Free The Big Chili by Julia Buckley Page A

said. “I learned this week that one of the kids’ mothers is leaving his dad for the father of a different kid in the same school. It’s embarrassing, the things some people do,” she said.
    â€œYeah. While they’re telling their children to lead moral lives.”
    â€œExactly.” Jenny and I exchanged self-righteous expressions, and then I shrugged.
    â€œI can’t really judge anyone. I did something bad.”
    This got her interest. She had been prying apart frozenFrench fries to set on a baking sheet. Now she paused and looked me in the eye. “What happened?”
    I told her the tale: Bingo. Alice Dixon. The chili. Detective Jay Parker. How the fact that I sometimes made food for her school events and allowed her to let on she had made it herself was actually something I did for a lot of people—and something I had done for Pet Grandy.
    Jenny pursed her lips, finished her French fries, and put them in the oven. “So what’s the big deal? You’re clearly not a murderer. And you said the cops don’t suspect your friend. So you’re in the clear.”
    â€œBut I lied, Jenn. To the police.”
    â€œYou didn’t
lie.
You just didn’t tell them a detail, because it has no relevance.”
    I sighed. “See, you’re just defending me now because you’re my friend. But I have to tell them, don’t I?”
    She was working on the package of hot dogs now. The things some people ate. . . . “Well, clearly it’s bugging you, Li. So why not go to the cops now and say you couldn’t tell them because your friend’s reputation would have been ruined, and could they please keep it under their hats.”
    â€œYeah, I don’t know if the police make promises like that.”
    â€œYou should not tell,” said Henry, standing in the doorway with a stern expression on his little face. He had a tiny chocolate mustache that made him look like a wise Poirot.
    â€œHenry, kindly stop eavesdropping and go back to your clay.”
    â€œI’m not ebesdropping. I was just listening. And you wouldn’t want to make that lady sad and lose all of her friends. They all like her because they think she’s a good cooker, butthey would all be mean to her if they found out she was pretending. This is like an episode of
Arthur
,” he concluded.
    I didn’t watch
Arthur
, but it was disheartening to know that my life resembled the plot of a children’s cartoon.
    â€œIt’s not that simple, Henry.”
    He looked disappointed. Jenny started frying her hot dogs in a pan. How had I never noticed her minimal culinary skills when we lived together?
    Jenny wanted to talk without her nephew around. She pointed away from us. “Hen, go look in the floor of my closet. I need one of the skeins of yarn from in there. It’s blue. Oh, and there might be some old toys there that I was going to throw out. You can check them out, see if you want them.”
    Henry disappeared so quickly that I wondered if I had seen him at all. Then he was back, restoring my belief, holding two plastic-sealed action figures and
not
a skein of blue yarn. “These are brand-new Batmans,” he said, breathless and mildly indignant. “Why would you throw dese guys away? I like guys like dese!”
    Jenny shrugged. “Okay, okay. I guess they’re yours, then, buddy. Maybe those two action guys would like to fight your blob monster.”
    This was clearly the best idea Henry had heard all day. I helped him open the ridiculous hard plastic packaging, and he carefully removed the Batman and the Robin toys, along with their plastic accessories, then disappeared into the dining room.
    â€œDinner in ten minutes, Henry,” Jenny called.
    There was no response, but we could hear distant sounds of battle, which were mainly a series of
Aaaaaaghhhhh
noises.I did hear one “That is hideous!” and a warning that someone