The Borrowed and Blue Murders (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) by Merry Jones Page A

energetically.
    “Molly. Be gentle.”
    She continued to tickle him, her voice a little louder, sharper.
    “Stop tickling, Molly. Just cuddle him.” Not that he seemed bothered. Luke stared at his big sister with delighted, adoring eyes. But something about Molly wasn’t right. Her smile was off-balance, distorted. “Molly? What’s going on?”
    She didn’t answer. She revved it up a notch. “Tickle tickle, Lukie. Tickle tickle.”
    “Molls?”
    “Tickle tickle tickle.” Her eyes gleamed, and her tickles became jabs.
    “Molly, stop.”
    But Molly didn’t stop. She escalated. “Tickle tickle tickle tickle.” The pitch of her voice rose, became cloying, and her hands formed little claws, fingers stiff and wriggling.
    “I said stop.” I grabbed her arm, but she pulled it away and went after Luke again
    “Lukie, Lukie—” Defying me, she pawed at his belly. Luke looked confused and, predictably, dissolved into tears.
    “Molly. Cut it out.” In a one movement, I swooped at her, yanking her by the arm away from Luke and up into the air. She screamed, a window-rattling, nerve-piercing sound. I caught her, tried to hold on to her, but she squirmed away and bolted out of the room, cradling her arm, wailing, and Nick came running in, leading the herd of Stiles brothers, asking, “What happened? What the hell’s going on?”
    By then, Luke was howling. Upstairs, Molly slammed her bedroom door. In the dining room, Nick, Sam and Tony gaped at me, asking questions. My head throbbed. I wanted to cry or scream, to disappear altogether. Instead, I picked Luke up, cuddling him so he’d quiet down. “It’s okay. It’s nothing.”
    I couldn’t tell Nick that Molly had tried to hurt our son, couldn’t quite believe it myself. In all of her six years, I’d never seen Molly be mean to anyone, much less a smaller child. In fact, Molly and I had never before had a really angry, let alone a violent, moment. But, suddenly, poof. For no apparent reason, she’d snapped and attacked a baby. And I might have dislocated her shoulder.
    “What’s with Molly?” Nick wasn’t going away. “She having a tantrum?”
    I rocked Luke. “You could say so.”
    Nick nodded at the baby. “Because of him?”
    I blinked, absorbing the question. “Why?”
    “She’s been too cool about having a baby brother.”
    She had?
    “I mean you’d expect her to be a little jealous, wouldn’t you?”
    How would I know? I didn’t know much about siblings.
    “You were jealous, growing up.” Sam grinned, punched Tony’s ear.
    “Apparently, you still are.” Annoyed, Tony swatted Sam’s belly.
    Nick smirked. “Both of them have always been jealous of me. I was the oldest and Dad’s favorite.”
    “You?” Sam’s mouth dropped. “In your dreams.”
    “If anyone was jealous, Nick, it was you. Who used to whine that Mom never got mad at me?”
    “Well, she never did. It was pitiful.” Sam’s eyes weren’t laughing. He was only partly joking. “’No matter what you did, you never got in trouble. Poor little Tony has the sniffles. ‘Let me fix you a hot cocoa, Tony.’ Or how about, ‘Tony, let Mom buy you a new car’?”
    “Oh, cut it out. You guys got cars, too.”
    “What? A ‘74 Pacer? Nick and I got a pile of rusted scrap metal on wheels. But not baby Tony. Little Tony got a brand-new Toyota—”
    “I saved for that—”
    “You paid, what? A hundred bucks?”
    “Face it, Tony.” Nick folded his arms. “Mom spoiled you rotten.”
    “Well, why not?” Tony shrugged, a smug grin spreading across his face. “I was the baby—”
    “Actually,” Nick interrupted, “you were the baby. But Eli was her favorite.”
    “Eli? She was always pissed at Eli. She grounded him ninety percent of his childhood—”
    “Because she expected him to be perfect. She had her eye on him always. No, for sure. It was Eli. I was Dad’s favorite, and Eli was Mom’s.”
    “No way.”
    “You’re full of crap.”
    Tony pouted. Sam