Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“How do you know that?”
Glancing up again, I wait for him to realize I just ate his lunch.
“Jesus … you don’t know shit about the weapon, do you?” he asks.
“Weapon or tool? If the cause of death didn’t involve a weapon, then you’re merely looking for the tool that was used to remove the legs. Now … get out of here. When I know something that you need to know, I’ll let you know. Breathing down my neck won’t expedite anything.”
“Oh, Watts, I’m not breathing down your neck.” He heads toward the exit. “If I were, you’d feel weak in the knees.”
“Or … I’d vomit.” My comeback bounces off the door that shuts before my words stumble out of my mouth.
I hate him. He’s always one step ahead of me.
CHAPTER TWO
I met Josephine Watts the summer before fourth grade. While I wasn’t thrilled about moving to Des Moines, my dad landed the head boys’ basketball coaching job at the high school, and the cost of living allowed us to have a bigger house—aka my own bedroom.
“Better stay out of trouble,” Dad said, squeezing my shoulder as my older brother and I helped Mom unpack the dishes. “Our new neighbor is the Chief of Police. Just met him while he and his son were getting ready to go fishing. They hunt too.”
“Great. Neighbors who are gun obsessed,” Mom murmured.
“Not everyone hunts with a gun, Becca.” Dad slapped her butt like he did to his players. Then, he winked at me like I needed to take notes so I could slap my wife’s butt someday too.
“How old is their son? Do they have other kids?” Mom quizzed Dad. He opened the fridge as if some food fairy filled it before our arrival. No such luck.
“I don’t know if they have other kids. I didn’t ask. His son, Joe, is Colten’s age.”
“Really? My age?” I perked up. Hunting and fishing weren’t my favorite pastimes; in fact, I knew nothing about either one. However, the idea of making a friend before school started easing my anxiety a bit.
As soon as Mom dismissed me from helping her in the kitchen, I ran up to my room. Mine. It was all mine. No more bunkbeds. No more of Chad’s dirty underwear being tossed on my pillow, streak side down. No more “accidentally” breaking my Lego creations or wiping boogers on my baseball glove.
It took me the better part of the afternoon to get my room organized. Mom was a stickler on cleanliness, except with Chad. Apparently, his ADHD diagnosis gave him an exemption from hanging up his shirts and dumping his dirty underwear in the hamper.
I tacked up my final poster to the wall, Hank Aaron, while the neighbors pulled into their driveway. The police chief climbed out of the black pickup truck as his son jumped down from the other side. A fishing hat with dangling lures covered his head.
Tan, scrawny legs, baggy shorts, and a green tee—nothing like his intimidating father with shoulders twice as broad as my dad’s and calves the size of tree trunks. The kid had to be the runt of the litter. My enthusiasm lost momentum. My one friend for the first day of school wasn’t going to be the most popular kid, that was for sure.
With no lack of confidence, I headed downstairs and straight to the door. “Mom, I’m going to meet the boy next door.” Figured I might as well befriend him early. Without at least one friend, it was going to be a long summer. And I sure as heck wasn’t going to rely on Chad to entertain me. All he did was play stupid video games. I wasn’t sure his skin ever saw the sun.
“Don’t play with any weapons,” Mom replied.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay.”
Their garage door was open, and my steps faltered for a second when two freaky eyes peered at me. It was a deer head mounted to the garage wall. Before I could make it to the front door, it opened.
“Hi. Are you the new kid?” A girl in jean shorts and a pink tee grinned at me. Her teeth looked extra white behind her deep red lips and tan skin. Hair as black as my brother’s fingernail (the one Mom said might fall off) caught in the breeze and blew into her face as she peeled it away.
“Yeah. I wanted to meet your brother. I guess we’re going to be in the same grade.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
I stepped onto the stoop and shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “Haha. My dad already talked to your dad, so I know you have a brother. And I watched him get out of the truck a few minutes ago…” I turned to point at my window facing the street “…from my bedroom window.”