𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐎 | ᴍɪʟʟᴀʀᴅ ɴᴜʟʟɪɴɢꜱ

𝟐𝟖] 𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I MAY OR MAYNOT BE WANTED FOR MURDER

     "CALYPSO!" IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU!"

     "You said be back by dinner, so here I am!"

     "Forget dinner. Come with me. Jacob, you too."

     My father never skipped dinner. Something was most definitely amiss.

     "What's going on?"

     "I'll explain on the way," he said, marching me toward the pub.

     Then he got a good look at me. "You're all wet!" he exclaimed. "For God's sake, did you lose your other jacket, too?"

     "I, uh."

     "And why is your face red? Jake, you look sunburned."

     Crap. A whole afternoon at the beach without sunblock. "I'm all hot from running," Jacob said, though the skin on his arms was pimpled from cold. "What's happening? Did someone die, or what?"

     "No, no, no," he said. "Well, sort of. Some sheep."

     "What's that got to do with us?"

     "They think it was kids who did it. Like a vandalism thing."

     "They who? The sheep police?"

     "The farmers," he said. "They've interrogated everyone under the age of twenty. Naturally, they're pretty interested in where you've been all day."

     My stomach sank. We didn't exactly have a watertight cover story, and I raced to think of one as we approached the Priest Hole.

     Outside the pub, a small crowd was gathered around a quorum of very pissed-off-looking sheep farmers. One wore muddy coveralls and leaned threateningly on a pitchfork. Another had Worm by the collar. Worm was dressed in neon track pants and a shirt that read "I LOVE IT WHEN THEY CALL ME BIG POPPA."

     He'd been crying, snot bubbling on his upper lip. A third farmer, rail-thin and wearing a knit cap, pointed at me as we approached. "There they are!" he called out. "Where you been off to, kids?"

     Dad patted me on the back. "Tell them," he said confidently.

     I tried to sound like I had nothing to hide. "I was exploring the other side of the island. The big house."

     Knit Cap looked confused. "Which big house?"

     "That wonky old heap in the forest," said Pitchfork. "Only a certified idiot would set foot in there. Place is witched, and a death-trap to boot."

Knit Cap squinted at me. "In the big house with who?"

     "Just my brother," I said, and saw Dad give me a funny look.

     The pitchfork guy looked even more confused. "And where is he?"

     "Right here," I said, sort of offended. "You know, the kid right beside me."

     "Bollocks! I think you was with this one," said the man holding Worm.

     "I never killed any sheep!" cried Worm.

     "Shaddap!" the man roared.

     "Jake, Lypso?" said my dad. "What about your friends?"

     "Ahh, crap, Dad."

     Knit Cap turned and spat. "Why you little liar. I oughta belt you right here in fronta God and everybody."

     "You stay away from them," my father said, doing his best Stern Dad voice. Knit Cap swore and took a step toward him, and he and my dad squared off.