“Of course,” said Brooke, and she set her backpack in a white wooden rocking chair. She pointed at the throw pillows decorating the head of the bed. “Honey, do you want the puppy side or the kitty side?”
“The puppy,” I said, dropping my backpack on the hardwood floor. She’d have the pink fluffy bed to herself, and I’d sleep on the floor with Boy Dog, blocking the door. Just like always.
We followed Ingrid back to the kitchen and gathered up trays full of baked goods—sliced banana bread and zucchini bread, plates of frosted sugar cookies, pans full of sheet cakes and brownies and bar cookies packed with chocolate chips.
“This would have taken a dozen trips on my own,” said Ingrid. “But now that I’ve got my own indentured servants, this whole process just got easier.” We balanced the trays and pans and plates carefully and walked out to load them in the car. Other neighbors were emerging from their houses, furtively, like groundhogs looking for their shadows, but one by one they began streaming up the road, on foot and by car. Even Beth was opening her door, as if spurred on by the actions of her neighbors, though from the looks of it she had yet to step outside. We sat in Ingrid’s car, holding the more precarious dishes in our laps, and she drove to the church.
“The town meeting’s here?” asked Brooke.
“Where else?” asked Ingrid. “It’s the biggest building in town outside of the school, and that doesn’t have air conditioning. Here we go.” She parked, and we carried the treats inside.
Corey Diamond was leaning against the wall, with Paul beside him, chatting with two girls about the same age.
Corey looked up as soon as we came in the room, watching us without any obvious emotion. Just like I would, I thought. He tracked us with his eyes as we walked across the room to a table and laid out Ingrid’s treats. The other three teens didn’t seem to notice his distraction.
“I’m going to head back and help Beth and Sara,” said Ingrid. “You two wait here—go talk to Paul, he’s a great kid. Did you meet him, too?”
“Briefly,” I said.
“Great,” said Ingrid. “Back in a jiff.”
She left, and Brooke and I stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to identify which people might be Corey’s parents. From the corner of my eye I could see him still staring at us.
“Does he know we know?” asked Brooke.
“We still don’t know anything for sure,” I said.
“Should we go talk to him?”
A hand clapped down on my shoulder, and I jumped a bit before turning and recognizing the pastor. “David and Marci,” he said. “Welcome back. Though I have to admit I never thought I’d see you again.”
Corey smiled at my startled jump and started walking toward us.
“We met Derek on Saturday night,” said Brooke. “When we saw him on the news we … well, we didn’t know him well, but he was nice to us. We thought we should come back and pay our respects.”
“Sweet,” said Corey. “That was really cool of you.”
“Corey,” said the pastor. “Have you met David and Marci?”
“Just once,” said Corey, smiling kindly. “The same night Derek was so nice to them.”
He knew we were lying and he wasn’t exposing us. Why not? What did he stand to gain by covering for us? And why did he think we were here, if he knew our stated reason was false?
The pastor looked at us again. “I’d like to speak with you later, if I could. I have an office here at the church and I’m here pretty much all day. Will you stop in some time?”
I tried to keep myself from looking suspicious. “What for?”
“Just a chat,” he said, and smiled again. “Looks like the police are here, I’m going to go get everything set up. You stick with Corey, he’ll show around.” The pastor walked toward the door, where four police officers had just arrived.
“So,” said Corey. “What do you want me to show you? You’ve already seen the movie theater.”
What should I say to him? I wasn’t expecting a direct confrontation so soon. We needed him on our side, so we had to be nice. And despite our antagonistic feelings, he’d never actually threatened us, at least not overtly. I was the one who’d done that.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” I said. “It had been a long, hard day.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Corey. He was still speaking politely, though his smile was gone. “You pulled a knife on my friend a full two days before he got sliced to ribbons. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
He spoke of the death—even joked about—so passively. Like it didn’t bother him at all. Just like I would.
“We didn’t do it,” said Brooke.