“We called the police,” I said. “A cop came by, then talked to us and the neighbors. Her neighbor claims she went off with her brother to the Grand Canyon.”
Milton shook his head. “That don’t make no sense. No sirree. She said her brother wasn’t in very good shape. Someone else must’ve come for her—maybe some friend of her brother’s.” He plopped down on a chair behind his table and put on a wide-brimmed straw hat.
Wearing that hat, Milton reminded me of someone. At first I couldn’t remember, but then it hit me. “You’re the one I saw coming out of Zola’s house with a sack of something, aren’t you,” I said, pointing at him. “Did you take her purse?”
He looked offended. “Take it? No ma’am. I stopped by with some groceries, but she was gone. Found the door open, so I checked inside. She never went anywhere without that purse. Seein’ it there and her gone, I got worried. I stuck it in her closet out of sight.”
“You straightened up in there, too, didn’t you?” asked DJ.
“Yup. Zola always keeps her place real tidy-like. It sure bothered me, finding her door open and the place a mess. Anyone could’ve grabbed her stuff. And she was always goin’ on about someone stealing things in the neighborhood.”
“Did she say who?” I asked.
Milton rubbed his chin, thinking. “No. She skipped right by the who part. Started talking about the swimming pool behind her place. Didn’t make much sense at the time. But the other day, I poked around and found an empty chlorine bucket in the oleander hedge.”
My memory clicked. “Matt told us the pool was closed because it had too much chlorine in it. Why would someone do that?”
Milton traced a square on the cloth covering his table. “Here’s the pool. Three houses run close by, including Zola’s. An empty pool would sure cut down the chances of anyone seein’ something they shouldn’t.”
DJ and I exchanged looks. More pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. But a big piece was still missing. Before we left, I thanked Milton and bought the butterfly pin for Mom. He beamed at me like I’d made his whole day.
Chapter 19
BY THE TIME WE GOT BACK TO GRAN’S HOUSE, dark thunderclouds were billowing up again from the south, making the sky look like an angry sea. A brisk breeze jangled the wind chimes on the patio, sending a nervous melody through the air. My uneasiness returned as I stared at Zola’s empty house. At about six-thirty, the phone rang. I grabbed it, hoping it was Mom.
“This is Rustam,” a voice announced in an accent. “I am brother to Zola. Are you Crystal?”
“Yes.” I waved my arm frantically for DJ to come closer.
“We are at Tucson airport. I must fly to Chicago tonight. Can you come to get Zola and bring her back home?”
“Tucson airport? Sure.” I covered the receiver and whispered, “It’s Zola’s brother!”
I returned to the caller. “Can you put Zola on the phone?”
“Umm … she is in lavatory. Can you come now? To the West Air counter?”
“Yes, okay. Tell her we’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
“Is Zola all right?” asked DJ after I hung up.
“I guess so. Her brother, or whoever that was, said he had to return to Chicago right away. He asked if we could come pick her up at the West Air counter.”
DJ made a face. “I bet. Where was Zola?”
“In the ladies’ room, or so he said.”
“Do you think that was really her brother?”
“Well, he had an odd foreign name. Roostam, I think he said. And he spoke with an accent, sort of like Zola does. We have to go, Deej, in case she’s there. Maybe we can finally find out what happened.”
DJ grabbed her keys. “Fine with me.” She hesitated. “Something about that call doesn’t sound right, whether or not it was really her brother. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I wish I could have heard Zola’s voice. Then we’d be sure.”
Outside, a low rumble of thunder confirmed that a storm was coming. The wall of clouds to the south had turned dark blue. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour, but already the daylight was gone. Before getting into DJ’s car, I glanced up at the sky. The desert air felt alive with static electricity. Pale lights flickered in the clouds overhead, and I felt a shiver of foreboding.
“Deej, how about if we split up? You go to the airport and get Zola—if she’s there. I’ll stay here. Something tells me one of us should stick around.”
DJ pursed her lips, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t know. The last time I left you on your own, you almost got cooked.”
“I’ll be okay. If things get crazy, I’ll call the cops. Promise.”
With a sigh, she conceded. “You are one stubborn chica.” As she slid behind the wheel, she said, “I guess we have no choice. I’m the one with the car, so I have to check out this airport call. You stay out of trouble, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“You better hurry. Maybe you can beat the storm as you head north.”
“I’ll leave my cell phone on,” DJ said as she turned the key in the ignition. “Call me if you need me.”
“Yeah, okay. Go!”
After DJ left, I lingered on the driveway for a few minutes, considering my next move. The whole neighborhood seemed to be holding its breath. Across the street, the Tuckers’ townhouse was dark, their carport vacant.
