I was basically under house arrest.
“It’s awful, Mackenzie!” I was sitting in my bedroom closet, video chatting with my cousin, who was at a lodge in Yellowstone. My father had taken away my cell phone again, but thanks to the fact that I’d kept my laptop hidden in my dresser drawer, he’d overlooked it. I kept my voice to a whisper since he was right downstairs. He’d set up a satellite office in the dining room now that I’d been deemed untrustworthy. “I can’t even go out in the yard!”
“Hang in there,” Mackenzie whispered back. “Your dad blows his top sometimes, but he’ll calm down eventually. He always does.”
I snorted. “Maybe by the time I’m twenty.” My laptop dinged just then, and I glanced at the incoming request. “It’s the PFPEs—gotta go.”
“Say hi to everyone for me!”
I promised I would, and we hung up. I clicked on the icon to answer the other call. “Hey!” I whispered.
My friends’ faces appeared onscreen. “Sorry you’re grounded again!” they chorused.
I gave them a wan smile. “I thought you’d be at Cherry Island by now.”
Cha Cha shook her head. “Not without you.”
“We’re going to head over to the Pumpkin Falls Farmer’s Market instead,” Jasmine explained. “We figured that would be a good place to show the photos of our suspects from the Four on the Fourth.”
“Somebody out there has got to recognize one of our suspects,” said Lucas. “I can’t believe we keep coming up empty-handed!”
Our suspects had dwindled to four people: the woman in the Red Sox baseball cap, the two teenage boys who locals thought might be from West Hartfield, and the older man in the Grateful Dead T-shirt and aviator sunglasses.
“Good luck,” I told my friends. “Keep me updated.” I told them to keep their eyes—and ears—out for any developments with Amanda Appleton, too, and then I hung up.
Bird-watching from my bedroom window killed some time, and I spent an hour practicing the piano. Miss Marple was at my heels as usual as I went back upstairs after that. She wasn’t at the bookstore today because she’d been to the groomer this morning.
“At least I have you for company,” I told her as the two of us settled onto my bed. Technically Miss Marple wasn’t allowed up there, but I needed at least one friend by my side. I put my arm around her and buried my face in her fur. She smelled good, like coconuts. The bookstore’s loss was my gain—Miss Marple was always fluffy and soft when she came back from the groomer.
I did a few sudoku puzzles and read another chapter in the book about eagles that I’d picked up at the library, but mostly I was bored. It was going to be a long summer if I had to spend it indoors.
By the following afternoon, I was still grounded and still bored.
The only bright spot was that between the rest of yesterday and most of today, I’d had plenty of time to help Hatcher practice his solo. We’d spent so much time at it, in fact, that our entire family knew the melody and words by heart. It was pretty catchy—more like a rap than a song. I’d overheard my mother singing it while she was washing the dishes last night, my father humming the tune at breakfast, and I’d even caught Danny, who between his summer job and hanging out with his girlfriend was hardly ever home except to sleep, whistling it to himself as he left on his late morning run.
Now I found myself whistling it, too, as I paced my bedroom. Miss Marple watched me anxiously, then clambered down from the bed and paced with me, whining. I had to find a way to be allowed out of the house! The chances of that happening, though, were slim to none. Not unless I could get my mother on my side, but that wouldn’t be easy. My parents liked to present what they called a “united front” when it came to discipline.
I had one thing going for me, though. My mother felt my father was being too harsh. I knew this because I’d overheard them talking in the kitchen last night, after they finished the dishes. I’d gone downstairs to get a snack—I was still allowed to eat, as far as I knew—and paused on the stairs when I heard their voices.
“First no swim team and now no bookstore? Seriously, J. T.?”
“It’s the principle of the thing!” my father replied stubbornly. My father was big on the principle of things.
“What’s True going to do without her? She really depends on Truly, you know.”
I could practically hear my father’s jaw clenching. “That girl needs to learn a lesson. No means no.”
Later, my mother had come upstairs to my room. “Hey,” she said, poking her head in my door.
“Hey,” I replied without enthusiasm.
She sat down on the end of my bed. “I’ve been so busy with summer school and work at the Starlite”—my mother had a part-time job at Cha Cha’s parents’ dance studio to help make ends meet—“that I feel like I haven’t had time to spend with you, Little O.”
Little O was her special nickname for me, short for Little Owl.
I lifted a shoulder.
“I’m sorry our plans got postponed by mermaid camp.”
“Mermaid academy,” I said automatically, and she laughed.
“You know what I mean. Anyway, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you. I promise we’ll squirrel away some mother-daughter time before you go back to school, okay?”
I nodded, and she leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “That’s my girl.”
She went back downstairs, leaving me to think about what she’d said. I recalled what my aunt had told me earlier, too, about my parents needing some time together. I felt a stab of guilt as I thought about how hard they were both working, my mother at her college
