Without Merit(89)

My dad scans all of us. None of us look him in the eye. “Why do you all look guilty?” None of us speak. In fact, we all fork bites of food into our mouths at the same time, making us look even more suspicious. My father shakes his head and scoots back from the table.

No one else gets up when he opens the door. We all just listen quietly.

“Morning, Barnaby,” the officer says.

“Morning. What’s the problem?”

“Well . . . after we buried Pastor Brian’s dog at the church last night, his grave was tampered with. As was Pastor Brian’s. Seems that someone moved the dog.”

“Is that right?”

The officer sighs sharply. “Cut the shit, Barnaby. Did you dig up the dog again after we already arrested you for it?”

My father laughs and says, “Of course not. I came straight home and went to bed.” The officer begins to speak again, but my father cuts him off. “With all due respect, you’re wasting your time. The dog is dead and it sounds to me like she’s right where Pastor Brian would want her to be. Don’t you guys have more important things to focus on?”

The officer once again tries to get a word in, but my father says, “Do you have a warrant?”

“Well, no. We just came to speak with you about . . .”

“Good. You spoke to me about it. I’d like to get back to my breakfast now. Have a great day, crime fighter.” Our father slams the door. I watch as he makes his way back to the table. It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or not. He scoots his chair forward and picks up his fork. He stabs at a couple of pieces of pancake and then looks up at all of us. “You’re all a bunch of heathens.”





Chapter Eighteen





What should we name them?” Moby asks. He’s sitting with me in the backyard. Dad didn’t say if I was grounded from the backyard or not.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you name one of them and I’ll name the other one?”

“Okay,” Moby says excitedly. He holds up the one in his hands and says, “I’m naming this one Dick.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure your mom will go for that.”

He frowns. “Why not? She named me Moby. I want to name my puppy Dick so we can be brothers.”

“As long as you use that argument,” I tell him. Sagan walks out the back door of his new house and heads toward us. He sits down in the grass next to me. I hold up the nameless puppy. “We get to name this one. Got any suggestions?”

Sagan doesn’t even hesitate. “Tuqburni. We could call him Tuck.”

I smile. You bury me. I lift the puppy up to my face and kiss his nose. “I like that. Tuqburni.” Moby stands up and grabs Tuck out of my hands. “Be careful with them, Moby.”

“I will. I just wanna show Mom Tuck and Dick.” He cradles both puppies in his arms and heads toward the back door.

Tuck and Dick? If I could be a fly on the wall when he tells her those names . . .

Moby disappears inside the house and Sagan looks at me. “Want to check out my new digs?”

I laugh and fall back onto the grass. “I can’t. I’m grounded. And please don’t ever refer to that place as your digs again.”

“You’re grounded? For how long?”

“He hasn’t decided yet.”

Sagan lies down beside me, and we’re both staring up at the sky. “But didn’t he leave earlier to go run errands? He’s not even home.”

I face him with a grin. I like this rebellious side of him. “You’re right. Let’s go check out your new digs.” We push ourselves up off the ground and walk over to the old house. I haven’t even been inside in over six months, since Utah started redoing the floors. It sat empty for so long, I kind of felt bad that Sagan was having to live in these conditions, but when I walk through the back door I’m pleasantly surprised. I mean, it needs a lot of work. But it’s come a long way in six months.

“Wow. Utah has really put a lot of work into this place.” The floors are almost complete. He just lacks the living room floors and then it looks like it’ll be mostly finished. I follow Sagan down the hallway and he points to Utah’s old bedroom.

“Utah is taking that room.” He turns around and walks backward, pointing at Honor’s old bedroom. “And if he can talk your mom into moving in over here, she’ll take Honor’s old room.” He faces forward again and stops at my old bedroom door. “And your old room . . . is now my room.” He opens the door and it’s a complete mess. All of his stuff is still in trash bags and his mattress doesn’t have sheets yet. Some of my old stuff is still in boxes on the floor.

I walk over to the bed and fall down on the mattress. “It’s terrible,” I say with a smile.

He laughs. “I know. But it’s free.” He sits down next to me on the bed and his phone rings. Now knowing what each phone call could mean to him, I’m almost as anxious as he is when he retrieves it from his pocket. I can see the disappointment set in when he sees Utah’s name. He answers it on speaker. “Yeah?”

“Did you take the roll of trash bags over there?”

“No, they’re on the dresser in the guest room.”

“’K, thanks,” Utah says before disconnecting the call. Sagan falls back onto the mattress and stares at his phone for a moment, then puts it back in his pocket.