Chapter 8I burst into the kitchen, the screen door slamming against the wall. Elvira stood at the sink washing dishes. Uncle John didn’t believe in newfangled technology like actual dishwashers. In fact, I was surprised he had a stove rather than making Elvira use the old stone hearth that took up most of an inside wall in the kitchen.
She looked over her shoulder as I stood there, clenching my fists and trembling in fury.
“You b***h. What did you do?” I shook my blood-covered hand in her face before wiping my palm on my trousers.
And she smiled, the most smug, self-satisfied, mean-spirited smile I had ever seen. “So now you know what you had for dinner.”
I stared at her, aghast.
“What’s going on?” Micajah barreled into the kitchen, breathing heavily.
I couldn’t tell him just yet, I
