Page 18 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

She mutters something unintelligible under her breath, but a second later I hear the sound of paper ripping.

I get some water from the tap and then turn back to Juniper. “What is it?” I say.

Her frown has deepened, her brows pulled low, blue eyes narrowed. “It’s…an invitation.”

“To…?” I say, taking a drink.

“To the Homecoming dance.” She looks utterly bewildered, and I don’t blame her.

“What do you mean?” I say, because she’s not making sense.

“Wow,” she says, looking over the piece of paper she’s holding. “So the high school hands out fancy-pants cardstock invitations to Homecoming now? Back when I was there, they just told us not to spike the punch and called it good.”

“We receive a decent amount of donations from the community,” I say vaguely. It’s just one of several reasons I don’t like Lionel Astor’s promise to divert funds away from welfare programs and toward schools if he becomes governor. That might be great for other places in Idaho, but Autumn Grove doesn’t need it.

I hold my hand out to Juniper, and she passes me the paper without hesitation.

“See?” she says. “Inviting me to Homecoming.”

She’s right. It doesn’t make sense, but she’s right. I recognize the invitation; I think every household with students got one. I’m pretty sure I threw mine away. I hold it up, looking it over.

“Oh,” Juniper says suddenly, moving closer until she’s right in front of me. “There’s something on the back.”

I turn the piece of cardstock over. There, printed in the same round, loopy writing, is one line:

Meet me at Solomon the Spud after the dance if you’d like to hear about your parents!

For one long second, both Juniper and I just stare at the invitation. The only sound in the kitchen is the steadyplunk, plunk, plunkof the dripping faucet; I reach over blindly and jam the handle more firmly into place, and the plunking stops. Then we’re left in complete silence.

There’s a tension that’s flooded into the room, though I’m not sure why; the quiet feels suddenly alive. So I turn my head slowly to look at Juniper—and immediately find the source of the tension I noticed.

Because she’s only lived here for a day, but Iknowshe wasn’t this pale when I walked in. Her mouth hangs slightly open, her lips parted, her brow furrowed.

I rack my brain, trying to remember what I know about Juniper’s parents. Search as I might, though, nowhere in my memories can I find anything about a father.

“I always got the impression your dad was out of the picture,” I say finally, when the silence has eaten away my last nerve.

“He is,” Juniper says faintly, sounding dazed. “I don’t even know who my father was.” Then she looks at me, wide-eyed, and says one more thing:

“Who the cuss is Solomon the Spud?”

6

IN WHICH JUNIPER PONDERS THE SEXINESS OF LEANING

As it turns out, Solomon the Spud is the mascot of Autumn Grove High School. Back in my day—saying that makes me sound like a grandmother griping about how easy kids today have it, but whatever—the potato mascot didn’t have a name. I’m not sure what naming him accomplished, but I guess it’s good they’ve got something to call him now instead of justthe school potato, which is what we always said.

“What does that mean, though?” I say to Aiden now. “How do you meet someone at a potato?” We’ve moved from the kitchen to the living room, where he’s sitting in a straight-backed chair while I’m lounging on the couch. I don’t know why anyone would choose to sit when they can sprawl, but to each their own.

Aiden sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. “It probably means the statue behind the school. There’s a Solomon statue on the opposite side of the track, back next to the trees.”

My mind is still reeling, nebulous tendrils stretching this way and that, but one concrete thought emerges. “A potato statue feels wholly unnecessary,” I say.

“I agree,” Aiden says, nodding. “But no one asked for our opinions, so there is indeed a statue of Solomon the Spud.”

That…might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

And this whole situation is completely bizarre. What the heck is going on right now? Someone wants to tell me about my parents? Usually anonymous notes are mysterious or threatening; this one really isn’t. It sounds like someone is trying to be friendly and helpful, judging by the wording. They even used a little heart instead of a dot at the bottom of the exclamation point.

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