by Lesley Kagen
When I heard bushes rustling behind me, I figured one of the other bullies had been hiding, and he’d come to join the party. I didn’t want it to be Elvin’s second-in-command, Dutch Van Heusen, making his way toward us through the brush, but feared that it was. He’d sworn that he’d get back at us for what we’d done to him at Still River and it looked like the time had come for him to make good on that threat.
Merchant was powerful, but it was three against one. Escaping from him might’ve been doable, but getting away from two almost-men bent on getting what they wanted? That’d be something only a dumb chump would believe. All Frankie, Viv, and I could do at that point was windmill our arms, kick, and pray that we’d land a blow painful enough that the boys would loosen their grip and we could make a run for it.
I couldn’t let Van Heusen leave a mark on my face that I couldn’t hide from Aunt Jane May. I’d wait until I smelled cow manure and heard him growl, “Gotcha,” and after he shoved me to the ground with his filthy, farm-boy mitts, I’d roll up like a slug to minimize the damage.
Tensed and ready for his attack, about the last thing I expected was to feel a small hand placed softly on my shoulder and to hear a gal with the voice of an angel call over my shoulder to Merchant, “Let go of the girl.”
I was so grateful that it wasn’t Van Heusen that I was about to drop to my knees and cry, “Hallelujah” before I realized how foolish that was. It was kind of the gal to come to our aid but she couldn’t back down a boy who was so full of beer and anger and wanting. Elvin Merchant wasn’t intimidated by grown men, even ones with guns and badges. He’d never get scared off by a member of the weaker sex.
I didn’t turn around to see who our would-be rescuer was right away because not only was I stunned by her sudden appearance, I was feeling bad for her. I was thinking that this was another one of those situations when it didn’t pay to be a Good Samaritan and she’d be lucky if he didn’t attack her, too, when I saw something suddenly come over Merchant. Not compliance, because he didn’t let go of Frankie the way the gal had told him to, but he didn’t look so cocky anymore.
And that wasn’t my imagination or hope blinding me. Viv saw the hesitation wash across Merchant’s face, too. She heaved a sigh of relief, picked up my hand, and the two of us spun around together to thank the gal for interceding, but when we came face to face with her, it wasn’t words of gratitude that came tumbling out of our little mouths. Viv groaned, collapsed to the ground, and streams of pee gushed down her legs, and I bent over and dry-heaved because this gal didn’t look like anyone’s savior.
With the wide, white streak in her raven black hair muddied and her face covered in scratches beneath a blood-streaked dusting of dirt, Audrey Cavanaugh looked like a monster born out of the very bowels of the Earth.
She also had the deadliest-looking knife I’d ever seen in her hand when she brushed past Viv and me and demanded again that Merchant, “Let go of the girl.”
Elvin’s hand inched toward his back pocket. He was itching to withdraw his switchblade, but the boy was drunk, not blind. His knife would look like a plaything compared to the one Audrey Cavanaugh was holding in her hand. But that wasn’t why he finally let go of Frankie. The look on her face did that. I wouldn’t describe it as threatening exactly. It was more chilling than that. Chopping Elvin into little pieces would be all in a day’s work was what that look said.
That’s when it dawned on me that he might not be the only one in danger. A gal who rarely ventured out her front door materializing in the woods at the exact same time the girls and I needed saving? No way, no how was that a coincidence. She must’ve been tracking us, like we were ingredients for her supernatural stew, and she’d only rescued us because Merchant had been trying to poach Frankie. Once she’d finished hacking him into little pieces, we’d be next.
I opened my mouth to scream, “Run!” but the Summit Witch beat me to it. Without taking her eyes off Merchant, she said in a voice that was both motherly and menacing, “Run along now, girls. I’ll deal with you later,” and for the second time that day we didn’t have to be told twice.
Chapter Sixteen
Of course, all thoughts of a brown cow had been knocked out of Frankie’s head by the time we came flying out of the woods after our encounter with Merchant and the Summit Witch.
As we made the turn down Main Street, it felt like the forces of evil were nipping at our heels. I was pedaling my bike like my life depended on it. Viv was to my right and in the midst of a breathing attack. Frankie was on the other side of her, saying, “Cup your mouth or you’re gonna faint!”
