Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy Page A

the same way that wrapper did. After, they asked Bird more questions. How to contact her aunt and her grandma, because they’d need to be questioned. You could barely hear Bird’s answers, her teeth were clenched so tight.
    She didn’t stay to watch them leave, but I did, not sure they wouldn’t turn around, ask me a few more things. But it was almost like I wasn’t there. Not today. After they were gone, I stood there staring at Bird’s car, wondering who had seen it Saturday. And what else they’d seen. I hadn’t thought about witnesses, really, but of course there were probably houses full of them. It seemed stupid of Dee to take that chance, doing what he didin the daytime, but right on the heels of thinking that, I could understand why he did. The guy was a retired cop. Probably had a house full of guns. It hit me then that he might’ve even had one in his car. That Dee could’ve been shot himself. Hurt, or even killed. It had been smart, then, to surprise him that way. Nobody would expect a thing like that, in the middle of the day.
    I was itchy all over to know if he was okay. I moved, finally, to head back inside. I would send a text. He might not like it, but I had to check in.
    Only, the front door was locked.
    I pounded the door with the flat of my hand. “Bird, I don’t have my keys.”
    Nothing from inside.
    I knocked again. “Bird, let me in.”
    The cold feeling I’d had before crawled back up into my stomach, along with panicky pricks all over. The locked door was probably just an accident, I told myself. I waited. I didn’t have my purse, my phone—nothing. Maybe she was in the bathroom or running water in the kitchen, not able to hear me. I wondered what time it was, how long I might have to be out here until Tyrone arrived.
    I knocked hard again with my fist, for a long time. When it opened, I almost banged Jamelee in the forehead, Bird standing there, holding her close.
    â€œThank goodness,” I gushed. “I didn’t know if you could hear me.”
    I tried to step in, around her, but she brought the door closer to her shoulder.
    â€œI think you’d do best at your mother’s awhile.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard what I said.”
    It was like she was going to shut the door on me. I put my hand out to stop it. She looked at it, then me, furious.
    â€œBird, what’s happening?”
    â€œâ€˜What’s happening?’” She said it nasty. “‘What’s happening ?’ All I know ‘what’s happening’ is the police are coming to my house, searching my goddamn car, asking me questions about fools I can’t stand the sight of. Questioning my grandmomma . I know ‘what’s happening’ is you lying to the police and you lying to me, and I don’t want it in my house. You go on and stay with your momma. You ain’t staying here.”
    â€œYou know I can’t do that.” I started to cry a little.
    â€œYou do what you have to, but I’m telling you, you ain’t doing it here no more.”
    Jamelee was pulling at Bird’s necklaces, and Bird swatted her fat little arm.
    â€œBird, don’t—” I meant the baby then, more than me.
    She started to shut the door again.
    â€œAt least let me get some of my things.” My voice was ugly, pleading. Guilty. I hated the sound of it. “I need my purse.”
    She stared at me a long cold minute, still blocking the doorway with most of the door and the rest of herself. Finally she walked away, leaving only a dark space where she had been. But at least the door was open.
    I walked through the house, to my room, almost like I was blind. The whole morning was unreal. First the police, the search, and now Bird telling me I had to leave. It couldn’t be happening. Like none of it had happened—not Saturday, not this, not anything. In my room, I found my old duffel and tried to