Free If Fried Chicken Could Fly by Paige Shelton

the Debate Club together. When I’d gone off to college, Jake had stayed in town, made money in the stock market, and devoted himself to thetown’s Historical Society and his character. He’d been making noises like he was going to open a restaurant someday, but his plans never seemed well developed.
    I was glad to see the bike. Both the company and the help would be welcomed.
    I knew the doors were locked, and Jake wasn’t anywhere to be seen on this side of the school. I parked the car, grabbed the grocery bag, and peered into the cemetery. Jake was there, sitting on the ground, staring at a tombstone. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and his eyes were so focused forward that I wondered if he was meditating.
    “Jake!” I shaded my eyes from the sun.
    He blinked, looked my direction, and waved. “Isabelle. Come here.”
    I stepped over the low rope that separated the parking lot from the cemetery and walked carefully on the uneven ground, passing old tombstones, some simple, some ornate and beautiful. The cemetery groomers would be here soon to even out the grass and get rid of the weeds. I’d never taken a lot of time to study the criminals and victims of Broken Rope’s shady past, but some of the tombstones were interesting and even humorous.
    “What are you doing?” I asked as I reached him.
    He stood, brushed off his behind, and pointed at the tombstone he’d been next to.
    “Look,” he said.
    “It’s Jerome Cowbender. Well, his final resting place, that is. He died young.” The tombstone read: here lies jerome cowbender. 1872–1918. he could charm the ladies and the bank tellers, but he couldn’t shoot diddly.
    “I know. I mean, look what’s on top of the tombstone.”
    The tombstone was just an upright curved block of concrete that was worn and tilted slightly with time. I peered at the top slope.
    “There’s a coin there,” I said as I reached for it. Jake slapped my hand away.
    “Don’t touch it. It could be important.”
    “Important to what?”
    “I don’t know, but it doesn’t look like a normal coin. It’s an”—he counted—“octagon. Who would put such a thing here?”
    “It looks like a piece of gold,” I said. “You sure I can’t touch it and see if it’s real? It might just be a piece of plastic.”
    Jake debated silently for a moment, his bright blue eyes squinting in thought.
    “Let’s grab it by its outsides. Let’s not get fingerprints on the face or back of it.”
    “Why not?”
    He looked up at me, his eyebrows coming together. “There was a murder here last night, right?” I nodded. “Thanks for calling to share the scoop, by the way.”
    “Sorry, I’ve been distracted.”
    “Yeah, I heard about Cliff.”
    “No, I haven’t been distracted by Cliff!”
    “Anyway, there was a murder here. A gold coin on the tombstone could be evidence.”
    I didn’t make the same connection, but I honored his request and picked up the coin carefully and by its edges.
    “It feels heavy, substantial,” I said. “It’s not plastic, but I don’t know how to tell if it’s gold or not. Do you suppose it’s a doubloon or something fun like that?”
    “I don’t know what a doubloon is, but isn’t it more associated with pirates than bank robbers?”
    “You think this has something to do with Jerome?” I asked as we carefully transferred the coin from my fingers to his.
    “Maybe. It seems odd doesn’t it?”
    Suddenly I wondered if I was the subject of a prank, something Jake concocted to get back at me for not calling him last night.
    “Did you put this here?” I asked.
    “What? No, I saw Miz and Everett, the man who was killed—thanks again for letting me know about the murder—looking at this tombstone yesterday. I came out to see if I could see what they were looking at.”
    “You did? When? Tell me the details.”
    “Oh, now you want
me
to share?”
    “Jake, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I didn’t get home before four a.m. or so and I’m