Read Online The Silence of Murder by Dandi Daley Mackall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dandi Daley Mackall
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a while. Reporters are all over Hope’s lawn.”
“What a shame.” She shakes her head, then smiles at me. “You know you’re always welcome here, Hope.” I thank her, sure that she means it. Her smile passes to Chase, who reaches for the doorknob. “You too, son. Say, are you kids hungry? I’d be happy to make you something to eat. Plenty of time before I have to get ready for the night shift.” Mrs. Bowers has worked at the Oh-Boy cookie factory longer than any other employee, so she could have the day shift if she wanted. But T.J. says she started working nights the year they adopted him so somebody would be home all the time. She got used to the hours, and now she can’t imagine working days.
“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Bowers,” I tell her. “But thanks.”
“I should be going,” Chase says. His eyes dart around the living room. He looks like he’s scared the house is about to blow up. He probably never hangs out with people like me and T.J.
“Don’t go, man.” T.J. nods to the basket he’s holding. “Let me run this down to the basement. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Hope, get us something to drink, whatever’s in the fridge.” He slants his eyes at me, like he and I have some kind of secret that explains why he’s making sure Chase sticks around.
I don’t get it. But a lot of times I don’t get T.J. “Sure,” I say to his back as he heads toward the basement. Then I start for the kitchen.
Chase stays where he is a second, then follows me.
I love the Bowers’s kitchen. It’s the biggest room in the house. T.J.’s dad built all the cupboards, plus a cooking islandin the center. Chase slides into the small corner booth, also built by Mr. Bowers. They have a dining room, but I’ve never seen them use it.
I pour three glasses of OJ and join Chase in the booth, taking the other end of the L. “You really don’t have to stick around,” I tell him.
Chase is fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. He shrugs without looking up.
After a minute, I can’t stand the silence. “I’ll go see if T.J. needs any help.” I make my way to the basement and find T.J. pulling clothes out of the dryer. “T.J., what’s going on?”
He glances back at me. “Sorry this is taking so long. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“No. I mean, why are you trying to keep Chase around? It’s weird.”
T.J. sets down the clothes basket and walks over to me. “Hope, he can help us.”
“Help us what?”
“Look,” he says, like he’s explaining a tough algebra problem to me. “Chase is an insider. He’s going to know more than we do about your brother’s trial.”
“So?”
“So we can use him.” T.J. grins and touches his glasses. “Why else would I want to hang out with Chase Wells?”
I can think of a couple of reasons, like becoming popular by association, like being part of Chase’s crowd. But I keep my thoughts to myself.
T.J. puts his hands on my shoulders. “Hope, trust me. Okay?”
I take a breath of basement air filled with mildew and dust. If I can’t trust T.J., who can I trust? “Okay.”
He nods toward the stairs. “Go back up. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Chase is sitting exactly where I left him. I scoot into the booth. “T.J. will be right up.”
Neither of us says anything else until T.J. gets back. “You guys sure you’re not hungry?” He opens the fridge and takes out bologna, cheese, mustard, and bread. Who keeps bread in the fridge? “Bologna sandwich? I’m having one. Well, actually two.”
“No thanks.” Chase and I say this at the same time, exchange glances, then stare at the flowered tablecloth.
A sandwich in each hand, T.J. scoots in on my side, forcing me closer to Chase. The smell of bologna and mustard makes me think of Jeremy. “Jer likes bologna sandwiches,” I say, more to myself than to them. “Not as much as peanut butter.” I turn to Chase. “What do you think they’re feeding him in jail?”
“I don’t really know,” Chase
“What a shame.” She shakes her head, then smiles at me. “You know you’re always welcome here, Hope.” I thank her, sure that she means it. Her smile passes to Chase, who reaches for the doorknob. “You too, son. Say, are you kids hungry? I’d be happy to make you something to eat. Plenty of time before I have to get ready for the night shift.” Mrs. Bowers has worked at the Oh-Boy cookie factory longer than any other employee, so she could have the day shift if she wanted. But T.J. says she started working nights the year they adopted him so somebody would be home all the time. She got used to the hours, and now she can’t imagine working days.
“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Bowers,” I tell her. “But thanks.”
“I should be going,” Chase says. His eyes dart around the living room. He looks like he’s scared the house is about to blow up. He probably never hangs out with people like me and T.J.
“Don’t go, man.” T.J. nods to the basket he’s holding. “Let me run this down to the basement. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Hope, get us something to drink, whatever’s in the fridge.” He slants his eyes at me, like he and I have some kind of secret that explains why he’s making sure Chase sticks around.
I don’t get it. But a lot of times I don’t get T.J. “Sure,” I say to his back as he heads toward the basement. Then I start for the kitchen.
Chase stays where he is a second, then follows me.
I love the Bowers’s kitchen. It’s the biggest room in the house. T.J.’s dad built all the cupboards, plus a cooking islandin the center. Chase slides into the small corner booth, also built by Mr. Bowers. They have a dining room, but I’ve never seen them use it.
I pour three glasses of OJ and join Chase in the booth, taking the other end of the L. “You really don’t have to stick around,” I tell him.
Chase is fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. He shrugs without looking up.
After a minute, I can’t stand the silence. “I’ll go see if T.J. needs any help.” I make my way to the basement and find T.J. pulling clothes out of the dryer. “T.J., what’s going on?”
He glances back at me. “Sorry this is taking so long. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“No. I mean, why are you trying to keep Chase around? It’s weird.”
T.J. sets down the clothes basket and walks over to me. “Hope, he can help us.”
“Help us what?”
“Look,” he says, like he’s explaining a tough algebra problem to me. “Chase is an insider. He’s going to know more than we do about your brother’s trial.”
“So?”
“So we can use him.” T.J. grins and touches his glasses. “Why else would I want to hang out with Chase Wells?”
I can think of a couple of reasons, like becoming popular by association, like being part of Chase’s crowd. But I keep my thoughts to myself.
T.J. puts his hands on my shoulders. “Hope, trust me. Okay?”
I take a breath of basement air filled with mildew and dust. If I can’t trust T.J., who can I trust? “Okay.”
He nods toward the stairs. “Go back up. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Chase is sitting exactly where I left him. I scoot into the booth. “T.J. will be right up.”
Neither of us says anything else until T.J. gets back. “You guys sure you’re not hungry?” He opens the fridge and takes out bologna, cheese, mustard, and bread. Who keeps bread in the fridge? “Bologna sandwich? I’m having one. Well, actually two.”
“No thanks.” Chase and I say this at the same time, exchange glances, then stare at the flowered tablecloth.
A sandwich in each hand, T.J. scoots in on my side, forcing me closer to Chase. The smell of bologna and mustard makes me think of Jeremy. “Jer likes bologna sandwiches,” I say, more to myself than to them. “Not as much as peanut butter.” I turn to Chase. “What do you think they’re feeding him in jail?”
“I don’t really know,” Chase
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