Chapter 13 - The Night He Called the Sheriff
The living room still smelled like sugar and cleaner. Mom had wiped the wood floor twice but you could see the faint orange smear near the edge of the rug if you knew where to look.
My brother stood by the window with my phone in one hand and the little empty vial in the other. He hadn't put his suit jacket back on. His white shirt was wrinkled at the elbows. He kept turning the vial over and over so the label side flashed and then went blank.
"It's got no label because I peeled it off," Jenna said from the couch. She was still in her dark green dress. Her hair was pulled back now, like she'd tried to fix herself in the bathroom mirror. "I told you that. It was stupid. I know it was stupid."
He didn't look at her. He looked at me where I sat on the stairs with my knees pulled up inside my white dress.
"You said flavoring yesterday," he said. "Then you said it was nothing. Now it's sleep stuff."
"It is sleep stuff," she said fast. "It's the liquid I use when I can't turn my brain off. I just wanted — I wanted the afternoon to go wrong. The cake to taste bad. So people would leave early. So you'd stop smiling for everyone for once and just talk to me."
My chest felt tight. I breathed through my mouth so she wouldn't hear it shake.
He walked to the coffee table and picked up the house phone. Not his cell. The old one Mom kept plugged in by the couch.
"What are you doing?" Jenna asked.
"Calling the sheriff's office," he said. "Not 911. The regular line. I'm asking what we're supposed to do."
Her face went pale. "Please don't. You're going to make this a record. I'm telling you what it was."
"I need somebody else to tell me," he said, and dialed.
I counted his breaths while it rang. One. Two. Three. Then he straightened a little, like someone older had picked up.
"Hi, yes, this is non-emergency, right? Okay. I have a question about something at a party," he said. His voice tried to sound calm. "Someone may have put something in food. A cake. Nobody ate it. My sister knocked it over before. We have video of it happening and we have a small bottle."
Jenna stared at the rug. I stared at his hand holding the vial so tight his knuckles went white.
"No, nobody's sick," he said. "No, we didn't call yesterday. It was yesterday afternoon. We still have the cake. Some of it. On paper plates in the kitchen."
He listened a long time. I could hear a low murmur from the receiver but not words. He nodded even though the person couldn't see him.
"Okay. Okay, don't let anyone eat it," he repeated quietly. "Save everything separate. Don't wash it. Bring it in so they can log it."
Jenna let out a sound that wasn't quite crying. "Tell them it was just to ruin the party," she whispered. "Tell them."
He held up his other hand to stop her and kept listening. "Yes, sir. I understand. Tomorrow morning. Yes, I have the video saved. No, I won't delete it."
When he hung up he stood there with his hand still on the phone. The balloons in the corner moved a little from the air vent. One of the streamers had fallen and lay across the back of a chair.
"They said not to taste it or throw it away," he said. "Keep the cake pieces in bags, keep the bottle in a bag, don't mix them. Bring it to the office and they'll take a report. They said if anyone feels sick to call right back."
"It was sleep liquid," Jenna said again. She stood up. "I'm not lying now. I put a little in the batter because I was mad. I wanted the cake to be bitter so your mom would be embarrassed and end it early. I didn't want to kill anyone. You have to believe I wouldn't do that."
My brother finally looked at her. His eyes were red around the edges.
"You poured something hidden into batter for kids," he said. "For her."
He nodded toward me without pointing.
"I know," Jenna said. Her voice cracked. "I know how that sounds. I wasn't thinking about her. I was thinking about us. I'm sorry."
Silence filled the living room. The fridge hummed in the kitchen. Somewhere outside a car went past.
My brother opened the hall closet and got a zip bag from the box Mom used for sandwiches. He dropped the vial inside and sealed it. Then he went to the kitchen and came back with two more bags with frosting-smeared cake. He set all three on the coffee table in a neat row, far from the edge.
"We're doing what they said," he said. "Nothing gets touched tonight."
Jenna wiped her cheeks with her fingers. "So what now? You're turning me in tomorrow?"
"I'm bringing the stuff in tomorrow and asking," he said. "Tonight you can't stay here."
She blinked. "What?"
"One night," he said. "Go to your sister's. Or a motel. I need you out of this house while I figure this out. I need her to sleep without checking the door."
Jenna looked at me on the stairs. For a second her face softened, then hardened again because she was scared.
"You're choosing a smashed cake over me," she said.
"I'm choosing to do what the deputy said," he answered. "Pack a bag."
He didn't yell. That scared me more than yelling would have.
She went upstairs past me without touching me. I heard her suitcase wheels bump down the hallway. Water ran. A drawer shut. When she came back down she had her overnight bag and her keys. Her makeup was gone and she looked younger and tired.
At the front door my brother held it open. The daylight was going gray-blue outside. The US flag in its frame caught the last light.
"I'll call you after I go in," he said.
She paused with her hand on the strap of her bag. "Tell them I said it wasn't to kill. Please tell them that part."
"I'll tell them what you said," he said.
She walked to her car. He shut the door and locked it, which he never did during the day. Then he turned and saw me still sitting on the steps.
"It's put away," he told me. "Nobody's going to eat it. You did good keeping the video."
May you like
I nodded, but my stomach hurt. I was glad she was gone and I felt sick about being glad. I kept thinking about her crying in her car in our driveway and about the cake in bags on our coffee table like leftovers no one wanted.
He sat down on the bottom step below me and leaned back against my knees. Neither of us talked for a while. The evidence sat there sealed and safe, and I wished sealing it up made everything before it go away too.
