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Thanksgiving greeted us with a blustery morning that saw the leaves falling from the trees as if they rained down from the clouds. A welcome change from the seemingly constant rain we’d had over the past week or so.
I awoke early and quietly slipped down to the kitchen to find it empty, even though the turkey was already in the oven. After pouring myself a cup of coffee and adding an ample amount of amaretto creamer, I returned to my room and watched the dancing leaves on the breeze from my window seat with the case details on my mind.
There was something there I was missing. Mr. Hernandez and Ms. Brooks were now atop our suspect list, but it didn’t quite feel right. I hadn’t met Ms. Brooks yet, but even so, could these two people be so intent on hiding their affair that they’d plot to murder over it? Even going so far as to hire a killer to commit the crime? I supposed Hernandez wouldn’t want the rumor getting back to his wife, who made the money that gave him the type of lifestyle he wouldn’t want to lose.
Still, it seemed unlikely. Especially given the fact that the rumor was already out there, moving between the gossipers like a cold virus spread among co-workers. Was it revenge, then? Maybe. I hoped an interview with Ms. Brooks would shed some light on things one way or the other. Mr. Hernandez was clearly not willing to talk about his affair, but maybe she would.
I was lost in my thoughts when I heard a knock at my door, and my mother poked her head inside. “The parade is about to start. And so is the cooking. Are you ready?”
“Yes. Let’s do it.” I could use something to distract my busy mind for a while.
Down the stairs and to the kitchen, Mom had the parade coverage on, and the TV turned so that it was facing the kitchen. We always agreed that we loved the floats and balloons more than the lip-synced performances. Mom’s favorite was Snoopy, and even though I was seventeen, I always loved to see Santa Claus on his sleigh at the end of it all.
“Okay,” my mother announced, “If you start working on the apple pie, I’m going to prepare the deviled eggs and green bean casserole.”
“Got it.”
I pulled the apples from the fridge, our apple slicer from the drawer, a one-gallon baggie, and a paring knife, then went to work at the far end of the island.
“So, you’re sure Jason and his father are coming?” Mom asked as she went to work peeling hard-boiled eggs.
“As far as I know, yeah,” I replied, dropping a long ribbon of apple peel on my cutting board. “Do me a favor, and don’t mention our little investigation to Jason’s dad?”
“He doesn’t know?” Mom said, eyeing me with suspicion.
“No. He’s been out of town. Plus, I don’t think he has his ear to the grapevine in this town. From what I can tell, he’s kind of a workaholic.” One apple down, on to the next.
“He works at the university, right?” Mom scooped egg yolk into a bowl and asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“What does he do there?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Some kind of research.”
“Don’t you think he should know about your investigation?” Mom questioned, cracking another boiled egg on the counter and peeling the shell into the trash.
“Yes. And we’re going to tell him this weekend,” I explained. “We just didn’t want to do anything that would ruin his Thanksgiving.”
There was a long pause at this before my mother finally conceded. “All right. My lips are sealed. Don’t forget to let your father know when he wakes up.”
“I won’t.” But I would have had she not reminded me.
“Can I ask how it’s going?” There was a look in Mom’s eye now that said she was anxious for an update, although she was trying hard to hide it behind the passing curiosity she feigned.
I shrugged, unwilling to give away my little adventure with Mr. Fender the day before. “Okay, I guess. We thought we had a solid suspect, but now I’m not so sure. And the next two on the suspect list seem like pretty flimsy candidates as well.”
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.” My mother suggested... Mrs. Obvious.
I pushed down on the slicer, and it moved easily through another apple. “Exactly what I was thinking. That’s why I need to interview Mr. Kenilworth. I’m betting he could shed some light on what was going on with his wife in those final weeks before she died.”
Mom stopped what she was doing and stared at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m still worried about this,” she confessed, pointing a de-yolking spoon at me sternly. “You guys may snoop around the wrong person and find yourselves in serious danger.”
