Chapter Seventeen

Whitney Allen stomped through the front door in her pink tights and long sweatshirt and plopped down to take her shoes off. Dance class was so boring today. She never wanted to go back. The teacher was like Ursula, the big, mean octopus inThe Little Mermaid. And she hated getting a ride with Katie Sherman. Katie’s father always smoked in the car and Whitney hated the smell. It felt like she was choking.

But Whitney knew better than to run inside with her sneakers on. Her mom hated shoes in the house. “The new carpet,” she always said when the kids walked around inside with their shoes on. Whitney couldn’t understand why her mother had replaced the carpet to look exactly the same as it always had.

Even the ring of dirt on the carpet in the corner where her stepdad had put too much water in the plant was still there. But it had to be new. Otherwise, why would her mom say so? Her mother never said a word to adults about shoes. Whitney remembered when the guy from the cable company had come. She didn’t tell him to take off his shoes.

Whitney started to yell that she was home when she heard low voices coming from the living room. Sneaking around the corner, she saw two policemen sitting on the couch. Barely sitting, actually. They were right at the edge of it like they were ready to leave. That’s how Aunt Emily was. She sat right on the edge of the couch when she dropped off Whitney’s cousin Teddy, to play with Randy, and then right away she’d say how many errands she had to do and she’d leave.

Whitney crept to the door and stared at them. The police officer on the far side of the couch was talking. Both of them were wearing their shoes, and they didn’t even look clean. The one closer to the door looked straight at Whitney and winked. She burst into a fit of giggles.

“Whitney Allen, what are you doing?” her mother said. “Get in here where I can see you.”

Whitney stepped into the room and looked at her feet.

“Hello, Whitney,” one of the policemen said. “I’m Officer Bernadini and this is Officer Hansen.”

She looked up to see both of the police officers facing her. “We’d like to ask you a couple of questions,” one of them said, but she couldn’t remember which one he was. She thought the one with the big nose was the one named Houdini or whatever, but she wasn’t sure, so she didn’t use their names.

Whitney looked at her mother, her heart racing. “Are they going to ’rrest me?”

Both officers smiled, but the one furthest from her still looked mean. He was big, with dark hair and eyes that barely seemed to open.

“Sit down,” her mother said.

Without taking her eyes off the scary policeman, Whitney made her way to the chair beside her mother and sat.

The nicer one was bouncing one leg up and down, up and down. “Do you play outside often, Whitney?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Randy does.” He was probably the one they wanted, not her. He was always getting in trouble, but because he couldn’t hear no one blamed him.

“We want to know if you were playing outside on a Wednesday a few weeks ago . . .”

“The day Molly’s mom died?” Whitney interrupted.

The mean policeman raised an eyebrow and Whitney snapped her mouth shut.

Her mother shook her head. “You can’t expect a child to remember a particular Wednesday over two weeks ago.”

“I remember it,” Whitney argued.

“Don’t you fib, Whitney Anne.”

Whitney scrunched her nose. She hated her middle name. “I’m not fibbing. I swear.”

“She can’t possibly remember one day,” her mother continued.

“I do. I ’member cause it was Daddy’s birthday and you let me call him. But he wasn’t there, remember?”

Her mother wrinkled her face up, and Whitney knew she was trying to remember. “I’ll be darned.”

“Were you outside that day?” the nice policeman asked. She watched his leg bounce and wondered if he had to pee. Her mother always knew when she had to pee because of how she wiggled around. She wondered if her mother had told him where the bathroom was. Maybe he thought it was rude to ask.

She looked over at the mean one. He was staring straight at her.

“Were you outside that day?” he said again.

She looked between the two of them and shook her head. “But Randy was.”

The mean policeman moved in his seat and stared at her.

“Where’s Randy now?” the other one asked.

“In Ohio, with his mother. He’ll be back next week.” Her mother stood. “I don’t think Randy will be able to help you, though. He’s deaf and he lives in his own world most of the time.”

“That’s for sure,” Whitney agreed. “One time we were getting ready to go to my aunt Emily’s house—”

“Whitney,” her mother said, “the officers don’t have time for your babbling. Go upstairs and change out of your dance clothes.”

Whitney frowned. “But—”

“Now.” Her mother pushed her out the door, and Whitney took a last look at the police officers, wishing they would ask her some more questions. She didn’t want to leave.

“Go. And get that room cleaned up.”

Dragging her feet, Whitney went to her room. She wondered if this was how Cinderella felt. She took off her leotard and tights and put on her gray shorts and a yellow tank top and looked in the mirror. Rags, just like Cinderella.

And she had to clean her room. She flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what Cinderella would do in her place. She’d be figuring out a way to get to the ball, probably. But Whitney didn’t even think they held balls out here. She thought about Randy and wondered what he was doing now. It was later in Ohio. Maybe he was in bed already.

Instead of cleaning her room, Whitney got her hairbrush and sat in front of her closet door. She watched her reflection in the tall mirror as she pretended to get ready for a ball.

She was still staring at herself in the mirror when her mother called her to dinner a while later.

Whitney dropped the brush and ran downstairs.

Her stepdad was already sitting at the table. “Like a herd of elephants. How can such little feet make so much noise?”

Whitney beamed, and her stepdad mussed her freshly brushed hair.

Dinner was all white and brown and Whitney imagined what Cinderella ate. Probably porridge, like Goldilocks, she figured. She pushed the potatoes around her plate and picked at the rest of it.

“Eat,” her mother warned.

The phone rang before she could protest. Whitney sprang up, but her mother answered it and waved her back to her chair.

“It’s Randy.”

Her stepdad stood, turned on the little computer on the desk next to the phone, and started typing with two fingers.

“Can I try?” she said, getting up behind him.

“Shh,” he scolded.

“Sit down, Whitney,” her mother said.

“Please, I want to ask him about that day—about being outside.”

“Whitney.”

“He might know something. Can you ask him, Tony? Just see what he says. Please,” Whitney begged.

Her stepfather gave her mother an annoyed look. “Marge, please.”

“Whitney, sit down and be quiet.”

“Mom, but he might know who killed her.”

Her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her chair. “Talking to Ohio is very expensive, Whitney, especially like this. We’re not going to waste money on any nonsense.” She pressed her finger into Whitney’s shoulder.

Whitney could feel the long fingernail biting through her shirt.

“Now sit and eat your meat.”

Pouting, Whitney kicked at the chair. No one ever listened to her. They listened more to Randy and he couldn’t even talk. “He could know something, Mom,” she said half under her breath.

Her mother didn’t answer her.

“Geez, Louise,” she imitated her mother, “can’t we just ask?”

Her mother clenched her teeth. “Not another word.”

Whitney stabbed at her chicken and then dropped her fork. It fell and knocked over her milk. “Uh-oh.”

Her mother snapped her out of the chair. “To your room. I don’t want to see your face again. No dinner, no dessert. You go up there and think about your behavior, young lady.”

Whitney felt the tears come. They rolled down her cheeks. “I was only trying—”

“Now.” Her mother slapped at her bottom, and Whitney started to cry, running from the table.

Sprawled on her bed, Whitney sobbed. She hadn’t meant to spill the milk. It was a mistake. She was worse off than Cinderella. She didn’t even have any mouse friends to play with. Her mother wouldn’t even let her have a pet hamster. She never got to do anything fun.

She buried her face in her pillow and cursed the police and her mother and most of all stupid Randy.