Sketchy Behavior

by Erynn Mangum

  “Wonderful,” Mom said, lightly picking at it.

  “So, tell me more about yourself, Kate,” Arnold said.

  I looked up at him and shrugged. “I’m a junior.”

  “I knew that. What do you like to do? Well, besides drawing, I mean,” he said, laughing.

  What did I like to do? Between homework, Maddy, and E!, I didn’t have a lot of free time.

  I shrugged again. “Hang out, I guess.” I was realizing that aside from art and championing for non-soggy Crispix, I had zero hobbies.

  No one was ever going to describe me as a well-rounded student.

  “Well, that’s very interesting!” Arnold burst. “Have you ever thought about a career in politics? Pretty much, you just hang out with people and try to garner their vote.” Then he laughed a creepy staccato laugh.

  My dad just paused right in the middle of eating his lamb steak. “What about protecting our people from total government control? What about campaigning on upholding the Constitution? What about freedom of the peoples?”

  Politics were never a good dinner conversation when my dad was involved.

  Arnold immediately went into apology/super schmooze mode. “Well, yes, yes, of course we have to work to protect the freedoms of the people. I was merely suggesting that Kate might be good at it considering her people skills and obvious good head on her shoulders, never that a politician’s only job duty was to hang out with people.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dad said.

  We finished the meal in near silence.

  “Thank you for coming tonight,” Arnold said after all the plates had been cleared. “My family really enjoyed getting to meet all of you.”

  I wasn’t sure his family agreed with that assessment, but we nodded. “Thank you for having us,” I said.

  Then we climbed back into the unmarked black Tahoe and headed back home.

  “Kate, if you ever think of going into politics …” Dad threatened.

  “He served lamb,” I said at the same time, getting sad for the poor fluffy baby.

  “Those poor children are being raised in an atmosphere that is entirely inappropriate for proper growth,” Mom said.

  DJ listened to all of us and then grinned. “Successful evening, I take it.”

  “Could you please stop by Walton’s? I need a burger,” I said. I may not be able to eat lamb, but I can definitely eat beef. I think it has to do with calling the meat by a different name than what I call the animal.

  DJ changed the direction he was driving.

  “Politicians,” Dad muttered under his breath, using the same tone of voice he used when he talked about the Braille print on ATM machines. Anytime Dad wanted to point out the direction he felt humanity was headed in, he always talked about Braille on drive-thru ATM machines. “If that’s not a straight shot toward stupidity, I don’t know what is,” he would say.

  “Well, Kate, tomorrow is the May Day parade and I got word from Deputy Slalom that you can start talking to the press now. We’ve scheduled a press conference for tomorrow after the parade. How does that sound?” DJ asked.

  It sounded like a day better off spent in the Pit of Despair, like on The Princess Bride, but I didn’t say that. “Fine,” I groaned.

  DJ pulled into Walton’s drive-through and I told him I wanted a cheeseburger and fries and then passed him a five dollar bill.

  “I’d like a cheeseburger, fries, and double-decker chicken sandwich,” he ordered.

  A few minutes later, we pulled into our driveway and I settled on our sofa, unwrapping my greasy burger and turning the TV to KCL, fully anticipating a shot of our front door to be part of the news again tonight.

  They had a different picture headlining, though.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for watching KCL News, the news you can trust!” Ted Deffle said, grinning that nearly blinding white smile. I ran my tongue over my teeth. I might need to go get some of those whitening strips before the press conference tomorrow.

  “Tonight, we take you to the lair of a killer,” he said, all dramatically. I took a bite of my cheeseburger and watched as the picture of a different front door appeared next to Ted’s head.

  “This is the reputed house of the killer known as John X.”

  I sat up a little straighter and turned the volume up a little louder. DJ came in and sat on the couch with me, eating his chicken sandwich.

  “Police in the Greater St. Louis Area have been painstakingly combing through every belonging in this suburban home, looking for evidence in the four deaths of women in the surrounding area.”

