This Old Homicide

“I’ve been busy,” I mumbled. She was teasing me, but still, I should’ve known that my mother would want to cast a protection spell or do something to celebrate the groundbreaking of our winery’s newest venture.

 

I could picture Mom doing a spritely interpretive dance to the wine goddess. She would chant bad haiku and sprinkle magic sparkles on the heavy tunneling machines and equipment. It would be amazing and the heavy equipment would turn our tasting cave into a magical space where all would be welcome. Or something like that.

 

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom said, hanging a dish towel on the small rack by the sink. “While you’re here, you should go to lunch at the new vegan restaurant on the Lane. They serve a turnip burger that is to die for.”

 

I swallowed cautiously, hoping I didn’t lose my breakfast. “I’ll be sure to check that out, Mom.”

 

She laughed, and her blond ponytail bobbed gleefully. “Oh, you should see your face. Do you really think I’d be caught dead eating anything so vile?”

 

“I . . . Okay, you got me.” I shook my head and chuckled as I carried my bowl to the sink. “I was trying to remember when you’d turned vegan.”

 

“I didn’t, and I never will. And when did I ever serve my children turnips? Like, never.”

 

“You’re right, and I appreciate that. But I haven’t seen you in a while. I was a little afraid you’d suddenly turned into Savannah.” My sister Savannah was a vegetarian now, but she’d gone through several austere phases to get there, including a few months when she would eat only fruit that had already fallen from the tree.

 

“No, sweetie, I was just pulling your leg.”

 

I smiled at her. “You still got it, Mom.”

 

“I sure do.” She grabbed me in a hug and it felt good to hold on to her. “Oh, Brooklyn, I’m so happy you’re here.”

 

“So am I.”

 

As I washed out my cereal bowl, Mom left the kitchen.

 

“Let’s get going,” Robin said after I put my bowl away in the cupboard. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

 

“Wait a second, girls,” my mother called from her office alcove off the kitchen. She walked out, holding two tiny muslin bags tied with drawstrings, and handed one to each of us. “I want you both to carry one of these in your pocket.” Her expression had turned deadly serious. “It’ll keep you safe.”