Sylvieâs problem?
I looked at Elliot across the table. He was chewing. Chewing and looking worriedly at Sylvie.
âSoâ¦your dad doesnât let you eat candy?â I ventured.
Sylvie looked up at me. For a moment, her eyes looked filled with hurt. I was just starting to get seriously concerned that she was about to cry when she blinked. And suddenly she was back to normal again.
âDad has a thing about sugar,â she said, reaching for a chip.
âAnd heâs still on his business trip?â I prodded.
âYep,â Sylvie said flatly. Swallowing her chip, she opened her notebook and held a pen poised over the empty first page. âFocus, boys. Weâre here to work.â
âOh, sorry, yeah,â Elliot said, pushing some enchiladas aside to grab another plate. âLetâs try this one next. What is this? Then we can start on theââ
âNo,â Sylvie snapped at him. âWeâre not here to talk about food. Weâre here to talk about what is happening at our school.â
âOh.â Elliot looked disappointed.
âHere is what we know,â Sylvie said, leaning forward importantly. âEight kids have been kicked out of schoolââ
âTen,â I interrupted. Justin Thomas and Gabrielle Clark had been sent to Principal Mathisâs office that morning, after they both yelled âfeeding timeâ and threw sandwich meat at me. I could only assume that had been Allanâs idea.
âOK, ten,â Sylvie amended, writing all of the names down in her notebook. âTen kids have been expelled, and no one has heard from them since. We have visual confirmation that at least one of them is no longer livingââ
âNow hold onââ Elliot interrupted.
âIn his house ,â Sylvie added, interrupting him back. âNo longer living in his house . Under suspicious circumstances that would lead a reasonable person to believe that something out of the ordinary has happened to him.â
âThat sounds about right,â I agreed, as Mrs. Juarez returned holding a large bowl of salad.
I winced as my injured tail thumped with involuntary delight.
Mrs. Juarez placed the salad in front of me, along with two other smaller dishes.
âThis one is salsa,â she said, pointing to the first one, which was full of chunky bits of tomato and onion. âAnd this one,â she said, pointing to the second one, a rich-looking brown sauce, âis molé.â
âMolé?â Elliot asked, his mouth full again. âWhat is that?â
âA Mexican sauce, made from chilies, spices, nuts, chocolate, and a few other things,â Mrs. Juarez answered.
âChocolate?â Elliot exclaimed. âThatâs awesome!â
âYou canât taste it,â Sylvie said sulkily.
Mrs. Juarez frowned at her daughter.
âYou can if youâre paying attention, Sylvie. Let your friends make up their own minds.â
Mrs. Juarez squeezed my shoulder as she straightened up.
âI thought it might go nicely with your salad, Sawyer. You must get tired of plain greens all of the time. And Elliot, the same sauce is on the molé poblano. Thatâs the dish on your left.â
âCool!â Elliot said, exchanging his scraped-clean plate for the one Mrs. Juarez had pointed out. It was a giant stuffed green pepper drizzled with the brown mystery sauce.
âThanks,â I said, and gave my small dish of molé an experimental sniff. It smelledâ¦warm. Which sounds weird, but it really did. Warm, like spices and nuts. I poured it over the top of my salad.
Mrs. Juarez returned to the kitchen, and we returned to our conversation.
âI really donât think that Parker is dead,â Elliot offered, as he disemboweled the poblano with a knife. âIf anything like that had happened to him, or to any of the others, we would have heard about it. Remember Gwen Carmichael?â
I