  A map showed the four counties around St. Louis where John X had claimed lives.

  “We’re going live to Candace Olstrom at the scene. Candace?”

  “Hi, Ted,” squeaky blonde Candace said, standing outside a house marked off with bright yellow caution tape. The whole street was dark except for the news crew lights on Candace. “I’m here outside the house that police now know was the headquarters for the serial killer known as John X. Earlier today I got to talk to several of the neighbors to see what they knew.”

  It switched from a live feed to a tape of earlier when it was still light outside.

  “Yeah, I knew ‘im,” one man said around a huge wad of pink bubblegum. “‘E was always out in ‘is yard, workin’ on some old mower or sometin. ‘E weren’t too friendly. One of my kids ‘it a baseball back there and ‘e wouldn’t give it back.” Then the man spit the huge wad of bubblegum into his yard.

  I loved how news crews out here always managed to find the pride and joy of the population to interview.

  “I met him once,” a lady carrying a baby said next. The baby kept trying to grab Candace’s microphone. “Stop it, Lucy. I got a package that was his, so I took it over. He seemed friendly, if not a little distant. Lucy, cut it out. Who knew he was a killer? I never lock my doors, I never worry about my safety. Lucy, I swear … I’ll tell you what, though, I’m locking my doors tonight, that’s for sure and certain.”

  “Top of the crop tonight,” DJ muttered.

  I smiled.

  Then they switched to a picture of John X in prison, and my smile faded. He was sitting on a cot staring out of bars, and he didn’t look happy at all.

  Mad might be a better word.

  Or livid.

  He hadn’t used a razor and he looked kind of dirty. He didn’t really resemble the man I drew in art class as much.

  “Authorities say they’ve uncovered several incriminating pieces that will be used in the trial against John X. Ted?”

  “Thanks, Candace. In other news, the local heroine who helped aid in the capture of John X will be appearing in the May Day parade tomorrow alongside the governor, and we also will finally get a chance to talk to the notorious Kate Carter afterwards.”

  They were showing that awful yearbook picture of me again, but to be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention.

  All I could see was John X sitting behind those bars. Livid.

  At me.

  “Kate?” DJ asked.

  I blinked and looked up at him. Suddenly, the cold, half-eaten, greasy burger in my hands didn’t look so appetizing anymore. I wadded it up in the paper.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Fine.” It was better not to worry the policeman just doing his job. If I was going to tell anyone my worries, it was going to be Lolly. Mom would try to do her psychoanalyzing thing on me, Dad would start in about Miss Yeager, and Maddy would just go all drama queen.

  Lolly was a dumb dog sometimes, but she was a good listener.

  DJ twisted his lips like he didn’t believe me, but he nodded. “Your call,” he said. “Ready for the parade tomorrow? Let me see your wave.”

  I just rolled my eyes. “So ready. And no, you can’t see my wave.”

  Ted was now showing clips of the families of the women John X had killed.

  “We are so thankful that this man has been brought to justice for the murder of m
y wife,” one man said, a teary teenage son and daughter beside him. He had to gather himself for a minute and then continued. “We will never heal completely, but with God all things are possible. Thank you, Kate Carter and the fine men and women of the St. Louis area police team. May God bless you and yours.” Then he had to step away, wiping his eyes and holding onto his kids.

  They looked like they were a nice family. Why did bad things always seem to happen to nice people?

  DJ was watching me again.

  “What?” I asked, looking over at him.

  He squinted at me. “You did a good thing, Kate. I just want you to remember that. And I know you’re freaking out right now, but remember that he’s in prison and you are safe. Okay?”

  I liked that DJ was young enough to use freaking out in its proper context. My dad tried to do that once and it didn’t turn out quite so well.

  I didn’t like that DJ could read me like an open book. In a lot of ways, he was like the brother I always wanted and never got in Mike. Mike was always too concerned over things that concerned him.

