Trick or Treat by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page B

were fixed on his face, his mouth, struggling to understand what he was saying, her mind as gray as the mist….
    “The next day they found Dennis’s car in the river. It’d stormed all night and flooded, and the car’d been washed off the bridge. And they found the knife.”
    “So … they finally knew,” Martha mumbled. She searched his face for some sign of satisfaction, but there was none.
    “Murder-suicide they called it,” Blake said hollowly. “But they never found him.” He lowered dark eyes to her shocked face. “The current was just so strong … they never found Dennis.”

Chapter 6
     
    You’ve got to be calm, Martha, you’ve got to be grown-up about this and put it all in perspective and not start jumping to conclusions ….
    Martha closed her eyes, thankful that another exhausting day of school was over. There were so many things she needed to know — but before she’d been able to ask Blake about them, lunch break had ended and he’d promised to call her tonight. Now she glanced at Conor’s hands on the steering wheel and fought down a surge of anger.
    “Oh, Dad,” Martha muttered to herself, “why did you ever get me into this?” She pressed her nose flat against the window and stared out into black, empty nothingness as the car sped home. In the back bedroom closest to the woods … her bedroom. No wonder I had that awful feeling … no wonder …. She hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind since her talk with Blake. Obscene phone calls … pranks … a fire … Elizabeth’s terror in the last few seconds of her life…. It was all so unbelievable, so terribly overwhelming, that Martha could hardly stand to think about it. And yet how can I not think about it, after all the things that have happened ….
    By the time they reached the house she still hadn’t spoken a word to Conor, and he hadn’t seemed the least bit bothered by her silence. While he tossed his books on the hall table and went about turning on lights, Martha sagged against the wall, facing the stairs like an old enemy. I can’t go up there right now, I just can’t . Conor disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later she heard him whistling as he rattled pots and pans. Dragging her feet, she finally followed him and sank down at the table.
    “I hope you cook better than your mom,” she said.
    The look Conor threw her was reproachful. “Everyone cooks better than my mom.”
    Martha hesitated, then announced, “I found out something today.”
    “So it would seem.” Conor didn’t even look up; now he was chopping onions on the cutting board.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means I don’t want to fight with you, even though you’re sure in the mood for it.”
    Martha’s mouth dropped open in surprise. For a moment she couldn’t think of anything to say.
    “Blake Chambers told you about Elizabeth Bedford’s murder,” Conor went on placidly. “Do you like your chili with or without beans?”
    “I —” Martha stared at him, annoyed. “What were you doing spying on us?”
    “You were the only two people sitting out there on the bleachers in the rain in the middle of the football field. You weren’t that hard to miss.”
    “Well then, how did you know what we were talking about?” Martha demanded. “How could you have known that?”
    “In spite of what you think, I did happen to notice your wonderful mood on the way home.” He wiped his knife on a paper towel and Martha shuddered. “And I did some detective work of my own.”
    “You did?”
    “I cut class and went down to the newspaper office this morning. I read some pretty unpleasant stuff.”
    Martha sniffed. “Well, you don’t know half of it, probably. Not all the really important details.”
    Conor gave a vague nod and started slicing cheese. “No, probably not.”
    She waited, but when he didn’t say anything more, she gave a loud sigh. “All right, I guess I should tell you. Even though you sure weren’t