“Mom, we’re being super careful,” I assured her, fighting hard against an eye roll. “You know, investigators who work crimes after they’re committed face far less danger than uniformed officers.”
“But if there really is a killer out there, and he finds out you three are getting close to exposing him...” I suddenly wished for my mother’s curious side to resurface.
“I know. Believe me, I’ve thought about that. That’s why we’re taking every precaution. The minute we uncover something solid, we will get the police involved.”
My mother looked doubtful but changed the subject. “Oh, there’s Snoopy.”
I turned to the TV to see the famous beagle floating along in a superhero costume. The wind seemed as though it would carry the balloon away, along with all those freezing people trying to control it.
“I’d love to see this parade in person,” I murmured mostly to myself, but my mother heard it anyway.
“Me too. Maybe we can convince your father to take us next year. But you know how he hates those big crowds.”
He was not a fan, this was true. “So, we’ll go without him.”
My mother chuckled. “Two beautiful women alone on the streets of New York City. You’re too brave for your own good, you know.”
“And you’re too paranoid,” I pointed out.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
I finished peeling and slicing all of my apples and mixed them in the baggie with flour, sugar, and apple pie spice. “Per capita, New York City has a lower murder rate than Indianapolis or Louisville.”
“Is that true?” The surprise was evident in her voice.
“It is. I’ve done my research.”
She considered this a moment. “Okay, fine. We’ll make a pact right now. Next year, you and I are going to the parade in person.”
She held out her hand, and we shook on it. “I’m in.”
“And if your dad complains, he can stay in the hotel room, and we’ll go without him.”
I laughed at this. “Sounds like a plan.”
We continued to cook throughout the morning. Luckily, we had a double oven installed in the kitchen a few years before, and my apple pie was able to go in right away. I then went to work on the mashed potatoes, and by the time Santa Clause came drifting down the street to round out the parade, the food was nearly done, and my father appeared to prepare for the first football game of the day.
“The entire house smells fantastic,” he commented, entering the kitchen and planting a kiss on my mother’s cheek. “Holly, is that your famous apple pie I smell intertwined with the succulent scent of roasting turkey?”
“That it is,” I sang.
“I can’t wait,” he grinned, rubbing his hands together.
By three o’clock, the table was set, and all the food was finished. I helped Mom lay everything out on the island, and my heart skipped a beat when the doorbell rang. I hurried to the sofa, leaned in, and whispered into Dad’s ear. “Please don’t mention the investigation.” Then zipped away before he could respond. He stared after me with mouth agape. I rushed to the door and opened it to find Jason waiting with his father and little sister.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I called. “Please come in.”
Jason stepped inside. He carried a stoneware dish that smelled amazing.
His father smiled at me. “Thanks for having us.”
Chris Kenilworth was a large man with graying hair at his temples. Though he was somewhat overweight, one could see he was fit and muscular in his younger days. He had a wide face and large nose and walked with the slump-shouldered despair of someone who had recently lost a loved one.
Meredith Kenilworth, the little sister, was mousy and clearly awkward around new people. She was now ten years old and seemed attached to her father at the hip.
I closed the door and walked in behind them to the kitchen. Marlow greeted the guests with heavy tail wagging. My father welcomed Mr. Kenilworth with a handshake and his condolences. Then he offered his guest a beer, and the two of them fell into conversation about the coming game. “It’s just not Thanksgiving if you don’t watch the Lions lose,” my father stated, which got a chuckle out of the widower.
Though both of them worked at the university, I wasn’t sure how much they interacted. Still, they seemed to get along as if they were old friends.
“Everyone, dig in,” my mother called. “The turkey is juicy and amazing. Not to toot my own horn.”
I offered Jason a plate, and he motioned for me to go first. “Such a gentleman.”
“I have my moments.”
I laughed and scooped a pile of mashed potatoes onto my plate. Then I leaned into him and spoke quietly, “How hard was it to drag your dad over here?”