  Never things that concerned his annoying little sister.

  I nodded to DJ. “I’m fine,” I said again.

  “Sure,” he said. “I know.”

  I watched a couple more of the victim’s families’ interviews and tried to stop grinding my teeth. “Just fine,” I mumbled again.

  Chapter Nine

  SUNDAY MORNING AND MOM, DAD, DJ, AND I WERE ALL sitting in one of the very uncomfortable pews at South Woodhaven Falls First Baptist Church.

  Which I thought was an entirely-too-long-name for a building that could probably only hold about two hundred people.

  Maybe.

  We were handed a piece of paper with the order of the service on it when we sat down, and right as we sat an old lady slammed a chord down so hard on the organ at the front of the sanctuary that all four of us jumped.

  About a third of the people in the room stood up then and gathered on the stage, wearing what looked like something flamboyant monks would wear or maybe something that a color-blind school would use for graduation. And they were all holding books in front of them and clearing their throats.

  “Join us, won’t you, in standing and singing Hymn 239,” a man also wearing the monk outfit said into a microphone. The lady at the organ started busting out a long chord succession and then the people in front starting singing.

  “Lord, who dost give to thy church,” they all started, and that’s where they lost me.

  Who was dost? Or maybe it was a what?

  Dad was standing stoically and looking at the choir in a mix of peevishness and boredom. Mom was fumbling with a book she pulled out of the back of the pew in front of her, which I realized was a book of music. And DJ was squinting at another one of the books, trying to follow along.

  The organ lady finished with an ear-shattering ending and then started up again. “Hymn 197!” the same man yelled out. “And sing with joy!”

  “We’re marching to Zion,” the people around me and on the stage sang loudly. “Beautiful, beautiful, Zion!”

  I’d never heard of Zion, and other than it sounding very similar to a large cat found in our local zoo, I wasn’t sure what it was.

  Again, another eardrum-splitting finale, and then we all sat and listened to a man in a poor-fitting suit who said “amen” after every sentence.

  Including one that made a reference to McSweeny’s market. I’d never heard McSweeny’s market amened before.

  “And I said to a woman in the middle of McSweeny’s market, ‘Woman! You can have peace!’ Amen?”

  “Amen!” the people around us shouted, making me jump yet again.

  I tried to subtly look around while the man was talking. There were primarily people in what I would guess were their late sixties, maybe early seventies around us. I didn’t see anyone who was my age, and I only saw one other couple who was my parents’ ages.

  After the final “amen” had been shouted, the organ lady took up her post again and everyone started milling around the room, talking very loudly so they could be heard over the organ.

  “Well, hello there!” a tiny old woman with hair that was whiter than anything OxiClean had ever treated said to us when we got ready to leave. She stuck her hand out to my dad. “I’m Sister Elizabeth Parker. And you are?”

  It would be very hard to go through your whole life with the nickname “sister.” She seemed to take it well, though.

  “Dale,” my dad said gruffly.

  Sister Elizabeth Parker grinned brightly. “Welcome to South Woodhaven Falls First Baptist Church!” she said with more oomph than the organ lady played with.

  And that was a lot of oomph.

  Especially for a little woman like Sister Elizabeth.

  “I’m Claire,” Mom said, shaking the woman’s hand. “This is my daughter, Kate, and … our friend, DJ.”

  It was a nice save and DJ smiled.

  “Well, it’s very nice to meet you all. I must say, I haven’t seen a hair untouched by the Master Grayer in this service since 1998!” She stuck her hands on her tiny hips for emphasis. “Most of you young folk tend to go for the late service. Contemporary music and that stuff that hurts my ears.” Then she grinned all big at us.

  Despite the fact that I’m pretty sure she was one of the loudest “amen”-ers behind us, I decided I kind of liked Sister Elizabeth. She seemed spunky.

  “Well, now. You fine folks should sure come back now, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we certainly will,” Mom said.

