The Big Chili by Julia Buckley Page A

spied a quart of skim milk and sniffed it: still okay. I always had some Diet Coke because it was something of an addiction for me. Even though various Internet sources assured me I would die very soon from its contents, I couldn’t seem to give it up.
    I looked at Mick, who sat resting by the stove (one of hisfavorite spots, especially when meat was cooking in it). “Crazy day, huh, buddy?”
    Mick didn’t nod because his chin was resting on his paws, but his eyes seemed to agree with me when they were open. He was indulging in some long blinks, which meant he would soon be asleep. Sometimes I envied Mick his gentle lifestyle. He was well fed and had two cozy beds, many fun walking routes, his own backyard for rooting out scents in any season, and a fairly attractive owner who loved him. He gave the phrase “a dog’s life” a whole new meaning.
    With a sigh I snapped open a Diet Coke, took a swig, and looked out at the goldleaves.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    S helby’s cookies were wonderful: pumpkin-shaped and pumpkin-flavored, with cream cheese frosting. “I might gain five pounds eating these,” I said, shoving a second one into my mouth.
    â€œAren’t they great? It’s a family recipe,” Shelby said, and Jake nodded his appreciation. He was at least six feet tall and broad-shouldered, but his face was young and half-obscured by gold-brown hair that hung over one eye. The part of his countenance that was visible looked worried.
    I decided not to rush whatever it was they wanted to tell me. Shelby carefully poured herself some milk and Jake concentrated on massaging Mick’s back, much to Mick’s pleasure.
    â€œHow’s English going this year?” I asked Shelby, wiping frosting from the corner of my mouth.
    â€œIt’s going good. I mean, it’s going
well
,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. Shelby didn’t like the arbitrariness of grammar rules. “I’m getting a B right now. I promised my mom I’d keep it there or higher. Mr. Branson is pretty good about meeting with people if they have questions.”
    â€œAh. Always a good thing in a teacher.”
    â€œYeah.” Shelby reached out to rearrange the cookies on the plate. Jake watched her do it as though the fate of Pine Haven hung on her actions. It was as tense as those “red wire or blue wire” scenes in suspense movies, where the hero has to snip one to defuse the bomb.
    â€œOkay, what’s going on?” I said, my voice snapping into the tense silence.
    Shelby looked up with wide brown-eyed surprise. “What? How can you tell something’s going on?”
    â€œWell, for one thing, you’re here. We haven’t really talked since your last tutoring session. For another, you both look like you killed someone and are worried about where to bury the body.”
    This macabre joke did not have the desired effect; both of them looked downright guilty.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Shelby?” I said again.
    She held up her little hand. “Nothing. Nothing like you’re thinking. It’s just—we were both there on bingo night. You saw us.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd we saw that you’re friends with that cop who was asking all the questions.”
    â€œDetective Parker? Actually we only met that day. We’re not friends,” I said.
    â€œWell, anyway, you seem to know him, and he seems tolike you. You’re the only one he smiled at the whole night. He has sort of a scary face.”
    Jake nodded at this, one eye still obscured by his hair.
    â€œHe was just doing his job, Shelby. A woman had been murdered.”
    Shelby and Jake exchange a glance. “Well—we were wondering if you could tell him—the cop—that we didn’t have anything to do with it.”
    This silenced me for about a minute. Various thoughts darted through my head. Why were sixteen-year-old kids worried that they’d be suspected of