Free The Pumpkin Thief: A Chloe Boston Mystery by Melanie Jackson Page B

let go, but he no longer seemed like my bratty cousin I was supposed to be nice to. He had turned into a devil and I bit longer and harder than I should have.
    On the run again, this time I didn’t stop until I was outside and in my mother’s arms.
    “Sweetie, what happened to you?” my mother asked using her overly-concerned voice that meant she was as frightened as I was. Dabbing at my mouth she wiped away several spots of blood. Horrified, she asked: “Did something hit you while you were in there?”
    I was too scared to answer. Instead, I buried my face back in my mother’s arms. After some time I allowed her to examine me further. That’s when we discovered that in my shear terror I had peed my pants. Fortunately, I was still too scared to be embarrassed or ashamed. The embarrassment and shame came later.
    I noticed that Todd didn’t take his coat off even in the car. He didn’t want my mom to see his arm. After all, it hadn’t been my blood that Mom wiped off my face.

    I stopped just outside the entrance to the maze. It smelled the same. It looked almost the same though I was a little taller now. It seemed unfair that I was still short enough to enter without stooping.
    My breath was audible and leaving puffs of white in the air. Blue whined, asking why I would go in that place when I didn’t like it. That was a good question. I had to be brave in the line of duty— and I had been the night we found Hector Sayer’s body. But there was no reason to go into a dripping hay maze at a turkey farm when I was all alone.
    “Come on, Blue,” I said, turning away. “It’s time for something hot to drink.”

Chapter 9

    I was a little heavy eyed when I arrived at the station the next morning and I wasn’t looking forward to lunch with Mom. I’m on the sunny side of thirty but Mom is beginning to worry about me reaching some unstated sell-by date and failing to give her grandchildren. Which, to be honest, I am not sure that I want anyway. Mom does not understand this. Heredity plays games sometimes and I am nothing like my parents who are pretty normal, I think. Instead I’m a short bit of doggerel wedged between lengthy sonnets. Or maybe I mean proverbs. Anyhow, the other difference between us is my uncertainty about how good a parent I would be.
    At least the rain had stopped and we were having one of the crisp days when the sky is so bright that it hurts to look at it and the comforting smell of wood fires floats on the air.
    Jeffrey was waiting for me with a cup of coffee and questions about the investigation and I told him about my trip to Roosevelt. I considered going by the chief’s office to tell him about my adventures too, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be happy about my unauthorized trip up the hill. He knew that David was trying to find the Burns heir and he had a name— and presumably some records if the kid was in trouble with the law as often as the locals claimed. I decided that keeping a low profile would be best.
    But just as I was leaving the building I heard the chief calling for me. For one moment I thought about pretending to be deaf, but then decided that this was probably one case where retreat would not be the better part of valor.
    “Come in for a second,” the chief said. “Close the door.”
    Lardhead Gordon and Bryce were both staring at me, one with jealousy and one with speculation.
    “What’s up, Chief?” I remained standing but Blue sat. She recalled that the chief had shouted that particular instruction last time we were in his office. He had been yelling at me, but Blue had a good memory and was taking no chances.
    “Boston,” the chief said casually. “Do you know who’s going to win the game on Sunday?”
    “The game?” My mind was momentarily blank. “You mean the football game?”
    “Yes.” His eyes were bright.
    I exhaled slowly.
    “Chief, I’m not really psychic. I deduce things based on evidence and statistics, and I can’t see the future.”