Sketchy Behavior (6 page)

S
OMEHOW, I GOT THROUGH THE REST OF THE DAY WITH
minimal visions of John X in his cell and only hearing my name shouted another eighty-seven times. Maddy caught me in the hall right before lunch and warned me to just give her my lunch money and she’d meet me by her car to eat it.

So Maddy, DJ, and I ate school cafeteria lunches in her shiny, black Tahoe. I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten something that disgusting in something so nice. Our cafeteria excels in only two lunches — pizza and soft tacos with Spanish rice.

Today’s lunch was cold chicken nuggets and congealed macaroni and cheese.

Needless to say, both DJ and I were starving when we got home.

Mom, still on the verge of a nervous breakdown, apparently cancelled her afternoon appointments so she could worry over me when I got home.

“Kate!” she cried as soon as I walked in the door.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as she grabbed me into one of those almost-painful hugs, it was so tight.

“Oh, Kate, I worried about you all day today. School was uneventful? People were kind to you? The pressure wasn’t too hard to take?”

“I think I passed my geography test,” I told her.

She looked up at DJ, who nodded. “I think she handled it just fine, ma’am.”

Mom stopped crushing me to her chest, but kept one hand on my shoulder. “I made cookies.”

“Great,” I said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. Cookies, to my mom, usually involved some form of natural sweetener that isn’t called sugar. And while I thought that sugar was the only natural sweetener, it is not.

Two weeks ago, she’d made a batch of honey and wheat germ cookies. No refined sugar, no white flour.

“You are supposed to dip them into a nice, hot cup of tea,” Mom said to me and Dad when she served them.

Dad had made a face and then dunked his “cookie” into the tea and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Mm!” he managed and then got up from the table.

The cookie was rock solid. I think you had to dunk it in the tea to help it soften enough for your temporomandibular joint to work.

So I wasn’t too excited when Mom mentioned cookies. This meant more acting and after seven hours of acting like I was fine and focused at school, I was ready to just have some alone time.

And by alone time, I meant me in my bedroom with the door open while DJ took his post in the hallway.

“Chocolate chip.” Mom nodded.

My head snapped up so fast, I nearly bit my tongue. “You made chocolate chip cookies?” I gasped.

I had to see it to believe it. I went into the kitchen and lo and behold, there on the counter were dozens of cookies dotted with dark chocolate chips.

DJ and Mom followed me. “It’s not like I never make chocolate chip cookies,” Mom was telling DJ.

I was pretty sure that the last time she made them, I was still learning the Pledge of Allegiance.

“With real sugar?” I asked, dubiously sniffing a cookie.

“Yes,” Mom said.

Then I rethought my question. “I mean, with fake sugar?”

She sighed. “Just eat the cookie, Kate.”

I took a bite. And it was definitely not a chocolate chip cookie.

But I pulled on my theater skills and managed to swallow it. Whatever was in the cookie was acting like a vacuum on my saliva. I could barely get the last of it down, my mouth was so dry. “You did use real sugar,” I said after downing a glass of water.

“Yep. This one is made from the leaves of the stevia plant,” Mom said proudly. “And that’s whole wheat flour, carob chips, and don’t tell your father, but I added some whey protein powder to give them a little nutritional boost.”

DJ was staring at the cookies like they were on the same playing field as our lunch today.

So much for starving. “I won’t tell Dad,” I said and then grabbed my backpack and went to my room.

My room was possibly my favorite place in this house. I painted it a deep chocolate color last year, and I’d slowly been adding different colors and textures in my accessories to provide visual depth and interest. My bedspread was a rich ruby red, I’d hung a few shelves that were a creamy color, and I was trying to locate some textured pillows for my bed.

I plopped my backpack by my desk and climbed up on the bed, dragging my sketchpad, pencils, and half-finished menu over.

The menu was due on Monday, and since art was my favorite subject, I always tried to do that homework first.

