Freddie's mom had never been one to fuss. Now, though, it was all she seemed able to do. Ever since Sheriff Bowman had called and told her to pick up Freddie from the Village Historique the evening before, Mom had been nonstop fuss-fuss-fuss.
Freddie wanted to throttle her.
Especially because Freddie hadn't even seen the body (which apparently belonged to a middle-aged man). All she'd seen were a pair of dangling Nikes, blue with orange accents. Mud on the tread.
And yes, it was true that those shoes were imprinted on Freddie's brain for all of time now, but cups of tea and Snickers bars weren't exactly helping. Nor was tucking Freddie into bed, stroking her hair every ten seconds, or surprising her with a "real breakfast" of bacon and eggs.
By the time Freddie was supposed to meet Divya to walk to school the next morning, she was desperate to get away. She didn't care that it was raining. She didn't care that her usual Friday outfit of cute tights and a festive fall skirt was missing an accent scarf and now getting wet. Nor did she care that, in her race to leave the house, she'd forgotten to trade her glasses for contacts.
Why, Freddie didn't even care that she couldn't roll her bike by the handlebars and fit under Divya's umbrella either. She was free, and it tasted so good. Drizzle-frizzed hair or eighth-grade glasses couldn't ruin it.
Divya, it would seem, felt the same. She and Freddie had just stepped off Freddie's leaf-strewn lawn onto the street when Divya tipped back her umbrella and said, "My mom wants me to see a counselor."
"Mine too." Freddie's nostrils flared, and she pushed the bike faster. "Parents don't know anything."
"Old people don't know anything." Divya stomped her feet. "I mean, I didn't even see the body!"
"And I only saw his shoes!"
"So we definitely aren't traumatized." Divya flipped her braid over her shoulder.
"Definitely not." Freddie mimicked the movement with her rapidly expanding curls. "It takes more than a little murder to scare the likes of us."
"Exactly. No, wait." Divya skidded to a halt. "Murder? What are you talking about? It was a suicide."
Freddie squeezed her bike brakes. "That was not a suicide, Div."
"Uh, Sheriff Bowman herself said it was a suicide."
"The body was hanging twenty feet off the ground." Freddie rolled the bike backward, then ducked under Divya's umbrella. At least far enough to protect her hair.
"So? Maybe the man wanted a climb before he died."
"A climb on what ladder? And on what branches? There wasn't a single thing he could've used to get up there."
"So what are you trying to say?" Divya launched back into a march. Rain sprayed Freddie once more. "Are you saying you know better than Sheriff Bowman?"
"Maybe?" Freddie pushed her bike after Divya. "You didn't hear the screams on Wednesday night."
"You mean the screams of drunk prep schoolers?"
"But what if that wasn't what I heard, Div? What if I did hear screams for help?"
"Sheriff Bowman was in those woods arresting people. Surely if there'd been a murder underway, she would've heard those screams too."
"Okay, but how do you account for the dead guy's clothes? He was wearing jogging shoes. Who dresses up like that to go kill themselves?"
"I don't know." Divya shook the umbrella. Rain splattered. "But I do know you're not a detective. Just because you solved one shoplifting case when you were riding with Bowman does not qualify you as a pie."
YOU ARE READING
The Executioners Three
Teen Fiction*A Wattpad Editor's Choice* Freddie kissed him again. He groaned and pressed into it. Deepened it immediately, kissing her so hard, she thought he might draw blood. She liked it. But then he was pulling away. Backing away three steps, and freezing...
