The Dead Man in Indian Creek by Mary Downing Hahn Read Free Book Online Page B

house as the meat-and-potato diet Dad demanded. Charity sulked for a while, but she ended up eating everything except the bits of onion she dug out of the meat loaf. These she lined up neatly around the rim of her plate, positioning each one with the tines of her fork.
    After two helpings of pumpkin pie and real whipped cream, Parker and I headed for my room to escape the nightly argument about cleaning up. As we climbed the steps, I could hear Charity complaining that I never did anything.
    "It's your turn to wash the dishes," Mom said.
    "Matt washed them last night. It's right here on the kitchen calendar."
    To drown out Charity's screeching countercharge, I slammed my bedroom door and turned on the stereo.
    Parker flopped down on the bottom part of my bunk bed and started leafing through a
Mad
magazine. Thinking he must be sick to death of the constant bedlam at my house, I fiddled with the controls on the stereo, trying to increase the volume enough to drown out the noise in the kitchen but not enough to bring Dad to the door, yelling at me to turn it down.
    After a while, Parker tossed
Mad
across the room and sighed.
    "Coming over here must be a real drag," I said. "The way everybody shouts and carries on is enough to drive you nuts."
    Parker glanced at me. "Actually, I was just thinking it's like being in one of those family shows on TV."
    I stared at him. "Are you crazy? Those shows are funny, and the parents always know the right way to handle everything. Here it's just a mess of confusion."
    Parker shrugged. "At least you have a family," he muttered. "Your mother cares enough about you to fix dinner for you every night."
    There was a little silence then as the tape ended and began reversing itself. I didn't know what to say, so I was glad when the next song began and I could play with the tone and volume again.
    Suddenly Parker jumped up so fast he bumped his head on the top bunk. "I better get going," he said.
    I followed him downstairs. Charity was arguing with Mom about a new subject. "I don't want to study my spelling words," she was wailing. "I want to watch television."
    If Mom hadn't been locked in a power struggle with a six-year-old, she might have stopped me with questions about homework, especially my book report.
    But she didn't hear or see a thing, and Parker and I slipped out the back door like prisoners escaping from jail. Otis jumped up from the porch and ran ahead of us, his tail waving, and I had to hurry to keep up with Parker.
    The air was thick with bonfire smoke, and a big orange harvest moon stared down at us from just above the treetops. Little gangs of leaves scurried this way and that, ankle deep on sidewalks that hadn't been raked.
    "Are you going back to the Olde Mill?" I asked Parker as he turned down Blake Street.
    "We've watched the shop every afternoon," he said, "and all we've seen are old ladies buying antiques. Maybe the real action is at night."
    Holding on to Otis's collar, I followed Parker into the woods behind Jennifer's house. This time I didn't see her anywhere, and I wondered which one of the lighted windows was her bedroom. I imagined her sitting at a little desk with her homework spread out in front of her. Maybe she was working on her book report for Mr. Simpson, and I wished I were at home doing that instead of following Parker through the woods.
    When we got to our hiding place, we peered out through the bushes at the Olde Mill. The back room was still lit, and very faintly I could hear a sad song about an unfaithful wife, the kind they always play on country music stations. Other than that, there was no sign of any action.
    "How long are you planning to stay here?" I asked Parker after a while. My feet were cold and my legs were stiff from squatting. Pretty soon my parents were bound to notice my absence, and I'd get in trouble for going out on a school night without permission.
    "At least till midnight." Parker looked at his watch's luminous face. "It's a few minutes