Chapter Two Mom knocked on my door this morning.

Her hair was in rollers that made it look like a cartoon cloud was sitting on her head. You look like a cartoon cloud is sitting on your head. Mom nodded and dropped a pair of shoes on the ground by my bed. Wear these today. I dont think you have any black shoes of your own, do you? I peeked over the bed. They were my dads shoes. He wears them to big parties, but they were originally worn in 1979 when he married my mom. He always keeps them shiny and cleans all the scuffs off of them. Dad sang and played the guitar at their wedding. Their song was If by Bread. I heard my mom singing it the other day when she was cooking dinner. Henry. I looked up. Moms eyes were red around the rims, but other than that, her makeup was very neat and clean and she looked almost younger than she was. Henry, come on. She walked out of the room and down the hallway to knock on Maggies door. Maggie drove up from UofO for the funeral and is staying in her old room even though Mom and Dad turned it into a guest bedroom. They painted over her splattered walls and put a wash basin in there to make it look like a colonial room, but they refused to paint over her height markings next to the closet, so theres a strip of splattered paint that runs from the floor up to the ceiling. Mom poked her head back into my room. Henry, I really cant this morning. And she left again. I heard her take a jagged breath outside my door and start to cry but I pretended to make a lot of noise opening my drawers so that she wouldnt think I heard her.

I pulled out my suit from the back of my closet and put it on, first the pants, and then the shirt, and then the coat, feeling the cool polyester slide against my arms as I pushed my hands through the sleeves. I sat on the edge of my bed, facing the mirror on my door. My face looked different, like my mirror self was meeting my real self for the first time and didnt know what to say. I tried to make my eyebrows sit normally above my eyes, but no matter what I did, they either seemed surprised or angry, so I looked down at the ground, at my dads shoes. I read an article in NG once about the bacteria on our feet. Theyre called brevibacteria and they feed on dead skin. Theyre also used in making certain types of cheeses. I wondered if any brevibacteria from my dads feet were still in these shoes. Probably not, but a part of me hoped that some were still alive and living in the soles. Those brevibacteria would have lived on my dads feet. Id be okay letting them live on mine. Henry! Moms voice soaked up through the carpet and into my room from the kitchen below. She was probably on the phone. She only yells when shes on the phone and cant leave because we still have phones with cords attached to the walls. I looked in the mirror as I slipped my toes into Dads shoes, feeling all the leather hug my feet. I stood and let the heels of the shoes slip over my heels. I looked like a stockbroker or a missionary, but my feet looked like my dads.

On the way to Old Scotch Church, I got a text from Simone. Do you still feel like scoping it out, buddy? I texted her back: Yes. Ok. Im here for you.

Maggie pulled her black hat off of her almost white, blonde hair and turned around in her seat to look back at me and my phone. Youre not going to be texting during the service, are you? I put my phone back in my pocket. Simone just wanted to know if I was okay. Maggies face lifted like a bunch of strings were pulling up her mouth and eyes and cheeks. She glanced at Mom, but Mom was still staring at the road. Are you guys dating? I didnt think Maggie should be talking about Simone or dating or anything like that on the way to Dads funeral so I just shook my head and then leaned against the window. I looked down at the yellow lines on the road until I was too dizzy to keep my eyes open. When we got to the church, my Uncle Tom came out to get us. He helped Mom out of the car and Maggie and I walked behind them into the chapel. Dads casket was at the front, open at the top so we could see his folded hands and plastic face. I didnt like to look at it because he looked like a life-size Ken Doll, so I stared at the metal pipes for the organ that lined the back wall. As we walked to the front, I could feel everyone in their pews, talking, and then shooting silent pauses at us like little BBs that almost cut my face. I hated it. I cant stand when its quiet. My hands started to clam up, so I patted my cheeks, feeling my cold fingers sticking to my skin. The clapping sound made me feel a little better, so I clapped a little faster and then even faster, closing my eyes to hear my fingers flapping against my face. Maggies hands held my wrists and I stopped because her fingers were freezing and felt skinny and frail. I looked around at all the faces that had paused as we passed, but none of them were looking at me.