I heard the TV turn on in the living room. “In South Woodhaven Falls, Missouri, yesterday, a high school junior was directly related to the arrest of famed murderer, John X …”

“Oh my gosh!” I heard Mom say. “Kate, get in here! Katie Couric is talking about you!”

I walked into the living room, and DJ followed me. There was Katie Couric and there was my yearbook picture suspended in the air next to her.

I hated that picture. Of all the ones they had to use, they had to pick one that made me look like a squinty third grader.

Katie Couric started retelling the now-infamous story, and the phone rang. Mom answered it and then passed it to me.

“Did you know that you’re on Katie Couric?”

It was Maddy.

“I’m watching it right now.”

“Did you see the picture they used?”

I sighed. “Maddy, I’m watching it right now.”

“I wish they’d come to me for a picture. I would have at least given them the one of us at the zoo last summer.”

I knew exactly which picture she was talking about and she was right, that was a lot cuter.

“Since when do you watch the news, Maddy?”

“Since never. I was flipping through the channels, and I saw you squinting at me. Hey, if Ryan Seacrest decides to interview you, will you let me go with you? I’ll give them the cute picture of you.”

I just shook my head at the TV, which was now showing a picture of the jailed John X. He didn’t look too happy in his mug shot, and a lone skittle of fear raced up my spinal column.

“Sure, Maddy. Sure.”

Mom called me in for dinner at 5:37, yet another sign that not all was well in our house. Dad had just gotten home, and DJ was standing guard in the living room.

“How was school?” Dad asked, the first normal question I’d gotten all day.

I opened my mouth to respond.

“Oh, and I looked into getting you in some self-defense and gun handling classes. You’re too young to carry a concealed weapon,
but your self-defense class starts on Tuesday night at seven. You and your mother are both signed up to go.”

So, it started out normal.

I nodded. “Okay.” At this point, it was better not to argue.

We went into the kitchen, and Mom guilted DJ into sitting in Mike’s empty chair. “I made enough for you to eat, so if you don’t, I’m going to be very hurt,” Mom said, putting a platter of what looked like salmon on the table.

“Okay, ma’am. If you say so.”

Mom may not be able to do the sweet stuff well, but she usually made awesome dinners. The salmon smelled so good, and we all sat at the table, drooling.

Lolly was lounging on the floor, waiting for someone to drop a bite.

As was custom, Mom held out her hands and Dad made a gruffly noise in the back of his throat.

“Bless the food. Amen,” he muttered, barely bothering to close his eyes.

Well. Some things hadn’t changed.

Dad, DJ, and I all dug into our salmon, but Mom was more reluctant. I could tell she was trying to decide if she should say something or not.

“Guys?” she said, finally, putting her unused fork down. “We are going to church this Sunday.”

Everyone just kind of stared at her in a chewing silence.

“What?” Dad said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Sounds like a plan.” DJ nodded. “Great salmon, Mrs. Carter.”

Mom said thank you to DJ and then looked at me and my dad. “Because it has been a long time since we were there, and I just feel like we need all the help we can get right now.”

She picked up her fork and took a bite of salmon. I looked across the table at Dad, who shrugged and started on his rice.

So it looked like I wasn’t going to be sleeping in on Sunday.

“What did you do in school today?” Dad asked me.

“I took a geography exam.”

“Did you pass it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad nodded, content.

A few minutes of quiet chewing took place. Lolly stirred under the table, reminding us that she was still there.

“I talked to Mike today,” Mom said, and both Dad and I immediately snapped to attention.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

“Did he total his car or something?” Dad said.

Mom sent us both a glare. “He’s fine.”

“How’s his car, though?” Dad asked.

“He’s fine, his car is fine, his grades are fine, and he was just calling because he heard about Kate on the radio this morning, and he wanted to know if it was our Kate or a different one.”

My brother moved out to go to college in California almost three years ago. In that time, he had only made it home for the two Christmas breaks he had and opted to stay out there for both Thanksgivings.

As for me, I hadn’t talked to him on the phone the entire time he’d been gone. There’s five years and personality issues between us — his personality issues, not mine.

