Kernel of Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

none from where I stood out by the Dumpster. There was nothing to distinguish Coco’s back porch from mine or Annie’s.
    In fact, why break into any of the shops on our block at all? If I were a thief, I’d have chosen the diner two blocks down. They did way more of a cash business than any of the little shops on this block. As Dan often pointed out, though, most criminals commit crimes because they’re too stupid to figure out how to earn a living doing something legal. Very few of them are Lex Luthor.
    I shook myself out of it, and Sprocket and I walked home a few minutes later. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe I was walking these same tree-lined sidewalks again. I felt like I knew every inch of their cracked and humped-up surfaces. When I’d left here after high school graduation, I would have as soon taken a sledgehammer to them than move back and walk to work over them every day. Then I thought of GrandLake as a prison I was breaking out of. Now it seemed like a safe harbor. I was as surprised as anyone else by it.
    Then again, life is full of surprises, few of them good. Haley and I had learned that when the police officers showed up at our door to tell us our parents had been in an accident. I’d been sixteen. Haley had been eighteen. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a surprise since. I doubt Haley has either.
    I waved to Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop as I walked past their house. They were sitting on their front porch sipping lemonade. That was the kind of town Grand Lake was. Sprocket stopped to sniff the edge of their property. I tugged on Sprocket’s leash to keep him from relieving himself on their white picket fence while they watched. Mr. Winthrop lumbered down off the porch, his legs as bandy as if he’d been a cowpoke instead of a dock master at the marina for thirty-five years. He had to be in his seventies now. There were about two hairs on his head and they were both coming out of his ears. His pants were belted low under his substantial paunch, which strained at his plaid shirt.
    â€œI heard about Coco,” he said, leaning down to give Sprocket a pat. “Terrible shame.”
    I nodded. I decided to only award Mr. Winthrop with the Understatement of the Week Award in my head. I’d learned that Mr. Winthrop didn’t get sarcasm when I was a teenager and got caught trying to steal a motorboat at the marina for a joyride. The man had zero sense of humor. Zero.
    â€œAny word on who’s responsible?” he asked.
    This was also the kind of town Grand Lake was. The kind of town that ran on gossip.
    I shook my head. Coco’s death might end up being fodder for a million late-night conversations at Winnie’s Tavern and Bob’s Diner, but the information swapped wasn’t going to come from me.
    â€œI heard it looked like someone might have broken in,” Mr. Winthrop said, pulling out the last syllable as if it might get me to jump into the conversation.
    I couldn’t stand being mute anymore. “I don’t know what happened, Mr. Winthrop. I just know that someone dear to me is gone too soon. Again.” I pulled Sprocket’s leash and we walked away.
    I heard him say, “Those Anderson girls are mighty touchy,” to his wife as he lumbered back up his porch.
    Whatever. “I’d rather be touchy than be a big fat loudmouth who can’t get a joke,” I said under my breath to Sprocket. Sprocket stopped, cocked his head and gave me a look. “Okay, fine,” I said. “He’s not fat.” Sprocket snorted and we walked on.
    We turned right on Tulip Lane and followed it until we hit the river, then turned left on Marina Road and continued on until we got to the Grand Lake Lighthouse. Sunset was hours away yet, but the sun was lowering and the light turned golden as it hit the water. The lighthouse glowed white against the still blue sky. Olive Hicks carried a package into the lighthouse. It must be time