Mom sat down between Uncle Tom and Aunt Debbie and then Maggie sat near the wall, leaving just enough space for me. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. It was Simone. I was glad to see her. Her hair was all pinned up with a few pieces of locks hanging down and curled by her ears. She was all in black except for her bright red shoes she got for her birthday. Simone is all on board with the idea that Dad was murdered. We agreed to look for suspicious activity during the memorial services because 53.8% of murders happen between people who know each other. If someone killed my dad and knew him, they wouldnt be able to skip the funeral because thatd be suspicious. So theyd have to be here in the church. I gave Simone the thumbs up and pulled out a little notebook from my inside suit pocket. The organ began to play and the service started. Throughout the service, I looked around at all the faces in the pews behind us. Simone looked, too. This was not disrespectful. I had to find out who killed my dad. Besides, I could still hear what everyone was saying during the service because Im good at multitasking. The first rows in the chapel were for our family, but I couldnt rule anybody out who was in town the day my dad was killed. - Aunt Reggie. Sitting pretty far away from second husband, Max. Not crying. Could be because Uncle Max still hasnt found a job. Always calls Max a lazy slob. - Jeffrey. Cousin. Second row. Playing on his phone. Works with Dad. But kind of stupid and never gets mad. This is true. Even if you slapped Jeff across the face, hed just say, Aw, lay off, will ya? like stupid people say in movies. - Mrs. Pierce. Freshman biology teacher. Looking at me. Could be spying on me, but still keep an eye on her. - Jackson Skinner. Green Abercrombie sweater. Not black. Sleeping. Hates me. Hoofverdagte.

Thats Afrikaans for head suspect. If Im making notes about this, I cant write all my thoughts in English. Someone might find them and hunt me down for knowing too much. When the memorial service was finished, Reverend Thorpe closed the casket and Maggie nudged me because I was supposed to help carry the casket to the grave. Im not very strong, but luckily the cemetery is part of the church grounds, so it was right outside. Uncle Tom took the front left, Uncle Max took the front right. Papa and I took the middle sides, and Dads friend, Bob Shepherd, took the back. I could feel the shifting of weight inside as all of us balanced the casket on our shoulders. My shoulder bones already jut out of my skin because Im so skinny, so carrying heavy wood on them didnt feel very good, but I didnt complain or anything. I made sure to walk the same speed as everyone else because my dad was in this casket. Mom and Maggie cried together when they lowered the coffin into the grave. I didnt cry, but I put my arms around them so theyd feel better. When it was all finished, I left my mom by the grave so that she could talk to my dad alone. Maggie went home early to help get lunch ready, so Simones dad said hed drive me back. Im really sorry, Henry, Simone said after I left the grave. Her face was almost as red as her hair. I hugged her and could feel her stomach moving in and out in irregular patterns as she cried. She leaned her head on my shoulder where I could still feel the soreness from the casket. She didnt make any noise except for the breaths she sucked in like surprises. Hey, look. Simone let go and pointed behind me. I turned to where she was looking, across the cemetery near an old statue that looked like a miniature Washington Monument. Someone was talking to Mrs. Pierce. I didnt recognize him, but he looked nervous and angry. I pulled out my notebook.

- Unidentified man in black suit. Faded black newsies cap. 'N moordenaar?1 Im going to talk to him, I whispered. Simone pulled on my coat. You cant go confront someone in a cemetery! Im not going to confront him. I looked at Simone, then back at the man. Im just gathering evidence. Simone nodded and I walked past her through the grass. The man was walking away from Mrs. Pierce and leaving through the grave sites, so I picked up my pace to a jog. I noticed as I got closer that he limped a little. His hair was slicked back from under his hat and into the collar of his shirt. Excuse me? I called after the man. He didnt slow down. Hello? I called again. The man stopped and turned. His cheeks were drawn so tight over his face that dark lines showed where his cheekbones hung like hollowed caves. I slowed down and took a breath. Sorry, I dont think weve met. I tried to sound casual, but somber, because this was a funeral, and I wasnt supposed to sound excited. The mans forehead scrunched and his eyes squinted and he smiled a little, like he was trying to look sad for me. I doubt he was very sad, though. We have met, you were just very young, the man said. He breathed through his large nostrils and then held out his hand. Youre Henry? Yeah. I nodded, unsure whether I should take his hand, but then took it. The man nodded back. Im Paul. Your dad and I went to college together. We both studied engineering. Oh, I said as nicely as I could. Are you a plumber?

1 Killer?

Paul chuckled. His laugh sounded like a chipmunk, except a little slower. Like a drunk chipmunk. Why would he laugh when I asked if he was a plumber? No, I ended up taking the business route. He put his long hands over his sharp cheeks, flattening his fingers so that his palms sunk into the caves beneath his cheekbones. But Im still in the same area. I work for Angel Soft. I shrugged. Angel Soft? The toilet paper industry. I nodded. Oh. Paul shook his head, But I dont want to take you away from your family. I just wanted to pay my respects. He pulled his newsies hat off to reveal a receding hairline. He scratched his neck, sighing just long enough for me to look down at the ground because there was so much silence. Terrible the way everything went down. Pauls face didnt stop smiling a little bit in the corners of his mouth. He looked like a punk. Okay, well, nice to meet you, Punk. What? Paul. I back away. Nice to meet you. Again. Paul winked, like a schmuck. I turned around and pulled out my notebook. Yep. When I got to Simones moms van, I made a few notes and Simone opened the side door. He seemed like a creep. I put down my notebook and looked back at Paul, who looked more like a black splotch in the middle of all the graves, walking away. I turned back to my notebook.

Hy is dit.2

2 He is it.

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