So the fact that he called of his own free will was something of a miracle. I think that Mom tried to call him about once a week, but she only ended up getting through to him about once a month.

Mom would never admit to it, but I did see her crying a little last month when she once again got my brother’s voicemail.

It made me mad at Mike. The woman went through thirty-two hours of labor and eighteen years of feeding and caring for him. You’d think he could spare a few minutes to talk to his mother on the phone.

Dad always said that an engineering degree was one of the toughest degrees out there, and we should just let Mike study.

I thought it was just another excuse for my brother.

“So, he’s doing okay?” I asked. Mad or not, Mike was still my brother.

Mom nodded. “He only had a minute to talk, but he said he’s doing good. Said classes are hard, but the weather is nice.”

So, pretty much, he got through the perfunctory stuff and then hung up.

I shook my head slightly and kept working on my salmon and rice. DJ had already finished his plate.

At nine, DJ’s night replacement rang the doorbell. Only this time it wasn’t the silent Officer Colton, it was Detective Masterson at the door.

I looked up from the rerun of
Gilmore Girls
I was watching.

“You’re staying tonight?” I asked, surprised when he walked in. Mom and Dad were back in their bedroom talking, and I’d heard the word
UCLA
used, so I figured it was about Mike.

DJ closed and locked the door behind Detective Masterson, and they both sat on the sofa beside me.

“What’s this?” the detective asked.

“Gilmore Girls
,” DJ answered before I could.

Detective Masterson looked at DJ and then snorted.

“Excuse me,” I said. “This show is a wonderful satire on life and women and small towns, and I happen to love it.”

“Sure, sure,” Detective Masterson said. “Whatever you say, Kate.”

“I can pick a girlier show,” I threatened, waving the remote. “I think that
Barefoot Contessa
is on right now.”

DJ almost jumped at me. “No!”

“No more mocking my show?”

DJ shook his head violently. “No more mocking your show. Kent?” He elbowed Detective Masterson.

There was the Kent thing again. My brain could not process that Detective Masterson’s name was Kent to his friends.

Kent.

He grinned. “Consider the mocking over and done with.” He leaned back against the sofa cushions. “So, what does the famous Kate Carter have going on this weekend? I mean, aside from the parade with the governor and dinner with the mayor?”

“A parade?” I moaned, muting the TV right in the middle of one of Lorelai Gilmore’s famous word battles with Rory.

“Just a short one.” Detective Masterson grinned at me. “Just around Main Street and up to Cherry Road.”

I growled under my breath. “And what am I supposed to do on this parade?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Smile, wave, blow kisses to the eligible young bachelors in town, and toss candy to the babies.”

Detective Masterson was grinning ear to ear and enjoying this entirely too much.

“Do I have to?” I asked.

“You have to.” Detective Masterson picked up the remote and changed the channel to KCL, where the too-white-toothed Ted Deffle was doing the evening news.

“A six-pack of Diet Coke was found to be missing from McSweeny’s earlier today,” he was saying.

I looked at DJ and the detective. “Do you guys ever worry about your job security in this town?”

DJ nodded. “Every day.”

“I used to,” Detective Masterson said. “But then I realized that without me, the three guys who drink the weekend away at Barney’s would be out there driving drunk, Mrs. Lainger would have no one to call whenever she thought her house was getting broken into, and little Lacey Cutler’s kitten would have been eaten by the next-door neighbor’s dog on a daily basis for the last three years.”

DJ looked over Detective Masterson to me again. “Like I said, every day.”

S
ATURDAY MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL,
and I woke up to the smell of pancakes.

Pancakes?

I sniffed confusedly and stumbled out of bed, grabbing my change of clothes and heading for the bathroom. Five minutes later, I had on presentable sweats and my teeth were brushed.

So long, Saturday mornings in my pajamas.

I made it to the kitchen, yawning. Mom and Dad were nowhere to be found, but DJ was blissfully eating a huge stack of pancakes, and Detective Masterson was busy flipping more.

