“Because I’m pretty sure she was crazy.”
“But why you?”
I opened one of the cupboards and pulled out a large plastic container. “Will, I don’t know,” I said, trying to be patient.
“Well, isn’t it weird that some random lady shows up on the sidewalk and starts yelling at you?” he asked, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Saying you killed some guy?”
I eyed him. “Opened the window a bit, did you?”
His eyes darted around for a second. “Well, she was yelling kinda loud.”
“Hmm. Right.”
“But, no, seriously. Why was she yelling at you?”
I lifted the lid off the empty container and started layering cooled cookies along the bottom. “I have no idea.”
“No idea?”
“None.”
“Well, that’s weird.”
“It’s all weird. All of it.”
He grabbed a cup from the dish drainer and filled it with milk. “Are you gonna be arrested?”
“No. I’m not going to be arrested.”
“How do you know?”
I reached for more cookies. “Because I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, but all the time on TV, guys get arrested for doing stuff they didn’t do and then someone has to come and save them and prove them wrong.” He nodded, approving of his own words. “Happens all the time.”
“On TV,” I said, pointing a cookie at him. “Happens all the time on TV, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, is not real.”
“Unless it’s a reality show,” he countered. “Then it’s real.”
“Not always and you know that, too,” I said. “But rest assured. I’m not going to be arrested.”
He frowned, but didn’t say anything.
And, in truth, I sounded more confident than I felt. The dead body was found in my house. I knew the victim. And his sister had some reason to think I was the one responsible. I didn’t think she just randomly selected me. She had a reason. I just didn’t know what it was.
“If you get arrested, will we be able to visit you in jail?” he asked, looking out the window.
I turned my attention to the last wire rack of cookies. “Will. Listen to me. I’m not going to be arrested and I’m not going to jail.”
“I know. I’m just asking. If you went to jail, would we be allowed to visit?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t know. Yes. I’m sure we could arrange visitations. Probably Sunday mornings. I think that’s when they let kids come visit the criminal moms.”
He thought about that for a second. “Cool,” he said, nodding. “I’ve always wanted to see what jail looks like.”
And to think I thought he was worried about my well-being.
ELEVEN
I called the girls down for cookies and, after they decimated half the supply, sent them back on their way to play. I finished cleaning up the kitchen all while managing to avoid being accused of any more crimes during the afternoon.
Victory.
I stowed the washed cookie trays and cooling racks and settled on to the oversized couch in the living room. I closed my eyes for a minute before I reached for my laptop. For the next half hour, I searched for anything related to Olaf and Olga. I came up with a big fat nothing. They’d apparently done nothing that would cause Google to sit up and take notice because, other than their addresses and Olaf’s old profile on Around the Corner, there was no other information available about them. I didn’t know what I was hoping to find, but I’d thought I’d learn a little more about them besides the fact that they both resided in Moose River. I sighed and copied Olga’s address, pasting it into a document just so I’d have it.
I closed my computer and tried to put it all out of my mind for awhile. I didn’t want to admit that I was still rattled by her accusations. I called all three kids down, as much for a diversion as because it was time for them to do something other than play. The girls picked up their guitars and practiced for a while—they were determined to learn how to play so they could form some sort of sisterly super group—and Will, after some grumbling, pulled out a math textbook and worked through some problems.
Emily trudged into the house twenty minutes later, just after the other three had gone back upstairs She dropped her massive backpack full of books on the table and pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “They’re still here.”
I was at the dining room table, waiting for the printer parked nearby to spit out some sheet music I’d found online for the girls. “Yes, they are.”
“When are they leaving?” she demanded.
“I have no idea. When they’re done, I guess.”
She sighed like the world was positively, absolutely about to end. “Everyone knows. Everyone. I hate this.”
“Who is everyone?”
She gave me the perfectly executed teenage look of disdain. “Uh, my friends? Everyone at my school? Those people.”
“And why exactly does that matter?” I asked.
She made a face and unzipped her bag. “Because I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I’m a freak.”
“Maybe your hair was a mess.”
She rolled her eyes but her hand immediately went to her head. She ran her fingers to the end of her long, smooth locks. “And I’m tired of everyone asking me what happened or what’s going on. I’m like, I don’t know people. I can’t help you. Mind you your own dumb business.”
“Well, that’s all you can say,” I said.
“I’d like to be able to say they’re gone and we’re moving to a normal house that doesn’t have dead bodies in it,” she said.
“Well, the body is gone…”
“Mom. You know what I mean.”
If anyone had been against buying the old house, it had really been Emily. And I understood. She was a teenager. Appearances mattered. Space mattered. Her room was small. Privacy was at a minimum. The house didn’t look quaint or historic to her. It looked old and freaky. Her friends lived in the newer neighborhoods in newer houses with big yards and wide streets. Like our old house. And I knew that it embarrassed her a little. Not enough to make me love the house any less, but I tried to be sympathetic.
She also hated the ghost, but not everyone was as pro-ghost as I was.
“They’ll be gone as soon as they can,” I said. I gathered the sheets of paper and tapped the stack, aligning them as best I could. “That’s all I can tell you. I’d think no more than another day.”
She pulled a binder from her bag and dropped it on the table. “And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Then what happens?” she asked. “How do they find out who put that guy…down there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’ll do whatever it is that they do. Probably examine the body and look for…”
“Ew, gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose, then holding up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Glad I could help,” I said.
She reached into her bag again, pulling out her phone this time. “There’s a basketball game on Friday night. Can I go?”
“In town or away?”
Her thumbs danced across the screen. “Here.”
“I don’t see why not,” I said. “Who are you going to go with?”
“Just, um, you know. Some people.”
“Em,” I said, my voice sharp. “Who?”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Well, I don’t exactly know yet,” she said. “Bailey and Noelle, for sure. And maybe Nathan.”
“Nathan?”
Her cheeks were now the color of tomatoes. “Nathan Sizemore. He’s the one who told me about the game.”
I processed that for a moment. I knew Nathan. He was a nice kid. Tall, skinny, not as awkward as the other fourteen year old boys we knew.
“Sooo. Are you asking to go with Nathan?” I asked. “Like on a date?”
“No,” she said loudly, giving me another eye roll. “He’ll just, like, be there.”
“And do you like him?”