From the Desk of Zoe Washington(37)

I leaned back into my seat and looked at Trevor. “What do we do now?”

He shrugged. “I guess we wait to hear back from her.”

I’d already waited twelve years to speak to Marcus. How much longer would I have to wait for the truth?





Chapter Twenty-Four


I started checking my inbox constantly for an email to come in. I even put a special notification ringtone on my phone that sounded like birds chirping. Trevor and I also searched for other Susan Thomases who could’ve possibly met Marcus, but the only other person who seemed like she could be a match now lived all the way in California. I sent her an email too, just in case. She got back to me right away, saying that she never had a garage sale when she lived in Brookline. So it had to be the teacher we’d found.

The only thing that kept me distracted from my inbox was baking. I spent all of Thursday afternoon working on my cereal cupcake recipe.

I decided to do what I’d learned at Ari’s Cakes—make a few small batches of cupcake batter, each with different amounts of sugar. I also wanted to experiment with the amount of cereal flavor in the milk, so I let the cereal sit in some of the milk longer.

We only had one stand mixer in our kitchen and two mixing bowls for it. I made my first batch, and then scooped the batter into one row of my cupcake pan, using blue painter’s tape I found in the junk drawer to label which recipe it was. When I was done, I made my second batch, adjusting the ingredients a little. I had to clean the mixing bowls before I could make the next two batches. The whole process took even longer because I kept stopping to check my phone in between steps, to make sure my ringtone notification was still on and the volume was still up.

When all the batches were done and my cupcake pan was full of the different recipes, I put them in the oven to bake.

I leaned against the counter and checked my phone. Then I checked the oven timer. Then I went back to my phone.

Ugh, I needed to do something else.

I decided to get a head start on cleaning my baking mess, something I usually left until after my treats were out of the oven, cooling. I put all of my ingredients away, wiped down the countertops, mopped up the flour that had fallen on the floor, and cleaned all the bowls and utensils I’d used. Butternut came into the room, so I gave him a few treats.

Finally, the timer went off, and I took the cupcakes out of the oven. I let them cool for a few minutes, then started tasting them one recipe at a time.

There was a clear winner. The ones with less sugar and more-saturated cereal milk. It tasted delicious! It had the essence of the Froot Loops, without being too sweet.

I’d done it. I’d created my own cupcake recipe! I did a happy dance around the kitchen island, but froze when I heard my phone chirp.

An email. I opened up the notification on my phone. It wasn’t from Susan Thomas.

It was from Anthony Miller, Marcus’s lawyer. I’d started to think I’d never hear from him.

The email was only a couple of sentences. Mr. Miller apologized for taking so long to respond, but then gave his phone number and said I could call him with my questions about Marcus’s case.

I immediately called Mr. Miller’s office. My heart pounded as the phone rang.

Finally, it picked up. “Anthony Miller’s office,” a voice on the other line said.

“Hi, um, may I speak to Mr. Miller?” I asked.

“May I ask who’s calling?” the woman asked.

“Zoe Washington. I’m returning his call,” I lied.

“One moment please,” she said.

A minute later, a man’s voice got on the line. “This is Anthony Miller.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Miller. I’m Zoe. Zoe Washington. I wrote to you asking about Marcus Johnson’s case, and you said I could call you with questions.” By the end of that sentence, I was sweating.

“Right . . . ,” Mr. Miller said, sounding skeptical. It made me second-guess myself for a moment. Had I called the right person?

“You’re the one who sent the email?” Mr. Miller asked. “How old are you?”

“I’m twelve.” What did that have to do with anything? “Yes, I sent you the email. I wanted to ask you about Marcus’s alibi—”

“Are your parents there?” Mr. Miller interrupted.

“Um, no,” I said. “They’re at work.” Grandma was in the living room watching a show.

“I see. Well, maybe you should have one of them call me back. I’m very busy.”

“I’m trying to find Marcus’s alibi witness,” I said. “Marcus already told me her name is Susan Thomas, but I’m having trouble finding her. Did you look for her during his trial? I thought you could help me. Or if you can share anything with me about the case, that would be helpful. Marcus told me he’s innocent, and I’m trying to—”

“Listen,” Mr. Miller interrupted again. He sounded exasperated. “I really don’t have time for this. The case is closed. You’re, what, Marcus’s relative or something?”

“I’m . . .” I swallowed. “I’m his daughter.” I’d never actually said those words about Marcus before.

“Oh.” Mr. Miller’s voice softened a little. “Look, I’m sorry, that’s gotta be really hard for you. I wish I had better news, but he already appealed his verdict and lost.” I heard him shuffling paper through the phone. “He could still get out on parole, though.”