Page 14 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
Dylan looks around the room. I should probably tidy up just a little bit. My weekend’s worth of clothes appear to have been breeding, and the babies are half-empty teacups.
“Why is your room so much bigger than mine when I’m older and, like, a foot taller?”
“You arenota foot taller.”
“Why do you want to embarrass yourself like this?”
Dylan stands up straight and I shuffle in so our backs are together, keeping an iron grip of terry cloth the whole time. Obviously, I don’t notice how he smells becausewe are related,but is that…licorice?
“Inches,” I say, “mere inches.”
“Half a foot, then. Still doesn’t explain why I got screwed on the room.”
“Is this why you’re here? To guilt me into swapping? It’s not going to work.”
“I dunno, how long hasthisbeen going on?” He points up at the overhead light, which, now that he mentions it, is flickering. Probably the same mouse that’s been crapping under my bed has gotten into the wiring. “Maybe I got the better deal? At least Gertie’s ghost isn’t trying to communicate with me in the creepiest way possible.”
“Way to go dark, Dylan. Just turn on the bedside lamp instead if it’s going to give you nightmares.”
“The lightsandthese creepy little demons?” He taps the glass that stands between me and the horror figurines, and I wonder if it’s too soon to suggest they get boxed up, along with some of GG’s other things. “I take it all back. Let me keep my cupboard, Uncle Vernon, please.”
“I know, right?”
Dylan is still looking at the figurines. “Do you think they run around at night when you’re sleeping?”
“Shut up. Also: Get out. I need to put on some clothes.”
“Wait.” He reaches out and actually grabs the end of my bathrobe cord, then drops his hand when he realizes what he’scaught. A red blotch appears on his neck. “Can we talk about what’s going on with,you know.Everything.”
“GG.”
“Yeah.” Dylan runs a hand through his hair, and in the old days this would have caused a bundle of curls to tumble into his eyes, but now it just messes up his hair a bit. A retrograde step, that haircut, even if he’s almost making it work. Ali will be bummed. (I’mbummed.) “What do you think happened?”
Nobody has asked me this obvious question I’ve been waiting for. Now that it’s here, though, it scares me. I stall.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think it was a stranger who broke in and attacked Gertie?”
“I guess.”
Dylan doesn’t say anything else, just lets the silence sit there, expanding to squeeze all the air out of the room. I hate it when he does that.
“There are a few things I don’t get,” I say, cracking like a suspect in a cop show who needs to move the plot forward.
“Like what?”
Am I doing this? I guess I’m doing this. I blame my reading habits. When all you read are crime novels, everyone seems like they could be a murderer. Or a detective. Dylan and I are still too close together, so I take a step back under the guise of retying my robe and perch on the end of the bed. Dylan sits back down too, right on top of the old T-shirt I slept in last night. I hold up a finger.
“Why would a burglar come to this house in particular?You can’t see it from the road, and it’s not like farmers keep a lot of cash and valuables lying around, even if this was still a proper farm. The most valuable stuff on a farm is, like, the land and the equipment, and that’s all gone except for the old tractor in the shed. GG doesn’t even have any livestock for a cattle rustler to steal.”
“Does anyonerustle cattlethese days? What movies have you been watching?”
I keep going with finger two. “How did they get here without anyone hearing a car—”
“There was a storm that night,” Dylan interrupts, unhelpful with his logic. “The thunder was pretty loud in my room.” I ignore him.
“—or seeing the headlights or anything?” I stick up my thumb, just to keep things fresh. “Why did they use a ladder to get into GG’s room instead of breaking in downstairs?” Do I need to mention I’m now sticking a fourth finger up or have you got it? “Why was there glass on theoutsideof the window if someone broke in?”
