Let Sleeping Foxes Lie by Sam Burns

Author:Sam Burns [Burns, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

pancake breakfast

Breakfast was . . . great. Wonderful, even. Not because the pancakes were amazing, though they were, but because there wasn’t a single snide comment about anyone, and Kayden tried one of everything without a single complaint, while educating all of us on how Will had told him that people used to think it was “weird” to be “left-handered” like he was.

Milo had been a lefty too, when I thought about it.

I considered that for a moment. In murder mysteries, clues like that always led the investigator to the answer they needed. Something was always put back wrong or whatever, making it obvious that the victim or murderer’s left-handedness had something to do with the killing.

But Milo had dropped the glass the poison had been in. He hadn’t put it down at all, and I didn’t know how it would have affected the mystery to begin with. I tried to summon up a mental picture of the table with the glasses on it, and that was easy enough, but it didn’t tell me anything other than I remembered what the tables at Joe’s looked like.

There were no nuts among the toppings Gwen had prepped for the pancakes, I noticed. Definitely no almonds.

Not that I expected anyone else was having exactly the same reaction to that as I was, but still. I was glad there were no almonds.

No one seemed nervous about having their rooms searched, I realized as we all sat around, passing items to whoever asked, stuffing our faces, and talking about how delicious the food was. Not a single person was glancing toward the back of the house, tense and wondering when the cops would come back.

It wasn’t definitive evidence that none of them had killed him, obviously, and if none of them had done it, I had no freaking idea who had done it . . . but it was strange. If any of them had killed him, wouldn’t they be worried Alicia was about to find out?

Maybe they were supremely confident that they’d hidden all possible evidence, and the cops wouldn’t find anything.

Whatever the case was, Alicia didn’t march back in with a smoking gun—or a smoking bottle of cyanide, whatever that might look like. I had an image in my head from some kind of early twentieth-century cartoon, a clear bottle filled with ominous green ooze, with a skull and crossbones on the side and a thin stream of smoke coming from the top, Alicia holding it away from herself, wearing a pair of oversized rubber gloves on her hands and one of those welder’s masks covering her face.

But no.

We were just clearing the table, a chipper Kayden insisting on helping, and getting all the positive attention for it, when Alicia poked her head into the room. “Hey Max, we’re done in the back. Okay if we do the front now?”

“Of course,” I agreed, waving my hand around the room. “Or am I supposed to say no again?”

The look she gave me could have peeled paint, so I shut up, holding my hands up in surrender.

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