Monster in Miniature Read Online Free Page B

student days at Berkeley.
    I thought Maddie was lucky to have both outlooks in her life.
     
     
    “I wish I could go back,” Maddie said, once we were comfortably seated on the couch. I’d put a mac and cheese casserole in the oven, on the off chance that we could have a normal dinner.
    “Back to what, sweetheart?” I asked, though I had a good guess.
    “Back to when we were in front of Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson’s house and I was sort of a little bit scared. Now Uncle Skip probably thinks I’m afraid and I don’t want to help him find out who shot the man.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut. Dreams die hard.
    “There’s a whole police department in town to take care of that, sweetheart.” I tousled her curls. “Your job is to help me get dinner ready.”
    Maddie rubbed her stomach and made a grimace, as if she’d been told to eat a helping of Swiss chard. “I’m not that hungry. I was hungry, but now I’m not.”
    This was a first. I could see and feel my granddaughter’s struggle. Her desire to be grown-up and a partner in adult circumstances had come up against the fact that she was still a vulnerable eleven-year-old, greatly upset by matters of life and death.
    “Would you like me to cancel the crafts meeting tonight? Everyone would understand. We could sit here and chat or watch one of your favorite movies. Whatever you like. I know it was rough this afternoon.”
    Apparently my proposals were too boring under any circumstances and Maddie snapped to. “Nuh-uh. I’m not that scared.”
    “Okay, then. We’ll go ahead as planned.”
    “Grandma?”
    “Yes, sweetheart?”
    “I hate it when people die like that man did, when it’s not because they’re sick or something.” She paused. “I don’t like them to get sick and die, either, like Grandpa did. But I guess it’s worse if someone hurts you?”
    I wished she hadn’t made it a question.
    My best response was to hold her and kiss her head. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that some things about life would never be comprehensible, no matter how old we got. Death, whether by suicide, murder, or what were called natural causes, was one of those things.
     
     
    “Do you think Uncle Skip will need any computer help?” she asked after putting away only a slightly smaller portion than usual of mac and cheese. “I already learned a lot more than I knew before school started.” I was glad to know the expensive after-school lessons her parents supported were paying off. “I heard Uncle Skip and the other officers say the man’s name. Oliver Halbert. I can Google him.”
    We’d moved to the crafts room where a considerable amount of straightening up was needed before my friends arrived for a twice-weekly work session.
    “If you’re so energetic, you can help clear this table so everyone will have enough room for her project.” I thought of offering a second ice cream serving of the day as an incentive, but I knew there was an excellent dessert coming with crafter Susan Giles.
    “Well, someone has to figure out what happened to the man, right?” Maddie said. She held her palms open, as if to allow the burdens of the world to fall into them.
    I sent a loud sigh in her direction. “Would you rather make the witches or the ghosts tonight?” I asked her.
    “Okay, Grandma, I get it. Let’s not talk about the case right now.”
    “And there’s really no need to bring anything up when the group gets here.”
    “Bring what up? There’s nothing to bring up,” she said, singsong fashion, her winning grin filling her face. “If there was anything to bring up, I forgot it.”
    “I’m glad to hear that,” I said.

Chapter 3

    I was comfortable with the decision that we should keep to our Friday night routine as much as possible, in spite of the decidedly nonroutine afternoon. The arrival of my crafter friends, and the promise of a scrumptious dessert—an old Giles family recipe from the heart of the South—was sure to give both Maddie and me a