“Morning, Kate,” he hummed. “Pancake?”

Miss Yeager, should she be the one, was turning out to be a lucky girl. I nodded and sat down at the table next to DJ.

“Sleep good?” DJ asked me.

“Yes,” I lied. Truthfully, I dreamt that John X’s mug shot had been chasing me in the governor’s parade car. He kept catching all the candy I threw and knocking over my parents and Maddy, trying to catch up to me.

“You didn’t sound like you slept well,” the detective said, coming over with a plate stacked three pancakes high and setting it in front of me. “You were mewling all night.”

Well, this was embarrassing. I wanted my door closed at night
like before this whole fiasco, so the only person who knew whether I made noise when I slept was Lolly, who usually slept on the floor by my bed.

I glared at the detective and then dug into the pancakes.

They were delicious and try as I might, I couldn’t stay mad at someone who created such fluffy, tasty delights.

“Good?” he asked, sitting in one of the empty chairs, sipping from a cup of coffee.

“Kent, if I’d known you were such a good wife, I would have married you years ago.” DJ grinned, shoving another forkful of pancakes in his mouth.

Detective Masterson took another sip of coffee and pulled the morning paper over. “Sadly, you’re not my type. But thank you for the proposal.”

“Who is your type?” I asked, squirting more syrup on my stack. “Miss Yeager?”

DJ perked up at that one. “The woman at the school?” He looked at me. “Your art teacher?”

I nodded.

“Oh, look at the headline,” the detective said, not answering DJ’s question.

DJ winked at me.

“ ‘Local Hero to Be Featured in Tomorrow’s May Day Parade’,” Detective Masterson read.

I yanked the paper from him. There was my horrific yearbook picture slathered all over the front page.

It was like other pictures of me just didn’t exist. I groaned.

“Now, now. Let me see your smile for the adoring public, Kate.” Detective Masterson grinned over his coffee.

“Look at this picture,” I said, pointing to the front page. “Do I really look like that in person?”

DJ studied it for a minute. “You are kind of squinting all weird there.”

Mom walked in the kitchen, hair styled, makeup on, and
wearing jeans and a Western button-down shirt. “Good morning, Katie-Kin,” she said, ruffling her hand through my hair.

I suddenly realized why Lolly always leaned into us whenever we petted her.

“Morning, guys,” Mom said, nodding to the policemen.

“Morning,” they chimed simultaneously.

Detective Masterson stood. “Pancakes, ma’am?” he asked, pouring batter onto the griddle.

Mom nodded and sat beside me. “Thanks, Detective.”

I almost laughed. Here it was Saturday morning. My mother was completely dressed before ten, I had a detective in the police force serving pancakes and coffee to my family, and a police officer sleeping outside my bedroom on an air mattress.

Life could not get weirder.

Dad walked in then, 9mm strapped to his waist.

Then again, perhaps I spoke too soon.

Dad started squinting through the barely cracked kitchen blinds, and DJ elbowed me.

“That’s the expression you’ve got right here,” he whispered, pointing to the newspaper.

I sighed.

“Anything happen last night?” Dad asked the detective.

Detective Masterson shook his head, flipping the pancakes. “No, sir. It was very quiet.” He looked toward the front door. “Although we did get something this morning.”

Dad immediately walked out of the kitchen and came back holding the hugest bouquet of flowers I’d ever seen in my life.

“Wow,” Mom and I chimed together.

“Who’s it from?” I asked, clambering off my chair and over to where Dad was struggling to set it down on the counter. I ended up needing to get my chair and stand on it to see the top of the arrangement.

“See a card?” Dad asked.

“No. Oh wait,” I said, pulling the tiniest white envelope from the huge monstrosity of tulips, daisies, roses, violets, and lilies.

It simply said
Kate
on the front.

I was just about to open it when Detective Masterson took it from me. “Sorry, Kate. I have to inspect everything that comes through that front door.”

