The Writing on the Wall Just once
, I thought as I stared at the two buckets full of red liquid, couldn’t it be cherry cough syrup?
Killer, the former police dog turned school mascot, seemed to know exactly what it was. He growled low and deep at the buckets. I stepped up and held up my finger, which I’d just dipped into the fluid to confirm my suspicion.
My stomach churned. “Looks like we’ve got another mystery on our hands.” “Blood?”
my brother Frank asked.
Everyone around me—except for Frank—immediately drew back.