Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery) by Nancy J. Parra Page B

finished basement. Basements were rather rare in Kansas, as the bedrock was close to the surface, making cellars expensive. Some of the older homes were set on raised foundations, while the modern homes were simply built on slabs.
    Slabs were fine as long as the weather behaved. The neighbors who had torn down old homes and replaced them with McMansions were dependent on the kindness of their neighbors when tornadoes came through. Trust me, you would rather be underground than in a closet—or worse, a mobile home—when those storms hit.
    “Kip?” The only sounds I heard were the frantic footsteps on the floor above me. I did a quick turn around the paneled room to ensure that there were no ten-year-old boys playing hide-and-seek, then headed back up the wooden steps.
    “Kip! This isn’t funny. If you are here, come out now.” Tasha’s voice held the edge of panic. I closed the basement door and stepped into the kitchen at the same time Tim and Kip came in the back door.
    Relief washed through me. “Tim has him!” I shouted and went straight over to throw my arms around the little boy, who was quick to squirm away from me.
    “I don’t like hugs!” he stated.
    “Kip, thank goodness!!” Tasha rushed to him and got down on her knees, face-to-face with her son. I noted that her hands fluttered around him without touching him, and my heart ached. We all wanted to grab him and hold him close, but with Kip’s autism spectrum disorder, hugs were painful to him. “Where have you been? You frightened me so much.”
    “I found Aubrey,” Kip said, and held up a squirming brown-and-white puppy. “Can I keep him?”
    “Aubrey?” I tilted my head to the side.
    “Aubrey is Kip’s imaginary friend,” Tasha said.
    “Aubrey is not imaginary.” Kip lifted the puppy in the air. “He’s right here.”
    “I’d say he certainly is right here,” Tim said from the doorway. “Young man, you need to apologize to your mother. You wandered off and scared her very badly.”
    “I did not wander off,” Kip told him matter-of-factly. “I rescued Aubrey and came straight home.”
    “I see that you did indeed rescue Aubrey,” said a male voice from behind me. “That was very nice of you, but your uncle Tim is right. You should apologize to your mother. You frightened her very badly.” Officer Bright was so calm and so sincere I wanted to hug him.
    “Why?” Kip nuzzled the puppy that wiggled in his arms.
    “Honey, I couldn’t find you. I have two police cars, Aunt Toni’s family, and Officer Bright all looking for you. I thought something bad had happened to you.” Tasha brushed the hair out of her son’s eyes. I don’t know how she had the discipline not to hug the stuffing out of Kip.
    “But I was rescuing Aubrey. How could anything bad happen to me?” He raised one blond eyebrow.
    “Remember that we have a rule where you have to tell Mommy before you can leave the park?” Tasha put her hands on her bent knees. It was then that I noticed how white her knuckles were. She wasn’t as calm or cool as she let on.
    “I didn’t leave the park.”
    “Kip,” I warned him. “This is very serious. You scared your mom and she called the police. Lying—even a white lie—is not acceptable here.”
    “What’s a white lie?”
    “A white lie is when you only tell part of the truth. For instance, you rescued Aubrey—but maybe you had to leave the play equipment to do that. Maybe Aubrey was in distress and you hurried to save him and in your haste you forgot to tell your mommy that you were leaving.”
    “I didn’t forget, ’cause I didn’t leave the park.”
    For the first time I noticed the streaks of dirt on his shirt and knees.
    “Okay, son, why don’t you tell us how you rescued Aubrey.” Officer Bright pulled out a kitchen chair, turned it around, and sat down. He draped his arms across the top in the most casual manner. His attention was fully on Kip. Right then my admiration for the young gun surged. I