He opened it, read it, snorted, and then passed it to me.

I stood on the chair and started reading.

Dearest Kate
—

“What’s it say?” Mom asked. “Read it out loud.”

I was suddenly very happy that we didn’t live in the time of that
Pride and Prejudice
book. I was only imagining what it would be like to get a romantic letter from Mr. Darcy and then have to read it out loud to my mother.

I hopped off the chair. In this case, Detective Masterson had already read it. It couldn’t get much worse than that.

“ ‘Dearest Kate,’ “ I started again.

Dad frowned at me and Mom started getting all sappy.

DJ was snickering behind his coffee cup, I was pretty sure.

“ ‘In gratitude for your civic service, thankfulness for your generous spirit, and hopefulness for our eventual meeting, I trust you are as overwhelmed by this bouquet as I am by your bravery. Thank you.’ “

It was signed
Sincerely
,
Ted Deffle
,
KCL News.

I felt my nose wrinkling up.

“Ted Deffle?” Dad choked on his coffee. “He’s like twenty years older than you! Is that even legal?” He looked at DJ.

“To send a girl a bouquet of roses out of thankfulness?” DJ asked. He looked at Detective Masterson and shrugged. “I guess so.”

“I would imagine the honorable Ted just wants to secure an interview spot with Kate,” Detective Masterson said, handing Mom and Dad their pancakes. “Coffee?”

I sat back down at the table. Ted Deffle sent me flowers.

Ugh
.

Maddy was not going to believe this.

“Another pancake, Kate?” Detective Masterson asked.

“Please.” And keep them coming.

By the time we were heading to the mayor’s house that night, I’d received another three bouquets. One from the local paper, one from the South Woodhaven Falls Rotary Club, and another one from the KCL staff.

I’d also gotten seventeen thank-you notes in the mailbox from people all over the St. Louis area. One lady claimed that she’d seen a man who matched my drawing in her grocery store last week buying processed cheese crackers.

“I wondered at the time, but it makes sense now,” she’d written.

I figured that meant criminals must eat processed cheese crackers, and I asked DJ if I should add that to my Jailbird’s menu.

He said that in his experience, most of them seemed to prefer the peanut butter crackers over the cheese, but he’d also known of at least three high-profile crooks who were lactose intolerant, so maybe that threw off the count.

I added both cheese and peanut butter crackers to the menu.

DJ was driving us over in an unmarked black Tahoe, but it was definitely a police vehicle on the inside. Mom and I sat in the back, and Dad sat up front with DJ.

I was wearing a light blue and brown dress that was entirely too summery for the spring weather. My shins were getting cold. I’d put a brown sweater over my arms, but now I was wishing there was a way to put sweater sleeves over my legs without looking like a complete fashion accident.

I think those are called leg warmers, but in my experience, those were better left to the girls who thought Britney Spears was
a style icon and it was best for me to leave those alone. Particularly with a summer dress.

I’d never been to the mayor’s house before, but as we pulled through the gate leading to the huge front lawn, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the money to be made in politics.

“I had no idea he lived in such a huge house,” I said. “Tax dollars?”

“Family money,” Dad answered me.

Maybe it’s a life of schmoozing that pays off in the end. Mayor Arnold Walinski was a world-class butter-upper.

If that was a word.

DJ parked the car in front of the mansion and we all piled out, greeted by two guys whom I assumed were security and two dogs that I assumed were part pit bull.

“Miss Carter?” one of them said to me, putting out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. The mayor and his family have been looking forward to meeting you.”

We followed the man into the house and into a huge dining room. Mayor Walinski was standing there next to a bleached-blonde woman and two dark-haired kids who were probably in elementary school.

“Greetings!” Arnold Walinski said. “Welcome to my home!”

It was all very awkward. The bleached lady looked bored to tears, the kids were too busy poking each other for me to remember their names or them to remember mine, and dinner salads were busy wilting on the gold-circled china plates.

“Please, sit,” Arnold said, motioning to the table.

