, dear! You take care!" Mrs. Jones called back from the kitchen.

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Once we were outside, Vulpix sneered at me, *Come on, Heather. I know you're up to somethng. The last time you 'took me for a walk', you only wanted to sneak out and buy ice cream,*

"No. It's not ice cream this time," I smiled confidently. I deepened my voice and spoke in a British accent, "I believe we have important matters to attend to, Watson."

Vulpix sighed. *Not that again.*

I laughed.

As a child, I had loved pretending to be Sherlock Holmes. My obsession began when I was seven. Dad sent me a picture book version of Conan Doyle's famous novel. At night, I would cuddle up with the book and lose myself in the story. The next day, with Dad's magnifying glass in hand, I would pretend to walk upon the cobbled streets of London while solving "the case of the missing cookie". Of course, Vulpix was always the culprit.

But I wasn't playing pretend anymore. This time, I wanted to play detective for real.

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