Beau had so many silent letters in his name that I often wondered what they were doing there in first place. And with Beau, it wasn’t a case of if he’d be trouble, but when. It was even rumored that he’d had a bump with the law sometime in the past month. We couldn’t call it an actual run-in, because the report had yet to be substantiated by the Feather sisters.
Liberty spit to the ground below. “Don’t worry ’bout Bo Peep. I’ve got your back.”
“I’m not worried about him. We just don’t…see eye to eye.”
“No one sees eye to eye with Beau,” said Justice. “He’s the shortest kid in class.”
That was because Beau was smarter than a whip and had skipped the fifth grade like a pebble across a pond, landing him in sixth grade with us last year. But brains didn’t make him friendly. And the odds that he’d gotten nice over summer were probably about as short as he was.
I pointed to a black garbage bag near the trunk Mama looked through. “Do something useful, Justice. Look in the bag.”
“The Knapps have been trouble since the word go,” Liberty said.
Justice glanced in my direction. “Of course, if Angus Knapp was my daddy, I might have a slant for trouble too. Your gramps knows all about that.” He opened the bag. “These are just purses, I think.”
A pit viper was friendlier than Angus.
According to the Feather sisters, Angus’s wife, Cordelia, contracted a rare form of leukemia and died shortly after Beau was born. Despite the fact Gramps tried everything, Angus never got over the fact she’d died under his care. Angus blamed Gramps. And he passed on his poisonous hatred of Gramps to his son.
“Wait. What is this? It’s not a purse.” Justice pulled out something orange and unlatched it. “Look, there’s a camera in here.”
“Hey! Let me see that.” I took it from his outstretched hands. “It’s Tabby’s!”
“How’d you know?” asked Liberty, coming up behind me.
I pointed to the TG on the lower right of the bag. “I recognize this from a photo I have of her and Gramps. I’ll show you later.” I pulled out the camera.
“Is there any film in it?” asked Liberty.
“I don’t know.” I flipped it over a couple times. I’d never owned a camera that took film. Was there a door or something?
“Let me at it,” said Justice, taking it from my hands. “We used film cameras in yearbook last year. They weren’t this old, but at least I know how to check for film.” He peered through a small window at the top. A grin spread across his face. “Dude! There’s a roll.” Seconds later, he slid the film canister into his jean pocket. “I’ll take it to school Monday. Mr. Donato will let me use the darkroom.”
“Just be careful,” I said. “Those are the last photos Tabby ever took. Maybe they’re of her and Gramps. Or even baby pictures of Dad!” I grinned as an awesome idea sunk in. “Christmas is a ways off still, but how cool would it be to give Gramps those pictures?”
“Very cool,” said Liberty.
“I’ll be careful. I promise,” said Justice.
* * *
That night I pulled out my list of questions and added another. Justice’s words had haunted my thoughts for most of the afternoon and evening. I couldn’t shake the feeling what he said about police suspecting the spouse might actually…be true.
5. Is Gramps a suspect?
Chapter 12
On Monday morning, my alarm clock shrilled, startling me out of a hard sleep.
The soft thud of a cupboard door closing followed by the clink of coffee mugs meant Mama and Gramps were moving around downstairs. The promise of fresh hot coffee had me shuffling faster toward the kitchen. Mama had let me taste my first sip of joe when I was ten, and I’d been slurping it ever since.
“Morning.” I poured myself a cup, added some milk, and dropped in a couple ice cubes to cool it down faster, then joined Gramps and Mama at the table.
Gramps hid behind the opened pages of the Windy Bottom Breeze, but managed to grunt a greeting.
“Good morning, yourself. Happy first day of school,” Mama said, layering her toast with a spoonful of strawberry preserves that had been most likely brought over Friday by some well-intended gossipmonger. “Glad you’re up. We need to have a family talk.”
Gramps folded the paper down. He glanced at the watch. “Bit early for a talk. The sun’s barely opened its eyes.”
“Harley, you know as well as I do this place breeds gossip faster than bacteria in a dead catfish. We need to be prepared.”
