"I'll do my homework the minute I get home."
"Don't wait dinner for me, what I'm saying."
"I won't."
She got in the car and backed out of the driveway and pulled out into the street. He watched her out of sight, then went into the house and took a shower.
When he came out, he heard a voice from the kitchen. "Mack Street, when you get dressed, would you mind coming in here and talking to me?" It was Mrs. Tucker, Ceese's mom. It was plain she knew that Miz Smitcher was gone, so it was Mack she wanted to talk to. She didn't sound agitated—in fact, she sounded downright perky. But it wasn't like adults came calling on him every day. Had to be something wrong, and had to be she thought he had something to do with it or knew something about it, so whatever it was, Mack was probably going to wish it wasn't happening.
Didn't make him dress any faster; didn't make him dress any slower. He'd find out what it was, deal with it as best he could. Mack wasn't one to worry, or at least he didn't go to great lengths to avoid facing whatever was coming at him.
Once he had his briefs on, he paused for a moment before putting on his pants. They weren't too dirty to wear—though they did look as though they had made the passage through the woods. Thing is, he wasn't sure he could trust them. He'd read plenty of stories about magic stuff that disappeared at midnight or some other inconvenient time. But at least he'd have his briefs on, if the pants vanished off his butt. So he pulled on the pants and padded into the kitchen where Mrs. Tucker was sipping tea and looking a little tense.
Ceese was sitting in the chair next to her. Well, that was no big deal, Ceese probably didn't have a morning class.
"It's just a little thing," she said. "Hardly worth mentioning, but it's been bothering me since it happened last night." And then she stopped.
Mack looked at Ceese, who was staring at the table looking solemn.
"I brought Ceese along because he's going to be a policeman now," said Mrs. Tucker. "Not that I think any crime has been committed!"
"And not that I know a thing about police work yet," said Ceese. "I just signed up to train for the test."
"You're going to be a cop?" asked Mack, fascinated. "You never hit anybody in your life."
"I did so," said Ceese, "but that ain't what decides you on being a cop. The idea is you try not to hit anybody, but if you have to, then you know how. Same thing with guns. You hope to be a cop who never has to fire a gun at a person, but if the time comes when you got no choice, then you know how to do it right."
"So why you doing it, Ceese?" asked Mack. "I thought you were going to build bridges."
"I was going to design electronics," said Ceese. "Lots of different kinds of engineering, Mack.
But I was bored. Didn't feel like anything I was doing mattered to anybody. Being a cop, now, that matters. You make a difference. You keep people safe."
"Like you looked after me," said Mack.
"Like that."
"So what do you think I done wrong?"
"No," protested Mrs. Tucker. "We don't think you did a thing that's wrong. In fact, if you did it, then it definitely wasn't wrong, but I just have to know."
"Know what?" asked Mack.
"What happened to the leftover chili I was heating up for Winston and me for supper last night."
Mack knew at once what happened to it, and it pissed him off. If the magic at Skinny House could arrange for half a dozen copies of his pants to hang from hooks in a closet, why couldn't it simply copy Mrs. Tucker's chili out of her fridge instead of stealing it?
But he couldn't very well say so. He could just imagine how they'd react if he said, I ate it, but not from your fridge, it got magically transported to the fridge at an invisible house down the street, so when I ate it I didn't know I was eating yours. But it sure was delicious. I did my hot-mouth dance when I ate it.
"That's what we don't know," said Ceese patiently.
Mack just sat there, looking back and forth between them.
"I was preparing dinner," said Mrs. Tucker. "I checked in the fridge to make sure there was enough chili for the two of us, and there was. And then I went to the sink and washed the corn on the cob and cut up some bananas to put with a can of mandarin oranges to make a little fruit salad. And when I came back from the can opener with the oranges to drain off the liquid into the sink, there was the chili dish, freshly washed and still wet, in the drain-dry beside the sink. And a spoon."
"Somebody snuck in and ate your chili and washed the dish while you were opening the mandarin oranges?" asked Mack.
Ceese gave the tiniest sigh.
"I'm just so afraid I'm losing my mind," said Mrs. Tucker. "I was hoping you'd tell me that... that you perhaps did it as a prank. Meaning no harm. I'd be so relieved to know that it was you, and that I'm not crazy."
"You not crazy," said Mack.
"Then you did it?" said Ceese, sounding calm but also just the tiniest bit incredulous.
Mack shrugged. "I was not in your kitchen yesterday or last night, Mrs. Tucker."
"Where were you?" asked Ceese.
Mack looked at him calmly. "You asking for my alibi, Officer?"
Ceese got a small smile. "I guess so, Mack Street."
"Got no alibi," said Mack. "I was walking around in the neighborhood and in the woods and I slept under a tree last night with a big black cat. I reckon that cat ain't much of an alibi."
"But you didn't eat Mom's chili," said Ceese.
"I was not in your kitchen yesterday."
"I just can't imagine," said Mrs. Tucker, "why somebody would eat my chili and then wash the dishes."
"I think," said Ceese, "we're not quite ready to start an urban legend about a sneak thief called
'Tidy Boy' who steals food from fridges while the cook is in the kitchen, and washes up without a soul noticing he's even there."
Magic always found a way to be cruel. Mack couldn't even have a chili supper without hurting somebody.
"Mrs. Tucker," said Mack, "I can't tell you what happened to your chili, but I can promise you this. You're not going crazy, you're not getting old, something really happened, but if you keep talking about it people going to think you crazy. So maybe you better let it go."
For the first time, Ceese got real alert. He didn't say anything, but now he was looking at Mack real steady, and the amusement was gone.
"Do you think so, Mack?" asked Mrs. Tucker. "I know it's silly, you're only a boy, what would you know?"
"I know that the chili was really in your fridge when you saw it. I know you didn't accidently eat it and wash up afterward and then forget you did."
"How do you know, Mack?" she said plaintively. "How can I know you really know?"
"Doubt me if you want, but I know everything happened just the way it seemed to you, and you didn't forget anything. That's the best I can do."
She looked at him searchingly, then reached out and clutched at his hands, there on the table.
"Mack, you're an angel to say that to me. I know Ceese doesn't believe me, though he's too kind ever to say so. I just needed somebody to believe me."
"I do, Mrs. Tucker."
"Well then," she said. "I'll just wash up my cup..."
She stood up.
"I'll do that, Mrs. Tucker," said Mack. "I like washing dishes."
"You do? That's very strange of you," she said, and then laughed. It sounded only a little hysterical. "But very nice."
Ceese left with her out the back door, but as Mack expected, he was back before Mack finished drying the cup and saucer and spoon and putting them away.
"All right, Mack, what was all that about?"
"Ceese, why should I tell you?" said Mack.
"Cause I think my mother is losing her mind and if you know some reason I shouldn't think that, you better tell me."
"That's not good enough," said Ceese. "Just your word like that?"
"I ever lie to you, Ceese?" asked Mack.
"Not telling me the whole story, that's the same as a lie."
"Not if I don't pretend that it's the whole story when it's not."