The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days by Michele Weber Hurwitz Page B

on. It’s incredibly exciting—the kind of case I’ve wanted all these years.”
    â€œIt’s like being on top of a mountain,” Dad says.
    Yeah.
    Mom crosses her legs, starts speed-talking, making up for lost time. “How’s the art class? How are your friends from the basketball team? Jorie’s good? We’ll have lunch when this is all wrapped up, okay? You’ll catch me up.” She’s tapping her fingernails on the table. “We can go to the mall. You can get some cute new outfits for school.”
    â€œPeople don’t wear
outfits
, Mom.”
    She gives me a quick smile. “You know what I mean.”
    â€œSure.”
    She picks up her phone. “Matt didn’t text me back.”
    â€œHe’s eighteen. What do you expect?” Dad shrugs. “He’ll be away at college next month. Get used to it.”
    Mom stands and stretches her arms overhead. I don’t know how she even spots this, being so
preoccupied
and all, but she creases her brows and her lips pinch into a thin line. “Why is that out?”
    The sewing basket is on the counter. Big mistake.
    â€œI needed to sew something today,” I say lightly, then get up and return it to the cabinet. It’s gone. Butstill, Erica Fine doesn’t look fine. She makes a fist. Her polished red nails dig into her skin. Ow.
    â€œEvery time I see that thing,” she says, “that floral print
basket
, there’s my mother, in her dull print dress, sitting in her armchair,
sewing
.”
    I want to say,
What’s wrong with that?
But I pretty much know Mom’s answer.
    Here it is.
    She imitates Grandma’s voice. “Every girl should know how to sew, Erica.” She plunks back into her chair. “Who knows where I’d be if I’d listened to her.”
    Dad glances at Mom, then turns to me. “What were you sewing?”
    â€œJust something.”
    He smiles. “I think it’s nice that you can sew. Not many girls do that anymore.”
    Mom takes a sip of water, then sets the bottle down hard. It tips over, and water floods their papers.
    â€œOh, that’s just great!” she yells.
    I run for the paper towels.
    Dad blots the papers with one hand. He puts the other hand on Mom’s arm. “Are you okay?”
    â€œAbsolutely fine.”
    â€œErica, when this case is over, we should take my brother up on his offer to use their cabin. Get away for a few days.”
    Mom balls up the paper towels, throws them out. “I can’t think about that right now.”
    They look at each other, and I suddenly feel like I should leave. “I guess I’ll go upstairs.”
    Mom pats me on the arm. Dad blows me a kiss.
    They were never big huggers, like Jorie’s parents. At least I used to get a bedtime story—Dad reading in funny voices, Mom brushing the tangles from my hair. But I grew up, and things happen. Things change.
    In my room, I start to lower the shade, then stop to study Mr. Dembrowski’s house. It looks the same.
    The houses in the cul-de-sac are mostly dark. A few lights on in scattered rooms, the blue flicker from a TV. That big tree by the Millmans’ swaying in the night breeze. A piece of paper blowing around in the Cantalonis’ yard. Shirts from the dry cleaner’s hanging in a plastic bag on Jorie’s front door.
    Then I see a flash of light from the Dixon house.
    Someone’s in there?
    The realtor? Burglars? … The
kumiho
?
    The light seems to move around a little, then goes out. I watch for a few minutes, my heart racing. The Dixon house stays dark.
    When I can finally tear myself from the window, I do an online search for “
kumiho
.” The word literally means “nine-tailed fox.” There are different versions of the Korean legend. Most say a
kumiho
is a fox thathas lived for a thousand years, has nine tails, and can turn into a beautiful but evil woman. Sometimes