Beset by confusion, guilt, and exhaustion, all I could think about was retreating to the security and safety of the hideout. I was sure the girls felt the same way, but when I started to make the wide right turn toward Honeywell Street, Frankie yelled, “Stop!” and pointed over our heads at the sagging white banner strung between two streetlights:
“July 4th, 1960!
Come one, Come all!
Parade, Picnic, Prizes, Pyrotechnics!”
“The five-and-dime is closin’ at three today,” Frankie hollered at me over Viv’s head. “If we don’t get those decorating supplies, Auntie’s gonna—”
Her voice was drowned out by Viv’s raspy breathing and horns honking, but Frankie’s face said it all. If Aunt Jane May wasn’t at Rusty’s Market buying food for the Fourth of July picnic like we hoped she was, she’d be keeping watch for us out the kitchen window.
If the three of us rolled up the driveway without our bike baskets full of decorating supplies, she’d badger us until I, the weakest willed, confessed where we’d been that afternoon. If she didn’t cook our gooses beyond recognition and bury them beneath the backyard willow tree then and there, she was bound to dole out severe consequences, and we would have no choice but to run away. Seemed like the County Fair’s traveling carnival gave jobs to just about anyone, so we’d sell cotton candy or run a game like Guess Your Weight, and, you know, as the girls and I came blazing down Main Street that afternoon, that sounded like a solid idea. I saw no other way out of the fixes we were in, and it’s not like I wasn’t trying.
The Rivoli was showing Psycho, and as we sped under the marquee, I remembered all the times I thought Harry Blake’s Mondurian stories belonged on the silver screen. When we flew past the bakery owned by two of the Germans who might dig up Frankie’s roots if we got reported for trespassing, I wished they’d choke to death on their strudel. And as soon as I saw my uncle’s county car parked in front of the police station, I thought as angry as he’d be at the girls and me for disregarding his order to keep away from Elvin Merchant, shouldn’t we tell him that Audrey Cavanaugh was probably chopping him into little pieces as we spoke?
“Biz!” I heard Frankie hollering at me from a distance. “What the—where ya goin’?”
Consumed by my racing thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that the girls had stopped in front of the five-and-dime. In a rush to be reunited with them, I turned my bike too sharply and smashed into a row of folding chairs the town handyman was setting up for the Fourth of July parade.
When Lance Howard heard the ruckus, he swiveled around with a face full of fury, but when he saw it was me, he waved and came trotting to my side like he couldn’t believe his good luck. The girls and I always made sure to steer clear of him, so I hadn’t seen him up close since he lowered the bar on the Camelot Ferris wheel. He looked and smelled worse than I remembered. The pores in his bulbous nose were potholes, and he stank of cigarettes and sweat.
“You hurt, princess?” he asked.
“Naw,” I said as I tried to disentangle my front wheel from a couple of the wooden chairs.
“You sure ’bout that? Looks like you banged your knee.” I didn’t feel anything, but I must’ve caught my right kneecap on the edge of one of the chairs, because it had a scratch running across it. “Wouldn’t be right if I let ya ride off without checking it out.”
When he reached out, I pulled back.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine.” The Victorian clock that stood outside Armbruster’s Jewelry store was telling me that the dime store would close in nine minutes. “I gotta go now. They’re waitin’ for me.” I pointed down the block to Viv and Frankie. “Maybe we can talk more at the picnic tomorrow, Mister Howard.”
“Call me Sir Lancelot.” He gestured to his pants pocket. “Let me give ya a piece of saltwater taffy before you go and some for your friends, too.” I didn’t want to take it, but I promised myself I would because he didn’t sound the alarm after he spotted us on the catwalk the night of the emergency meeting. “You’re the Buchanan kid,” he said as he withdrew from his pants pocket three pieces of taffy that had gone warm and soft in their wax wrappings. “Biz, right?”