“It was rough. I’m glad he’s finally starting to relax.”
“At least he likes football,” I pointed out. “My dad’s company and a little escape may be good for him.”
“For sure,” Jason agreed.
By the time we were done loading our plates, I was impressed with the amount of food my football player friend had fit onto his. Then realized mine was just as full, but I intended to eat every bit and possibly come back for more.
“I swear,” I said, balancing my plate, “I don’t usually eat this much.”
“Hey, everybody pigs out on the holidays,” he pointed out.
We sat at the table with my mother, who asked Jason a million questions, such as how he was holding up, what his plans were after high school, and if he had any plans for summer. All the while, Marlow moved hectically between the couch (where Dad ate along with Jason’s father and sister) and the table, hoping for scraps of food to hit the floor. Mom held Jason’s attention so much that I was relieved to finally get some time with him after dinner. I invited him out to the swing on the front porch, each of us with a slice of apple pie.
“Oh my God,” Jason said as he chewed. “You made this?”
I felt my cheeks redden. “Yeah. It’s my specialty.”
“This is the best pie I ever had.”
I felt a great warmth spread throughout my chest as my heartbeat quickened. I had a feeling my blushing cheeks went from red to a deep purple, and wondered if I looked as if I’d gone a couple of rounds with Adonis Creed. Sorry, I only know fictional boxers. I grasped for something clever to say, then tried desperately for something affectionate. In the end, I could only manage to say. “Thanks.”
So, we ate and swung lightly in silence. Afterward, we put our plates aside, and I moved a little closer to him. The cool autumn air blew through the covered porch, and I shoved my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. I had no idea what to say. Luckily, Jason spoke first.
“Do you remember when we first met?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Mrs. Gegner’s first-grade class. We hated each other.”
His lips spread in a toothy grin. “That’s right. You got on my nerves. So bad.”
“You got on my nerves,” I argued. “We were at each other’s throats all the time. I don’t even remember why.”
“Me neither. Maybe it was one of those things, you know. Like, maybe I had a crush on you but didn’t realize it. So I picked on you instead.”
The blush was back in my cheeks just as it had finally died down. “It’s possible, I guess.”
“But then, I broke my wrist when I crashed my bike.” Jason’s eyes took on a dreamlike quality as he thought back. “It was my right wrist. I had to learn how to do everything with my left hand. And when I came back to school, you were the only one who helped me. I saw you in a whole new light after that.”
I was staring at him with a goofy smile on my face. “Is that why you’re the only one who noticed I was missing at the museum that time?”
He laughed. “I guess so.”
I swallowed hard. “Well, I’m glad you did. I shiver to think what may have happened had you not.”
“You talk funny sometimes,” he pointed out, turning to look at me.
“Too many books, I guess,” I said bashfully. “My mom says I have a flair for the dramatic. My dad calls me the grammar police.”
“I like it,” he admitted. “I think it’s cute.”
My cheeks reddened even more, and I was sure all the blood in my body had gathered there.
“You know, I feel bad that we drifted apart,” he whispered. “I don’t even know how it happened.”
I shrugged. “We just grew up and drifted to opposing social circles. It happens. None of that stuff mattered when we were kids. But high school society dictates who we should and shouldn’t be friends with.”
“Well, I feel like a jerk for letting it happen,” he said sincerely.
I smiled. “Me too. On the bright side, we’re almost done with high school.”
“Very true,” he agreed.
Our eyes locked. And time stopped. Carefully, he reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. And somehow, our faces were just an inch apart, and then we suddenly kissed. His lips were soft, his touch gentle. It was my first real kiss, as I couldn’t really count John Wilbur when we were six. As much as I wanted to melt into him and let it happen, I pulled away.
“What is it?” he asked.
I stood and walked to the edge of the porch, looking out at the quiet, leaf-strewn street. Finally, I turned back. “Jason, I’m moving to Louisville with my parents.”
