What Came From the Stars by Gary D. Schmidt Page B

at suppertime, he told the Peppers how he had said to Mrs. Lumpkin that he didn’t even imagine she had anything to do with the wrecked Pepper house, but would she mind answering a few questions anyway? Mrs. Lumpkin had told Officer Goodspeed that she certainly did mind answering a few questions anyway and was this something that Mr. Pepper had put him up to in order to tarnish her reputation because Mr. Pepper had sworn to do whatever it took to stop the PilgrimWay Condominiums and this was just what she might expect from someone like Mr. Pepper who didn’t care a tinker’s curse about the town’s housing needs.
    Officer Goodspeed told her there had been an unusual amount of damage in the Peppers’ house and everyone knew—
    That explains everything, said Mrs. Lumpkin, because Mr. Pepper was certainly capable of wrecking his own house if he thought it might discredit her but she wasn’t going to stand for it.
    “You know that’s ridiculous, Mike,” said Mr. Pepper. “I’m not going to ruin my own house.”
    “I know,” Officer Goodspeed said. “But Mrs. Lumpkin claims you’ve taken up all the surveying flags twice now.”
    “That’s ridiculous too.”
    “I know, I know.” Officer Goodspeed looked out the front windows. “All the same, what did happen to those flags?”
    Tommy’s father shrugged. “No idea,” he said.
    “You kids have any idea?”
    Patty shook her head. Tommy shook his head too.
    Officer Goodspeed gave a big, weary sigh. “I don’t suppose you could break a door in two, could you, Tommy?”
    “I don’t think so,” Tommy said.
    “Patty, you breaking down any doors lately?”
    Patty shook her head again.
    Officer Goodspeed laughed and reached out to muss up her hair. “I know,” he said. “You cook that chicken yourself?”
    They ate the roasted chicken, macaroni salad, tomatoes, and mozzarella cheese, and when Officer Goodspeed had toothpicked the last piece of the pineapple, he stood up, thanked them, promised he’d try to keep Mrs. Lumpkin off their backs—“How about off our property?” said Tommy—and told them he’d let them know if he found out anything.
    Tommy doubted he’d find out anything.

    Tommy and Patty slept that night in sleeping bags in their father’s room—the only room that had enough windows to let out the stench of rotting seaweed. Sort of.
    It was when Tommy took off his shirt and started to wriggle down into the sleeping bag that his father saw the chain.
    “Where did you get that?”
    Tommy reached up and held it. “It was in Grandma’s lunch box.”
    His father leaned down over him. “It’s glowing a little.”
    “Sometimes it does that.”
    His father took the chain between his fingers. “I told you Grandma always gave thoughtful presents. ” He rubbed the strands against each other. “Your mother”—he kept fingering it—“your mother would have liked this.”
    Tommy nodded.
    His father let it go and Tommy scrunched down into the sleeping bag.
    “Good night, Tommy. Good night, Patty.” He kissed them both, and then he lay down in the chair he’d dragged in front of the bedroom door. The night was warm—which was good since the front door was gone.
    Tommy lay awake for a long time.
    His mother.
    His mother.
    His mother would have liked the chain.
    He listened to the night wind start to rise. Soon it would begin to shriek. He looked at Patty and saw her eyes open and staring out into the dark. He saw his father stiffen in the chair when the first strong gusts blew into the house.
    Tommy fingered the chain, warm on his chest. Then he grasped it. Hard. He imagined the wind dying down into a breeze, and then the breeze dying down, dying down, down to stillness. He imagined the waves rolling gently, hardly breaking when they reached the shore.
    Patty fell asleep.
    Through the window, Tommy watched the stars curving their ways across the borderless dark sky and the moon coming up and he imagined the silver light of Hreth making