I wished he didn’t know my name, but there was no use denying it. “That’s what my friends and family call me. Thanks for the candy, and I’m really sorry about running into the chairs but I—”
“Funny thing is, Biz, I’ve been hopin’ to run into you.” He gave me a gnawed-on-piece-of-corn-on-the-cob smile. “I seen you girls around the hospital and ya better be more careful.” He tipped his head back, scratched at his neck, and left red claw marks. “Somebody sees you talkin’ to the patients from that spot in the pines or sneakin’ over the fence and goin’ through the door into the kitchen …” He low-whistled. “Man, that could spell trouble with a capital T.”
Albie had warned us when we’d asked for permission to visit with the patients that we had to be careful because “there’s eyes everywhere.” It made my stomach lurch to think the eyes he’d been warning us about were the bloodshot ones staring down at me. Lance Howard had been watching us? If so, how closely and for how long? When Viv had pulled her “don’t look now, but …” diversionary tactic during our first overnight in the hideout, she’d told us the handyman was watching us. Frankie and I thought she was just trying to get out of the witch dare, but what if she’d been telling the truth?
Howard slid a Lucky Strike from the pack he kept in his T-shirt sleeve, slipped a Zippo out of his pants pocket, rubbed it across his thigh, and brought the flame to the tip. “You girls ever seen anything that you might call strange going on around the hospital or in the woods?” he said from behind a cloud of smoke.
The patients did strange things all the time, and we’d just seen the Summit Witch threatening Elvin Merchant in the woods with what looked like a pirate sword, but I didn’t think that’s the sort of thing he meant. I was pretty sure he was talking about what Albie had told us after we’d sworn to uphold his visiting rules on the menu at Earl’s: “There’s mysterious goin’s-on at the hospital.”
I couldn’t tell if Howard was angling for information about what the girls and I might’ve seen around Broadhurst or whether he was the one acting strange up there and wanted to know if we’d ever seen him doing so, but I told him, “Nope, never seen anything. Gotta go.”
I tried to turn my bike in the direction I’d come from, but he set his hands down on my handlebars and locked me in place. “If ya ever do see somethin’ strange goin’ on, I want you and your little friends to come find me right away,” he said like he’d be the trouble with a capital T if we didn’t. “Deal?” The bologna sandwich I had for lunch rose into my throat when he held out his hand, but I was too afraid not to shake it.
“Now say it,” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?
“Yes, Mister How—Sir Lancelot. My friends and I will come find you right away if we see anything strange goin’ on at the hospital or in the woods.”
He said, “Good girl,” and patted my head like a dog he’d just taught to roll over. “One more thing. If you don’t want me tellin’ Doc Cruikshank about all the times I seen you and your friends talkin’ to the patients and sneakin’ into the kitchen, next time you’re visitin’ Dolores, I want you to tell her that if she don’t want to lose her job … naw, forget that. More flies with sugar.” He took a last, wet draw off his cigarette and flicked it into the street. “Just tell that cook I think she’s mighty fine and I been cravin’ some dark meat.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“I’ll tell Bigger that you think she’s a mighty fine cook and next time she roasts a turkey, to save you some dark meat.”
I had no idea why he burst into a barking laugh that turned into a cough, but when he turned to spit out what he’d brought up, he released my handlebars and I made my getaway.
“Yeah, you do that. And don’t forget about our deal,” the handyman called after me, still hacking.
I felt like a wounded animal culled from its herd by a hyena and I couldn’t wait to be reunited with the girls again, but when I looked down the block, they were no longer in front of the dime store. I didn’t think they’d up and leave without me, or the decorating supplies we needed. Well, Viv might if she had one of her flights of fancy, but Frankie knew how vital it was to pick up the crepe paper and Kleenex. We’d face the wrath of Aunt Jane May if we returned home without them.
I put my head down and pedaled toward the five-and-dime, hoping that they’d stepped inside before Mr. Elston could hang the “Closed” sign on the door. But if they had, where were their bikes?
I was scared, and unsure if I should head uptown or downtown to search for them, when Frankie stepped out of one of our better hiding places in town—the passageway between the Emporium and the Rivoli—and blocked my way. I had to skid to a stop to keep from mowing her down the same way I had the parade chairs.
“Where’d you go?” I yelled. “And where’s Viv?”
