Poe slammed his head into my leg as soon as he slipped into the kitchen ahead of my aunt, who brought him home every night from the store. Arms filled with grocery bags, my aunt moved to the counter. I avoided tripping on Poe to help her before they went sliding everywhere.
“Did you get cookies?” I asked, poking into the reusable shopping bags as we settled them in a row.
“I did. Your favorites,” she said.
“Good!” I wanted a handful and a glass of milk right then. I"d eaten the last of the candy. I"d been stressed out since my last visit to the police station. I"d be seeing zits soon, no doubt.
While putting the groceries away, my aunt rambled on about her day. She called it “unwinding” or “venting”, depending upon what sort of day she"d had. Although the story of the murder was in the