  Judging by Dad’s expression, I didn’t think that was what he was planning for next Sunday.

  We walked out to the foyer before the exit, and I finally saw a group of people my age moving toward the sanctuary.

  And my mouth dropped.

  At the center of the group, loudly telling a joke that had the other nine kids laughing hysterically — none other than Justin Walters from art.

  Aka Silent Justin.

  I just stood there gaping at him. I don’t know if he felt the complete shock in my gaze melting toward him or what, but suddenly he stopped talking and looked over at me.

  And blinked. “Kate?” he said.

  Apparently I gasped from the total surprise at the first time I’d heard him say my name, which made DJ and my father panic.

  “What? What?” Dad shouted, grabbing my right arm.

  “Let’s get you to the car immediately,” DJ said, grabbing my left arm.

  I wrestled out of their reaches and Justin walked over.

  Smiling.

  “Hi, Kate,” he said easily, like we were good friends and talked all the time. “How are you? I didn’t know you came to first service.”

  At this point, I was waiting for either Ashton Kutcher to arrive on the scene and announce that I had just been Punk’d or for Justin to introduce himself as Justin’s previously-unheard-of identical twin, Dustin.

  I glanced around, but I did not see Ashton or another Justin lookalike, and the Justin who was in front of me was now giving me a very weird look.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “You speak?” I asked.

  He said, “What?”

  “I have never heard you talk, ever,” I said.

  Dad and DJ exchanged a look and then walked with Mom a few feet away. I appreciated the privacy. Should Ashton Kutcher appear, it would be nice to not embarrass my entire family.

  Justin shrugged. “Sometimes I like being quiet.”

  He said it the same way he would say he sometimes liked Canadian bacon on his pizza. Nonchalant.

  “Sometimes? We’re almost halfway through the school year,” I said.

  He shrugged again. “So a lot of times. Especially at school.”

  “How come?”

  Yet another shrug. I was beginning to feel the ache in my shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. “Guess I don’t have much to say.” Then he changed the subject. “So, when did you start coming to SWF Fir
st Baptist?”

  “This morning,” I said.

  “Oh. Well, you should come to the late service next time. It’s more contemporary.”

  “Meaning no organ?” I asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “No organ. Guitars, drums, keyboard.”

  “And the Amen-ers?”

  He crinkled up his forehead. “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  He just nodded at me. The group he’d been talking to came over and he smiled at them. “Okay, well, I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow at school. Bye, Kate.”

  Then he and his group disappeared into the sanctuary.

  Talking.

  I shook my head slightly. Don’t visions typically happen around churches or church people? Maybe I just had a vision.

  A vision of what could be.

  “Who was that?” Mom asked as I walked over to where they stood next to the door.

  “A guy from art class.”

  Dad mumbled something about artsy boys under his breath but I chose to ignore it.

  DJ looked at his watch. “It’s almost ten thirty and you are supposed to be at the parade grounds in an hour,” he told me.

  “Oh, yay,” I said, sighing.

  “Try to contain your enthusiasm, Kate. We are in a public building. You don’t want to cause a scene.” Mom grinned, leading the way outside.

  A parade. I hated even going to a parade. Being in one had to be a zillion times worse.

  I had just walked out the door, squinting into the sun, when someone said, “Kate Carter?”

  I turned and it was a lady in her forties I didn’t recognize. “Yes?”

  She gasped and clasped her hands to her chest. “Kate Carter?” she screeched again. “The Kate Carter?”

  “And it’s time to go,” DJ said, quickly grabbing for my elbow.

  “Oh my gosh, I am so thankful for you!” the woman yelled. “You are a hero, young lady, do you hear me?”

  I was pretty certain that everyone in the neighborhood could hear her. I managed a short smile before I got hustled into the black Tahoe by DJ and Dad.

  “You are too recognizable,” DJ huffed as he climbed into the driver’s seat.