“For what?” I took a gulp of coffee.
“For the likes of the Feathers sisters for one. And Suds O’Leary. And Burma. And every other living soul in Windy Bottom.” She tapped the table with her finger. “There’s going to be gossip flying around until they find out what exactly happened to Tabby. People come crawling out of the woodwork when news like this breaks.” She pointed to the newspaper. “I wouldn’t be surprised if reporters showed up at the store. You never know.”
“As long as they don’t show up on our doorstep.” Gramps took a long draw from his coffee cup. “What do you suggest?”
She crossed her arms. “It’s been three days. By now everyone from here to Atlanta will have heard. You might want to stay home today, Harley. Give yourself time to mourn without the whole town gawking.”
She had a point. The sound barrier could be broken from the speed gossip flew around Windy Bottom—particularly creepy gossip.
“Don’t worry about me, Delilah. I’ll mourn her when I’m ready. The staring, the talking—both in front of and behind our backs—they’re to be expected.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “We need to show a united front. I say we just carry on the way we always have.”
Mama bit her lip. “So your grand plan is to do nothing?”
“Well,” Gramps stroked his chin. “Yes, I guess it is. But that’s the point. To show everyone that nothing’s changed. Same old, same old.”
“Business as usual?” I said, finishing off my coffee.
“I say we just ignore them. Maybe they’ll go away,” Gramps muttered. “I’m going to get dressed for work.”
Mama rolled her eyes. “We don’t want them to go away. They’re our customers.”
I stood to take my mug to the sink, but Mama reached across and grabbed my hand. “Coop, the gossiping and such, it isn’t only going to be at A Latté Books and around town. It’ll be at school. Today’s the first day too. Just be aware, okay, sugar?”
“Sure.”
She squeezed my hand. “Don’t let it get to you.”
I could handle it.
* * *
Flying alongside the news of the skeleton being Tabby was a rumor that the police had removed the crime scene tape but were still asking questions. And as much as I wanted to see if that was true, the unfortunate fact was the school year had officially ended my summer.
I skidded into Miss Grupe’s class five minutes after the bell rang. The gray linoleum floor was as ugly as ever. But I loved it, because Gramps had gone to school here and so had Dad. Their memories lived in those scuffs, scrapes, and gouges on the floor.
Miss Grupe was focused on a stack of papers on her desk and hadn’t seen me come in late. She might not have even noticed if it hadn’t been for Marla-Laine’s big mouth. Gramps always said to focus on the positive in people and nobody’s perfect, but that was hard when dealing with Marla-Laine. She had about as much positivity as a defunct battery.
“Shhh! Everybody, Cooper’s here.” She whispered it loud enough the classroom next door could’ve heard. “His grandmother is the you-know-what at the old playground.”
Heat rushed to my face. I bet my cheeks matched the color of the red bricks on the outside walls of the school.
“How nice of you to join us today, Mr. Goodman.” Miss Grupe looked up from the school
forms blanketing her desk and repositioned her glasses. Two tufts of hair near her forehead stuck straight up, making her look like a great horned owl.
“Yes ma’am,” I stopped inside the doorway and tried hard not to stare at her head. “My alarm clock tends to get on the lackadaisical side during summer.”
“No tardy detentions the first week, Cooper, but please inform your alarm clock that summer is over.” She peered over her glasses and smiled.
“Yes ma’am.” I shifted my feet. “But it’s just Coop, remem—”
Justice ran into my back, shoving me forward. “Sorry, Coop.” He faced the great horned owl. “My alarm clock lacks a daisy too, Miss Grupe, ma’am.” Then muttered, “Though truthfully, I’m not sure what a flower has to do with—”
Liberty walked in behind him, yanked the dictionary from his pocket, and smacked him on the head with it. “Coop said lackadaisical, not lacks a daisy.”
Justice took it from her hand.
Liberty leaned around his shoulder. “No, no, it’s l-a-c-k, not l-a-x.”
We’d all had Miss Grupe in sixth grade, so she was already familiar with our shortcomings.
