“Mom,” Crystal said quietly, “I don’t want to do hair. I want to be a journalist.”
Tina searched the floor for her other black satin heel, kicking around discarded articles of clothing until she found it. “Well, I wanted to be an airline stewardess and travel the world, but life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, does it?” Tina sank into her rickety bamboo papasan chair and struggled to shove her swollen feet into the heels.
She rested her head in her hands for a moment and sighed. “God, I’m already tired.”
The bedroom door pushed open and Mr. Tibbs darted inside, followed by a bleary-eyed Sammy wearing an old T-shirt and underwear, his arms awkwardly crossed over the front of his white briefs.
“I wet the bed again,” he said quietly.
Tina stood. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said, patting his back. “You’re drinking too much water before you go to bed. Chrissie will help get you cleaned up. I gotta get downstairs to make breakfast.” She kissed the top of his head and hurried out of the room.
Crystal slowly folded the college applications in half, the paper heavy in her hands. So that’s how it would be. Now she knew. She’d have to find a way to pay for college herself. Pell grants. Disability grants for her eye condition. Student loans. Work-study jobs, if she could find one that accommodated her poor eyesight. And scholarships like the YJWA. But she had to get accepted first. One problem at a time.
“Come on,” Crystal said, and led Sammy back to his room.
He changed his clothes, and she stripped the soiled bedsheets. When he lifted the T-shirt over his head, she noticed that the line of red dots on his upper arm had turned to dark bruises. Sammy saw her staring and hastily slipped on a fresh T-shirt, covering the bruises.
“How’d you get those again?” she asked, as she pulled a clean fitted sheet over the edges of the mattress.
“Some boys,” he said. “Horsing around. Giving me a hard time.”
She scowled. “What boys?” Yesterday he’d said he’d bumped into a door.
“Just some boys from the neighborhood. I don’t know their names.”
“Why didn’t you say that yester—”
“Can you just drop it? It’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” He grabbed an unfinished model car from the floor and stalked out of the room.
“What is your problem?” Crystal called after him, balling up the dirty sheets.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Tina was already whisking eggs in a bowl. Crystal opened the folding louvered doors of the laundry closet and put the sheets and clothes in the washing machine with a cup of detergent.
Sammy slumped in a swivel chair at the table and stuck a racing-stripe decal on a door. He was always bringing home some model kit to put together in his room, stinking the house up so bad with the glue it nearly made Crystal high from the fumes. He seemed to spend his paper route money faster than he made it.
“How about scrambled today?” Tina asked. “I have just enough time.”
“I’m not hungry,” Crystal said. Sammy silently bobbed his head.
As Tina poured the eggs into a skillet, a knock rattled the screen.
“Now what,” she muttered.
Crystal hurried to answer the door, assuming it was Mr. K for Sammy’s tutoring session. Instead, a broad-shouldered man with a dark moustache waited on the stoop.
“Can I help you?” Crystal asked.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “My name is Sergeant Dale Goodkind, and I’m with the Des Moines PD.” He brushed his jacket aside to show a silver badge clipped to his belt, and Crystal squinted at the letters. She recognized his name from the newspaper article this morning.
“I need to speak with Sammy Cox,” he said. “Is your mother here?”
Tina moved behind Crystal. “Yes, I’m Tina Cox.”
“I need to speak with Sammy about his Sunday paper route.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I only have about ten minutes before I have to be at work.”
“It won’t take long.”
Tina glanced at her fake-gold watch. “Um, sure.” She pushed the screen open for him to enter. Mr. Tibbs hissed and sprinted from the room. “Is this about the Stewart boy?”
“Yes,” Goodkind said. “We’re interviewing all the delivery boys in the neighborhood.”
Tina scooped the eggs onto plates and handed them to Sammy.
“That’s Sammy, and my daughter, Crystal.”
Goodkind squeezed his long legs beneath the small table and Crystal moved to the chair next to him, her interest piqued. She would’ve loved to get a closer look at his badge, and wondered if he carried a gun on his other hip.
“So, Sammy Cox,” Goodkind said. “We meet again.”
Sammy eyed him warily, cutting his eggs into small, precise pieces.
“Have you two met before?” Tina asked.
“Sammy and I kind of met yesterday evening. While I was working the scene. One of the other paperboys gave me his name and address.”
“I see,” Tina answered, but Crystal could tell she was barely listening as she filled the sink with soapy water.
Crystal’s eyes pinballed among the three as they spoke.
“Do you play any sports, Sammy?” Goodkind asked.
“No,” Sammy answered quickly.
“Yes, you do,” Tina said. “He’s plays baseball with a neighborhood rec league.”
“Oh, yeah? My boy loves baseball.”
“I hate baseball,” Sammy said. “It’s stupid.”
Tina propped her hands on her hips. “What is your deal today?” She helplessly shrugged at Goodkind.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Sammy, I just need to ask you a few questions about your paper route. Would that be all right?”
“Whatever,” Sammy answered.
Goodkind removed a pen from his front breast pocket and opened a large notepad. Crystal discreetly rolled her chair closer to see what he wrote down. At the top of the page she read, Samuel Cox, age 12, Cutler Ave. (Boy at crime scene w/ questions.)
Boy at crime scene with questions? Crystal glanced at Sammy, curious as to why he’d been at the crime scene last night and what exactly he’d asked the cop.
Goodkind unfolded a map and traced a line around the neighborhoods of Sammy’s route. Crystal tried to study the upside-down pencil markings.
“I spoke with your route manager last night, and he said you cover these streets over by the library, not far from Christopher Stewart’s route.”
Sammy looked at the map and nodded.
“Did you walk your route yesterday morning by yourself?”
“Yeah. I always deliver by myself.”
“Did you see anything unusual? Hear anything unusual?”
“No.”
“See any strangers out and about? Anyone you’ve never seen before that early in the morning? Anyone acting funny in any way?”
Sammy pushed his plate away after eating only half his eggs. He seemed to hesitate before answering. “No.”
Goodkind leaned his elbows on the table. “Did you know Christopher Stewart?” he asked. “When I saw you at the corner yesterday, you said something peculiar about him.”