DJ stayed in the room, but he didn’t sit down, since there wasn’t a place setting for him. I started wondering if he felt like hired help.

“So, Kate, once again, I just want to say thank you for everything that you’ve done to keep our fair town in its safe environment,” Arnold said, while his wife picked at her salad and the kids threw olives at each other.

I’m not sure when people will finally realize that this was all a big accident and all I did was draw what I was told to draw.

“You are welcome,” I said, because it was starting to get old protesting.

And then we sat there in silence. Dad was done with his salad and Mom was finishing the last couple of bites. I was pretending to eat, but pushing it around instead. It was made with that bitter lettuce stuff and I was an iceberg kind of a girl.

Tasteless and crunchy. That was how I liked my lettuce.

A lady brought out the next course, which Arnold declared to be lamb.

And it looked like I was going hungry tonight, alongside DJ. There was no way I was going to eat a cute fluffy lamb, I don’t care how tender it was.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Arnold said, breaking the silence, chomping away. “Our cook is Grecian and she makes the most excellent lamb dishes.”

“Wonderful,” Mom said, lightly picking at it.

“So, tell me more about yourself, Kate,” Arnold said.

I looked up at him and shrugged. “I’m a junior.”

“I knew that. What do you like to do? Well, besides drawing, I mean,” he said, laughing.

What did I like to do? Between homework, Maddy, and E!, I didn’t have a lot of free time.

I shrugged again. “Hang out, I guess.” I was realizing that aside from art and championing for non-soggy Crispix, I had zero hobbies.

No one was ever going to describe me as a well-rounded student.

“Well, that’s very interesting!” Arnold burst. “Have you ever thought about a career in politics? Pretty much, you just hang out with people and try to garner their vote.” Then he laughed a creepy staccato laugh.

My dad just paused right in the middle of eating his lamb steak. “What about protecting our people from total government
control? What about campaigning on upholding the Constitution? What about freedom of the peoples?”

Politics were never a good dinner conversation when my dad was involved.

Arnold immediately went into apology/super schmooze mode. “Well, yes, yes,
of course
we have to work to protect the freedoms of the people. I was merely suggesting that Kate might be good at it considering her people skills and obvious good head on her shoulders,
never
that a politician’s only job duty was to hang out with people.”

“Uh-huh,” Dad said.

We finished the meal in near silence.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Arnold said after all the plates had been cleared. “My family really enjoyed getting to meet all of you.”

I wasn’t sure his family agreed with that assessment, but we nodded. “Thank you for having us,” I said.

Then we climbed back into the unmarked black Tahoe and headed back home.

“Kate, if you ever think of going into politics …” Dad threatened.

“He served lamb,” I said at the same time, getting sad for the poor fluffy baby.

“Those poor children are being raised in an atmosphere that is entirely inappropriate for proper growth,” Mom said.

DJ listened to all of us and then grinned. “Successful evening, I take it.”

“Could you please stop by Walton’s? I need a burger,” I said. I may not be able to eat lamb, but I can definitely eat beef. I think it has to do with calling the meat by a different name than what I call the animal.

DJ changed the direction he was driving.

“Politicians,” Dad muttered under his breath, using the same tone of voice he used when he talked about the Braille print on
ATM machines. Anytime Dad wanted to point out the direction he felt humanity was headed in, he always talked about Braille on drive-thru ATM machines. “If that’s not a straight shot toward stupidity, I don’t know what is,” he would say.

“Well, Kate, tomorrow is the May Day parade and I got word from Deputy Slalom that you can start talking to the press now. We’ve scheduled a press conference for tomorrow after the parade. How does that sound?” DJ asked.

It sounded like a day better off spent in the Pit of Despair, like on
The Princess Bride
, but I didn’t say that. “Fine,” I groaned.

DJ pulled into Walton’s drive-through and I told him I wanted a cheeseburger and fries and then passed him a five dollar bill.

“I’d like a cheeseburger, fries, and double-decker chicken sandwich,” he ordered.