The Silence of Murder (8 page)

“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 island
in 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 says. “I can find out … if you want.”

Do I? Do I want to know?
Chase could find out. Maybe this is what T.J. meant about Chase being able to help us. “All I know is that Jeremy has got to be going crazy locked up in a cell.” I glance up because I didn’t mean to say “crazy.”

“They have to take good care of him, Hope,” T.J. says. But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Jeremy either, not really. He’s nice to Jer, but he never seems at ease around him. Most people are like that.

“Was Jeremy always like … like he is now?” Chase asks.

I frown at him and wonder if he really wants to know or if he’s trying to change the subject. Or if he’s working for his dad, the sheriff.

“Never mind,” he says quickly. “None of my business. I just … I don’t know. Seeing him in court every day, I wondered.”

“So why
are
you in court every day?” The question’s out before I can stop myself.

“You sound like my dad,” Chase says. “He’d just as soon I never set foot in the courthouse.”

“Yeah?” T.J. sounds surprised. “I thought he’d want you to be there. You know? So you two could talk over the case and how the trial’s going and everything?”

“Yeah, right,” Chase mutters. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a trial before. There wasn’t anything else to do, so I went. I guess once I started going, I got hooked.” The whole time, he’s been staring at his fingernails. Now he looks up at me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get personal, about Jeremy. You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

But the thing is, I do want to talk about Jer. Pretty much every thought I have goes back to my brother, so talking about anything else feels like a lie. “Jeremy has always been
special
. I know people say
special
so they don’t have to say
different
. But for me, it means something wonderful, like full of wonder. That’s what Jer’s always been. My brother could sit for hours and listen to birds sing, but he couldn’t sit for two minutes in most of his classes.”

Chase smiles. “He likes birds?”

“He loves their songs. But I think what Jeremy loves most is when birds and man-made things get along.”

Chase narrows his eyes. “You lost me.”

“Like birds on telephone wires, the way crows and jays seem so comfortable on wire made by people. Or gulls hanging out at shopping malls in Cleveland because of those white stone roofs that look like a beach, but that it works out because people leave food for the birds.”

“Only birds?” Chase asks.

“He loves our cat,” T.J. says. Then, as if he’s just realized his cat’s not around, he says, “Speaking of which, I better see where Whiskers got off to.” He slides out of the booth and heads for the door. “Be right back.”

There’s a minute of awkward silence with T.J. gone. I hear him in the backyard calling his cat. Finally, Chase breaks the silence. “I like dogs. Mom’s husband number two had a cat when he moved in, and he got a dog for Trey and me the only Christmas we had with them. Trey was my stepbrother … for maybe a year. How about you? Any pets?”

I shake my head. “Jeremy and I begged Rita for a pet, but we’ve never had one, except a puppy I can barely remember. Rita said we called it Puppy. Apparently, we were exceptionally original and bright toddlers.” He makes a low laughing sound that helps me breathe easier. “Puppy ran away, or got run over, or maybe found a family who’d give him a better name. When we moved here, there was a cat in the house we’re renting, but Rita called animal control on it.”

T.J. stumbles into the kitchen with his cat draped across both arms. Whiskers weighs more than a poodle. “She was eating the neighbor’s dog food again.” He sets the cat down and slides back into the booth.

Chase’s cell rings. He checks the number. “It’s my dad.”
He glances at T.J. and me. “Do you guys mind not talking for a minute?” He puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

It’s impossible not to eavesdrop, although we can only hear Chase’s end of the conversation:

“Just hanging out with friends.”

…

“Yeah, I did.” He rolls his eyes. “Easy, Dad. Dial it down, okay? The way those reporters went after her,
you
should have given her a bodyguard. Somebody had to do something. I just—”

…

“Will you listen?” Chase’s eyes are dark slits. “I said I—”

…

“I can’t come home now.”

…

“Because I’m in the middle of something.” He holds the phone away from his ear.

I can hear his dad yelling, but I can’t make out the words. I don’t think I want to.

Chase puts the phone back to his ear. When he gets a word in, he doesn’t raise his voice, but I get the feeling it’s taking everything he has not to. “Sorry. You’re right, Dad. I should have told you.” He listens for half a minute, the only sound his heavy breathing as his chest rises and falls. “All right,” he says. He flips his cell shut and squeezes it so hard his knuckles turn white. Then, without taking his eyes off the phone, he whips it across the kitchen floor.

Whiskers darts out of the kitchen.
I can’t blame her. T.J. and I exchange wide-eyed gazes. Neither of us says a word. Then T.J. gets up and retrieves the phone from across the room. “Still in one piece,” he offers.

Chase rubs the back of his neck and looks kind of sheepish. “Guess that’s one good thing, huh? Sorry about that. So now you’ve seen the famous Wells temper for yourselves. I’m really sorry … and embarrassed. It’s just … Sheriff Matthew Wells isn’t the easiest person in the world to live with, even for the summer.”

“Wish you’d stayed in Boston?” T.J. asks, sitting down again.

“Not really. There are a lot of things I like about Grain.”