“Ah-ha. Found it.” Miss Grupe yanked a piece of paper triumphantly from the pile. She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at us. “We’ll be sure to work on lots of vocabulary for you this year, Justice.”
Justice swallowed. “Please don’t go out of your way just for me, ma’am.”
Miss Grupe chuckled. “It’s no trouble at all.” She winked.
To say that the relationship between school and Justice was precarious was akin to saying the Titanic hit an ice cube.
Lib met Miss Grupe’s amused gaze. “I fear vocabulary’s gonna be the death of him, Miss Grupe.”
She smiled. “Well, we certainly don’t need any more deaths. One body in this town is plenty.” The smile dropped from her face. “Oh, dear. Coop—I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. “How’s your grandfather holding up?”
“It’s okay, Miss Grupe. Gramps is fine.” I puffed my chest out. “Just business as usual.”
“Hmmm. Glad to hear it.” She nodded and faced the class. “Recent local events are not up for discussion in my class. Are we clear on that, everyone?”
Marla-Laine examined her fingernails.
We made our way to desks near the window.
Justice nudged me. “Mr. Donato gave me permission to use the darkroom tomorrow after school.” He dropped his books on his desk. “He’s still waiting for some supplies to be delivered.”
“Perfect. I’ll meet you there.” I claimed the desk in front of him. A strategic move. We had learned the year before that it was easier to communicate front to back than side to side. Plus, sitting in the corner front row was safer. Beau Knapp tended to claim the rear of the room as his territory.
We headed to the back to stow away our school supplies.
The classroom—like last year’s—was mind-numbingly beige except for Miss Grupe’s well-intentioned attempt, which fell flatter than the paint on the walls, to add color by taping posters on any available surface. She even had a poster for the police clothing drive hanging on the far wall.
The back of the room was lined with cabinets and bookshelves. A wall of windows on one side overlooked the playground for the lower grades. Miss Grupe’s desk sat up near the front. Dead Fred, the plastic skeleton used for science, hung on his stainless steel stand in the corner, next to the state flag of Georgia and the American flag. As much as I liked school, seeing Dead Fred made me wish the day was done and we were already at the playground checking out the crime scene.
I yanked open the lunch cabinet and tossed my lunch box in.
Ambrose Whiting and Marcus Brown huddled at the bookcases in the back of the room. Ambrose held something in his hand, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Knowing those two, it was a toss-up between a bullfrog or a snake. Wildlife was their curiosity; wildlife in the classroom was their specialty.
Mackenzie McDaniel organized the Kleenex boxes by color. If vocabulary were to be the death of Justice, an obsessive-compulsive disorder on color arrangement would be the undoing of Mackenzie. She paused, a maroon box of tissues in hand.
“With the reds or the purples?” Her forehead wrinkled.
“I’d wedge it between the end of the purples, but the beginning of the reds,” I said. “It’s a good compromise.”
She looked up. “Thanks, Coop.” She glanced toward the front of the room where Miss Grupe stood talking to Marla-Laine, then leaned toward me. “And I’m sorry to hear about your granny. That’s pretty rotten.”
I handed her my box of Kleenex, which was an easy navy blue. “Thanks.”
“All right, class,” Miss Grupe said. “Thank you for putting away your supplies. Take your seats, and we’ll begin our first day as seventh graders. Please answer when I call your name.” She looked at her attendance list but didn’t need to.
Windy Bottom was small enough that kindergarten through eighth grade all met in the same redbrick two-story building. The student population wasn’t exactly booming, and there hadn’t been a new kid in our class since I’d arrived five years ago.
“Silas Vincent.” She glanced up from her list. “How’s your goat, Silas?”
“Jeffrey’s great. He hasn’t eaten anything weird in a while.” His brow scrunched with thought. “Actually, now that I think about it, I am missing my umbrella.”
A small laugh escaped from Miss Grupe. “Well, hopefully it won’t rain until you can locate it. Marcus Browning?”
“Here.”
“Marla-Laine Willis?”