“For real?” He sounded shocked and slightly hurt.
“Yeah. I can pursue a career as a private detective, which is something I’ve dreamed about,” I explained. “And I can’t really do that in Indiana without years of law education.”
There was a pause before he responded. “I understand.”
“You do?” I asked, turning back to him.
“Yeah.”
“So, you’re not mad?”
He shook his head. “Why would I be mad? It’s like I told your mom in there, I got a full-ride scholarship to my choice of three schools. Though, Purdue isn’t one of them.”
“Do you really think we should start something just to be hundreds of miles apart a few months down the road?”
He stood from the swing and let out a long sigh. “No, I guess not.”
We were quiet for a while. I fiddled with the zipper on my jacket. Then, I forced myself to say what I was thinking. “You are an incredible kisser, though.”
Jason smiled bashfully. “Right back at ya.”
“Come on. Let’s go eat more.” I took his hand and led him back inside.
“Seriously?” he asked, incredulous. “Where are you putting all this food? I can’t eat another bite.”
Jason and I hung out in the kitchen, munching on more turkey and pie. The Cowboys game came to an end, and Jason’s father stood. Meredith came off the sofa to stand at his side. “Ollie, I sure appreciate you having my boy and me over for dinner. It was a hell of a feast.”
“Hey, I was happy to have company for the games,” my father replied, with one hand on his new friend’s shoulder. “Usually, I watch them all by my lonesome.”
Mr. Kenilworth chuckled and shook my dad’s hand. “I had a great time. Thank you, I needed to get out and be around good people.”
“Come by any time, Chris.”
I walked Jason, his father, and sister to the door, and my mother came rushing down the stairs to say her goodbyes. An awkward moment passed between Jason and me, and there was no doubt we were both thinking about the kiss we had shared. And, like me, I had a feeling he wanted more.
***
Not thirty minutes after the Kenilworths left, Gwen walked in the front door without knocking. This was something we’d all grown accustomed to over the years. I was sitting on the couch with my father and Marlow, watching the Thursday night game and trying desperately to find some sort of interest in football, mostly because his comment about watching sports alone made me feel bad for him.
When I heard the door open and close, I knew my best friend had arrived and met her in the kitchen.
“Did Jason and his dad already leave?” she asked, disappointed.
“Yeah, a little while ago.”
“That sucks. I couldn’t get my mom to stop yapping with my Aunt Pattie. How’d everything go?”
“Great. We had fun.” I grabbed her arm and led her to the den, far out of my father’s earshot, and spoke to her in a hushed tone, “Jason kissed me.”
“What?” she shouted.
“Shush!” I looked back toward the living room.
“Sorry,” Gwen went on in a whisper. “But what does this mean? Are you guys a couple now?”
I shook my head. “No. I told him it was a bad idea since we’re going our separate ways next fall.”
She looked stunned. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said and noticed how whiny my voice sounded to my own ears. “I just don’t want to get too attached, I guess. I don’t think I could handle splitting up if I really fell for him. It would break my heart.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Gwen agreed. “But still, if you don’t go for it, you may regret it the rest of your life.”
She had a point. Leave it to Gwen to call me out for overthinking. One more thing to add to my ever-growing list of things to keep me up at night. There was the case, the move to Louisville, and now the question of whether or not I should pursue a relationship with Jason, no matter how short-lived it would be. On top of everything, I was behind on my reading. Sure, this was a relatively small concern, but I still had a reading challenge on Goodreads to accomplish by year’s end, and I set myself a lofty goal.
Gwen grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’m going to fix a plate of leftovers, then you’re going to take me up to your room and give me every detail.”
With that, Thanksgiving came to a close with me spilling the beans, and I mean the whole damn can of beans, to my best friend about my crush on Jason, what happened between us that night, and my absolute terror of starting a romantic relationship with him, knowing it would have to end in less than a year. In the end, I had no answers for any of my problems.