“For instance?” I ask, glad the anger has gone back inside, where we can’t see it.

“I love hitching posts, for one thing. And the Amish buggies. Nobody back at Andover believed me when I told them
about the hitching posts everywhere—at the post office, the dollar store, even the car wash.”

“Jeremy rolls down the car window whenever we pass a buggy, just so he can hear the clip-clop. I love it too. I really didn’t want to move to Ohio. But when I saw those buggies tied out behind the thrift store the first day we got here, I changed my mind.”

“Let’s see. What else? I like that Dalmatian statue in front of the firehouse,” Chase says. “No idea why.”

I can’t believe he said that. “Jer and I used to walk out of our way to church so he could pet that concrete Dalmatian.”

Chase grins. “My dad is always on me about being too much of a city boy to be a real Panther. Guess this proves I’m not so different from you Grain guys after all.”

“Yeah, right,” T.J. mutters. He laughs, but it doesn’t sound real.

“Come on,” Chase says. “I’m into birds, cats, dogs, hitching posts, and buggies. And fire station Dalmatians. What more does a guy need to be a real Panther?” He looks at me to back him up. “Right, Hope?”

“Maybe,” I admit.

Chase turns to T.J. “See? Even Hope agrees I’m a regular Panther.”

T.J. still won’t go for it. “Yeah? Well, she must not have seen you at batting practice. None of the
regular
Panthers work that hard at it.”

T.J.’s got a point. I have seen Chase at practice. Jeremy and I watched him at the batting cages too. Talk about intense.

“I have to work hard,” Chase answers. “I don’t have your natural swing.”

“I don’t know about that,” T.J. says, obviously pleased.

“Do you play sports, Hope?” Chase asks.

T.J. laughs. I glare at him. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean you
couldn’t
play sports. You’d probably be great, if you ever stuck with anything long enough.”

It’s true, the part about not sticking with things. “So I’m a born quitter,” I admit.

“I find that hard to believe,” Chase says.

I stare over at him, wondering why he’d find that hard to believe.

“And regardless,” he continues, “I still say I’m no different from you two, or anybody else in Grain.”

I tilt my head, sizing him up. “I’ll bet you’re a morning showerer.”

“I shower in the morning, after my run.”

“But you’d shower in the morning even if you didn’t run,” I guess.

“Yeah. Is that important?”

“It is where we come from. Right, T.J.?” He nods, agreeing with me. “White-collar workers shower in the morning because they can,” I explain. “Blue-collars shower at night because they have to. They need to get the dirt and grime of the mine or factory off. I’m a night showerer by birth.”

Chase narrows his eyes at me. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. “Hope Long, you may be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

I have nothing to say to that. Neither does T.J. Nobody
has ever told me I was interesting, much less the most interesting person they’ve met. Maybe it’s a line he hands out. If it is, it’s a good one. Without thinking, I tug the rubber band out of my hair and free the ponytail Raymond wanted me to wear in court. My hair follicles tingle, thankful for the freedom.

Mrs. Bowers shuffles into the kitchen, a giant purse over one arm. “I’m sorry I have to leave.” She sets her purse down in the middle of the floor and reaches into a cupboard. “You children have to try these.” She brings down a box of cookies and takes out a plate. “They just came off the line last week—Monster Nuts and Chips.” She dumps the whole box onto the plate and sets it in front of us.

“Thanks, Mrs. Bowers.” I take one, even though I don’t like nuts. “That’s really nice of you.”

“It is,” Chase agrees, taking a big bite. “It’s great.”

T.J. keeps staring at the table. “Bye, Mom. Thanks. See you in the morning.” His voice is strained. His fingers clench and unclench.

The second his mother leaves, T.J. springs to his feet, grabs the plate of cookies, and takes them to the counter, where he puts every cookie back into the box.

“T.J.? Are you okay?” I’ve never seen him like this.

For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, without looking at me, he says, “I’m tired. It’s pretty late. I don’t think the TV van will still be at your house.”

I glance at the clock, amazed it’s almost ten. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” I scoot out of the booth. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for letting us come over.”

He nods, still not looking at me.

“I’ll drop you off,” Chase says, moving for the door. “Bye, T.J.”

T.J. doesn’t return the goodbye. Something’s going on, and I don’t know what.

When we’re outside, I turn to Chase. “What was that back there?”

He doesn’t answer until we’re in the car, pulling away. “I guess T.J. knows how to hold a grudge.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He didn’t tell you? It was stupid. At the last practice, Mrs. Bowers showed up with cookies—you know, from the factory? She said it was to get us ready for the big game with Wooster. People were bringing us all kinds of things, like we were headed for the Olympics. Anyway, soon as she left, one of the guys broke out laughing. We were all dead tired from practice. Before we knew it, we were all laughing—the cookies really are pretty bad. Then Coach said, ‘Let’s save the cookies and give them to the Wooster team. All’s fair in love and war.’ That did it. Everybody cut loose. I kind of thought T.J. joined in, but I guess I was wrong. We didn’t mean anything by it.”