Al Capone Does My Homework by Gennifer Choldenko Read Free Book Online Page A

say, “why aren’t there officers here? Don’t they want to know how this
     started?”
    “Adults don’t make sense,” she says. “Everybody knows that.”
    I’m too upset to find this funny. This is my house. Doesn’t anyone care it burned
     down?
    “You think it started in the kitchen?” Piper asks as Natalie and Theresa come in the
     broken front door and make a path through the living room.
    The place is probably safe. The flooring seems sound. The only really dangerous part
     is the broken glass and breathing in the ash. I know my parents wouldn’t like Natalie
     in here, but right now the only thing that matters is figuring this out.
    “Give everyone a job,” Piper whispers to me, “and you’ll earn their loyalty.”
    I roll my eyes. This isn’t about loyalty. This is about Piper ordering people around,
     but I do what she says anyway. I don’t want a showdown with Piper.
    “Okay,” I say, “Piper, you’re in the—”
    “Not me!” She points at Nat and Theresa. “Them.”
    “Theresa, you go with Nat. Help her find what she needs.”
    Theresa puts her hands on her hips. “That’s not helping with the investigation,” she
     declares. “That’s busy work.”
    “No it’s not. Natalie may know more than I do about what happened. Something here
     might jog her memory. Watch where she goes. Watch what she does. She was sleeping
     on my floor the night of the fire.”
    Theresa nods solemnly, her eyes the size of plums.
    I should be in the kitchen looking for clues, but I want to find my baseball glove,
     which is probably in Nat’s room.
    “Hey, Theresa? Nat? Is my baseball glove in there?”
    “Wait, um, hey, here it is!” Theresa calls out. She runs out of Nat’s room, holding
     my glove like a sleeping baby.
    “Yes!” I slip my fingers inside and close my fist. I am never taking it off.
    I run my gloveless hand over the stuff that still looks like my stuff. My pillow,
     the bedside table, the pennant from the Seals game, my history book. I never thought
     I’d care about my history book. It’s strange what a fire will do to you.
    I’m about to look for my report on Roosevelt when Annie comes to the door. She moves
     slowly toward me, testing the floor before she takes the next step. She stops and
     looks up at me, her blue eyes full of concern. “This is bad.” Then she sees the glove.
     “Hey.” She smiles as big as a baseball field. “You found it!”
    I smile back at her. Annie knows there’s nothing like your own glove.
    “We should check out the rest of the place,” she says.
    My parents’ room is scorched in one stripe from the doorway down one wall, like a
     black lick of fire came through.
    The kitchen is a burned-out hole. Jimmy is on his hands and knees sifting through
     the ashes. On the floor are a melted fork, a handle-less skillet, the square icebox
     now black as the devil’s cupboard. Piper has her head in the broom closet.
    “If it was arson, what are we looking for?” I ask Jimmy.
    “I was hoping for something obvious . . . a metal gasoline can, lighter fluid, matches.”
    In the living room, Annie is trying to piece together bits of fabric from the chair.
    At first, I couldn’t smell anything but smoke. But now my nose seems to be deadened
     to the smoke smell. How much of a smell can you smell, until you can’t smell it anymore?
    “Maybe we should do a reenactment,” Annie suggests.
    “Not much to reenact,” I say. “Nat was asleep on the floor of my room.”
    “Why was she sleeping in your room?” Theresa asks.
    “She does that when I babysit,” I say.
    “Maybe she gets scared.” Theresa again.
    “Maybe,” I say.
    “Hey,” Piper calls from the kitchen. “I found something.”
    Within seconds we are clustered around Piper, stirring up a new cloud of ashes, which
     starts Jimmy coughing.
    “What?” I ask.
    Piper pulls a half-burned hatbox out of the rubble. “Janet Trixle’s pixie house.”
    “What is Janet Trixle’s pixie