Page 52 of What We Burn

“That’s not comforting.”

He gets up and takes the bread knife from the magnetic strip along the wall, holding it out handle first.

Taking it, I cut two slices and pass one to him. We stare at the slices in silence.

There’s a creak on the floorboards. Then another.

Holden appears in the doorway in track pants and no shirt. He sees the banana bread. He sees us. He pulls up a stool.

“I ran some of those names Milo mentioned through missing persons,” he says. “There are six garden beds, and each was about a six-by-three dimension. The average male burial requires a plot of six-by-two-and-a-half minimum.”

“Hello to you too,” I say, smiling. Although my still-raspy voice makes the comment sound more ominous than I’d like.

“She has the acreage. She has the motive. She has three men who are too afraid to talk. I’m wondering if she should be on our list.” He cuts himself a slice. “But then again, she’s Milo’s mom. And I couldn’t find any reports that cleanly match up with Milo’s list of dads who’ve ‘moved on.’” He breaks off a piece of bread and lifts it to his mouth, pausing halfway. “So, do we give her a pass for Milo’s sake? Or do we flag her and figure out what she’s really up to?” He moves the bread to his lips then freezes right before tossing it in his mouth. “Are we worried the banana bread is poisoned?”

I nod. “It’s been keeping me awake.”

“I’ve been sitting here staring at it for over an hour,” Eli says.

Another creak. Micah rounds the corner with his phone flashlight on, catching the three of us huddled around the loaf. He turns it off.

“Oh good. Emergency meeting.” He grabs a stool. “Are we all creeped the fuck out over meeting Milo’s family today? Or is it just me?”

“Creeped. The fuck. Out,” Holden says, still staring at the torn-off bite between his fingers.

“We’re eating the banana bread,” I say.

“We’re discussing eating the banana bread,” Holden corrects.

“Great! Are we also discussing whether Milo’s mom is a serial killer?” Micah cuts himself a thick slice. “’Cause I’m in the affirmative column.” He lifts the slice to his nose, inhaling deep. “Holy crap that smells good. Is that cinnamon?”

“And walnut,” Eli says.

A shadow fills the doorway. Knox. He doesn’t say anything. He takes the seat next to me, cuts a slice twice the size of anyone else’s, and before we can stop him, eats half of it in one bite.

“Wait!” I hiss. “It could be poisoned!”

Knox looks at me over the rest of the loaf. “She sent it home with her favorite son, who has the memory of a peanut. It’s not fucking poisoned.”

We all deflate.

“Damn. You’re right.” Holden tosses the bite into his mouth. “Bon appétit.”

For a beat we all dig in and do nothing but moan our appreciation.

“So,” Micah says, licking crumbs off his thumb. “We’re all agreed. Gloria’s a criminal.”

“Oh, she’s killed at least two of them,” Holden says calmly.

“At least,” Knox agrees.

“And do we believe Milo has no idea?” Eli adds.

Micah shrugs. “I think he believes what his brain is comfortable believing.”

I nod along. “Did you see the way he froze up when we asked about his dad?”

Holden makes a displeased sound. “He definitely knows more than he’s letting on. But I don’t think it’s out of malice,” he continues, glancing at me. “I think he’s protecting his own headspace.” He breaks off another piece and eats it, chewing thoughtfully.