The lizards don’t like onion blood.” Stanley and Zero sat in the backseat of Ms. Morengo’s BMW.
The suitcase lay between them. It was locked, and they decided they’d let Stanley’s father try to open it in his workshop.
“You don’t know what’s in it, do you?” she asked. “No,” said Stanley. “I didn’t think so.”
The air-conditioning was on, but they drove with the windows open as well,
because, “No offense, but you boys really smell bad.” Ms. Morengo explained that she was a patent attorney.
“I’m helping your father with the new product he’s invented. He happened to mention your situation, so I did a little investigating.
Clyde Livingston’s sneakers were stolen sometime before 3:15.
I found a young man, Derrick Dunne, who said that at 3:20 you were in the bathroom fishing your notebook out of the toilet.
Two girls remembered seeing you come out of the boys’ restroom carrying a wet notebook.”
Stanley felt his ears redden. Even after everything he’d been through, the memory still caused him to feel shame.
“So you couldn’t have stolen them,” said Ms. Morengo. “He didn’t. I did,” said Zero.
“You did what?” asked Ms. Morengo. “I stole the sneakers.”
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