“Present,” Marla-Laine said. She unfolded her hands and plumped her blond curls. “And may I say you’re looking particularly lovely today, Miss Grupe.”
“Thank you, Marla-Laine.”
“Bootlicker,” Liberty muttered.
The Willises were the most prominent family in Windy Bottom, proven by the fact Willis Street was named after them. Their ancestors helped build the town, though the idea that a Willis ever participated in manual labor was a hard pill they’d just as soon choke on than swallow.
Miss Grupe continued down the list. “Ambrose Whiting?”
“Here.”
Miss Grupe ticked off his name. “Take the bullfrog outside, Ambrose.”
“But it’s Murphy,” he hollered.
“Who’s Murphy?” Miss Grupe asked.
He held up the bullfrog. “My brother’s pet. He don’t know I got Murphy, and if I lose him, he’ll cream my corn!”
“He doesn’t know I have Murphy,” corrected Marla-Laine.
“You don’t got him. He’s right here,” said Ambrose, clearly confused.
Marla-Laine swiveled around in her chair. “There’re tree stumps with IQs higher than yours, Ambrose.”
“Don’t pick on him,” Liberty said, eyeballing Marla-Laine. “Grammar’s always had the upper hand with Ambrose. It’s like vocabulary is with Justice.”
“She’s got a point,” said Justice.
“Enough!” Miss Grupe rolled her eyes. “Please bring Murphy to me.”
“I’d be happy to, Miss Grupe.” Ambrose stood. “He just peed in my hand.”
Half the room erupted in laughter, while the other half squealed ewww.
Miss Grupe sighed and scanned the room. “Put him in that empty shoebox for the day, and Ambrose?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“No animals tomorrow please.”
“Aww.” Ambrose plopped Murphy into the shoebox, set the lid on, and put it next to his desk.
“Cooper Goodman.”
“Here,” I answered. “And it’s just Coop, Miss Grupe.”
She smiled. “That’s right. I forgot.”
Miss Grupe almost made it through the rest of roll call before Be
auregard Knapp ruined my day by showing up. He’d grown taller over the summer. Maybe the added height had stretched away some meanness.
Miss Grupe arched a brow and watched Beau slump toward the back row.
“Before you settle in, Mr. Knapp, I think I’ll have you sit up front this year.” She punctuated the sentence with a firm smile.
He stopped midway down the aisle and slowly turned. His steely dark eyes scanned the front row. The moment he saw me, his face hardened.
Liberty swore under her breath again as he made his way to the front.
“Hey, Chicken Coop,” he sneered, sliding into the empty desk on my right. “I bet ya missed me as much as your granny missed a decent burial.”
* * *
After school, Liberty, Justice, and I rode our bikes to the abandoned playground to see if rumors about the crime scene tape being taken down were true. If so, the construction crew would be returning to work soon, and then we’d never get a chance to see the gravesite. That wasn’t an experience I was willing to pass up.
Some of the construction equipment had been moved, but nothing else had changed since Thursday.
“We’d better be quick.” I dropped my bike to the dirt. A torn edge of the bright yellow crime scene tape was caught in the bark of a giant oak tree next to me and flittered in the breeze. “If we’re late to the bookstore, you can bet our folks will know we’ve been here.”
“I’m willing to take my time.” Liberty kicked a ball of dirt and watched it break apart. “The sooner I show my face, the sooner Mom’s going to start blabbing about the Generational Tea. Just the thought of having to wear a dress—a matching dress with Mama at that—is enough to make me want to hurl.”
The Generational Tea was a Windy Bottom event steeped in tradition—sort of like the Cow Patty Bingo Plop, but supposedly more refined. Every year, on Labor Day, the Windy Bottom Compassion League sponsored a tea party. Grandmas, mothers, and daughters would dress the same, sip tea, and eat cookies. Or at least that’s what Justice and I had been told. Given the fact we weren’t girls, we’d never been invited. Given the fact Liberty had to wear a dress, she wished she had never been invited.
Coop Knows the Scoop Page 6