“She’s waitin’ for us behind the dime store. We almost got caught by Auntie when she came out of Rusty’s Market. I didn’t want her to see me lookin’ like”—she pointed to her sweat-stained, dusty blouse—“and Viv’s shorts have pee all over them, so we ducked inside the passageway.”
“You sure she didn’t see you?”
“She would’ve if she looked our way, but she walked right past us. She was juggling an armful of groceries, so if we cut over to Fulton, we should be able to beat her home. But that was ten minutes ago, so we gotta move.”
Maybe I was relieved that she hadn’t left me, or I was thinking about those Germans and the church busybodies who were gunning for her and how I couldn’t let them take her away from us, but I reached out and wrapped my arms around her and squeezed for all I was worth. She didn’t really go in for that sort of thing, unless it came from Viv, so it was like hugging one of the pillars outside of the library.
“Ya got it out of your system?” she asked after a bit.
I hadn’t, but nodded anyway.
“Then let go of me. Viv’s off her leash.”
As I followed her back through the passageway I thought I could’ve stayed in that cool darkness forever, and began to wish that I had when we stepped back out into the pounding sunshine. Viv’s blue Schwinn with the bedraggled white streamers, silver bell, and basketful of decorating supplies was in the parking lot behind the five-and-dime, but she was nowhere in sight.
Frankie’s brow winkled, but I figured Viv was paying us back for reaming her out pretty much the whole day. She was probably hiding behind one of the cars in the parking lot so she could jump out and scare us worse than we already were.
“Quit screwin’ around, Viv,” I yelled. “We need to get home.”
“For crissakes, what took you so long?” she said as she bounded out the back door of the dime store with a box of aluminum foil in her hand.
I knew who it was for and that it was an apology present. I felt kind of bad then for thinking the worst of her and said, “That’s such a nice thing to do for Harry. He’ll be so—”
“Can it, ya dumb chump, and get the lead out. We gotta beat Auntie home,” she said and took off across the parking lot.
Frankie knocked her kickstand back and asked me, “What’d the handyman want?”
I gave her the telegram version, and when I
stuck my hand into my shorts pocket to show her the saltwater taffy, the note Harry Blake had passed me at Broadhurst fluttered to the ground. Viv was on the move, Frankie was dying to go after her, and I didn’t want to get caught by Aunt Jane May either, so when a breeze sent the piece of paper sailing across the parking lot, I was tempted to just leave it. Until my little voice told me that was a bad idea.
Frankie nodded at Harry’s note and asked, “Did you read it?”
When I shook my head, I thought she was about to tell me good riddance to bad rubbish. Say that the note was probably just more of his ranting about the Mondurians or Bigger’s poisoned food and we were in a race to beat Aunt Jane May home and I couldn’t waste time chasing after it, but she fixed her wise beige eyes on mine and said, “Hurry,” and rocketed after Viv.
After I dropped my bike to the ground, it took me a minute or so to trap the skittering piece of paper beneath my foot. Because I needed to catch up with the girls, I was just going to stuff it back into my pocket. But when I bent down to pick it up, I noticed the mark Harry’s fingers had left on my wrist and remembered the desperation in his voice and I couldn’t stop myself from reading what he’d broken every rule in the Broadhurst book to press into my hand: Tell Audrey Cavanaugh they’re going to kill Leo.
Chapter Seventeen
I told myself to remember Mrs. Keller in my prayers that night because if she hadn’t called to Aunt Jane May from her front porch and offered her a glass of iced tea, Frankie, Viv, and I wouldn’t have had enough time to clean ourselves up before she returned home with the armful of groceries from Rusty’s Market.
I showed Harry’s note to the girls right off, of course. Frankie seemed unimpressed. Viv had barely recovered from coming face to face with the Summit Witch, and she started breathing weird when she saw what Harry wanted us to do, but we couldn’t discuss our encounter with her, or anything else that’d happened in the woods that afternoon. Aunt Jane May would’ve heard us through the open kitchen window. I guarantee you, though, that when the girls and I were weaving the crepe paper through our bike spokes and pinning carnation flowers to our handles in the backyard, we were all thinking the same thing: For cryin’ out loud, what happened to the good old days of getting the wits scared out of us by movie monsters instead of real ones?
