Saturday, February 14, 2009


"Who are you?" I asked.
"Andrew Bletcher. Marshall, I'm a detective. I need to ask you some questions, if that's all right..."
The closer he moved, the harder my heart thumped in my chest. 
"About what?" I said, an edge of meanness in my voice. The weight of the stolen book hung in the bag over my shoulder. 
"You should talk to my mother first," I said, changing the subject, buying myself some time. If he was willing to wait for her, I could figure a way to dump the book somewhere by the time he explained where I'd been and what I had done.
"It's actually your mother I need to talk to you about. Marshall, there's been an accident. We should all go inside and talk," he said, looking from me to the other two officers who now stood beside me. 
The bag over my shoulder thudded to the ground, and the world slowed and crowded my head. I wasn't sure what he was saying but the look on his face told me something bad had just become part of my future. Something far worse than me stealing a book.

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