Free The Silence of Murder by Dandi Daley Mackall Page B

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. Nobodyhas 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.”
    I feel bad for T.J. He loves his family, and so do I in a way. More than once, I’ve shown up on the Bowers’s doorstep after a bad fight with Rita. They always welcome me, feed me, and ask no questions. But I guess I’m not that surprised that T.J. didn’t tell me about what happened with his mom and the team. We’re