I reached behind into my backpack and pulled out the envelope of photos. One by one I studied them again. My pulse quickened. The photo with the young man cleaning the golf clubs caught my attention. His thin mustache made him look kind of familiar. Was he the same guy DJ and I had seen today in the care center? And whose patio was it? One of the golf bags was resting across a chair. I checked the photo of the Tuckers’ patio again. There was the same chair, the one with the tattered webbing. But now the golf clubs were gone, the boxes in the background, too. Seeing the man there must have thrown us off and made us think it was his patio. If he was the same guy from the rollover, that meant the Tuckers knew him. Was this the photo that got Zola in trouble?
More questions buzzed in my head. Susan Tucker’s comment about living with so much stuff that they could hardly turn around came back to me. And didn’t Anna Norberg say something about their place being crowded with things? If they had so much, why did Zola’s photo of their patio show nothing there? Was their house empty, too?
My mind made up, I pushed myself across the street. Somehow, I had to get a look inside the Tuckers’ townhouse. I guess Gran had been right about me. I do like to plunge into things.
The blinds in their front window were closed tight, so I scooted over to the side door by the carport. Skimpy half-curtains hung in the door’s small window, giving me a partial view of the inside. Boosting myself up from my chair, I strained to peek in. A hall light cast a dim glow inside.
It wasn’t what I saw that surprised me, but what I didn’t see. Instead of a house jammed full of furniture, the place looked bare. No kitchen table. No chairs. No junk. No stolen loot. I craned my neck, trying to see into the living room. No furniture there, either, as far as I could tell. How could they live like that? I thought back on how Mrs. Tucker wouldn’t let me in when I came asking about Zola. Had she been trying to hide the fact that their house was nearly empty? DJ’s comment about the photos haunted me, too. Maybe the clue is what isn’t there …
The sound of an approaching car snapped me to attention. Quickly, I wheeled myself to the end of the carport and ducked around a tall oleander hedge. Behind me, the walkway stretched to the neighborhood pool and cabana. Just as I got settled, the Tuckers’ white van pulled into the carport.
I held my breath as my heart thumped in my chest. Overhead, palm branches flapped in the wind, scolding me for being a peeping Tomasina. Ward and Susan Tucker said nothing to each other as they climbed out. Susan disappeared into their house. Ward pulled a magnetic sign off the side of the van and carried it inside. The words “Buckeye Hardware” made my eyebro
ws jump.
A web of lightning streaked across the sky. Seconds later, thunder growled. I wondered how long I could stay hidden. At any moment, the skies would open up. The spicy scent of rain was already in the air.
The side door opened and the Tuckers hustled out, carrying suitcases. They went inside again and returned with more suitcases. They argued about something. I cupped my hand by my ear, trying to hear what they were saying, but the wind sucked their voices away.
Then Susan Tucker turned abruptly and headed across the street as the first raindrops started to fall. Mr. Tucker climbed into the van and started the engine. Headlights flashed on, blinding me with their glare. I ducked, hoping the hedge had hidden me. It hadn’t.
Too late, I realized that the metal spokes of my wheelchair were sparkling like a Christmas tree in the bright lights. A door slammed, and I froze as “Santa” strode right toward me, cursing as he came.
Chapter 20
WARD TUCKER EXPLODED THROUGH THE oleander bushes, eyes bulging in anger. His fat face glistened in the bursts of lightning. His rain-splattered shirt clung to his arms as he shook his fist at me.
“I’ve had enough of your snooping around where you don’t belong!” he shouted over the storm. “Why aren’t you at the Tucson airport?”
I eased backwards, hoping to escape. “I decided not to go.”
He grabbed my chair, stopping me. “Bad move.”
“Where’s Zola?” I demanded.
He jerked his head. “Across the street. Susan’s getting her now. She’s been in that vacant house. She’s been right next door to you the whole time!”
“Why? What did she ever do to you?”
“She got nosy. As long as she was just yapping nonsense about ‘things going missing,’ no one believed her. But then she started taking pictures.”
“But you never got them. We did.”
A flicker of blue light danced along the fence, snapping with electricity. He eyed it nervously, his fingers working a scorpion clasp down his black bola tie.
“I figured you had the photos when I couldn’t find them in your grandmother’s place.” Abruptly, he grabbed my hands.
“Let go of me!” I yelled, trying to pull away.
He slipped the leather tie from his neck, lashing my wrists together in one swift move. Planting his face right in front of mine, he snarled, “Now I need to stash you, too, missy. At least for a while.” Grabbing my chair, he shoved it backwards toward the cabana area. I glanced around, searching for a way to escape. There wasn’t any. He was in total control.
The back of my chair slammed against the pool gate. The POOL CLOSED sign clattered above me on the chainlink fencing. I hoped his plan, whatever that was, had failed. But no. He fished out a lock pick from his pocket and went to work on the padlock. He grinned down at me, his fat cheeks shiny.
“Used to be in the hardware business, back in Ohio. Sold keys. Opened locks for customers. It came in real handy for getting into houses.”
I tugged at my hands, trying to gulp back the helpless feeling that threatened to turn me to jelly. Stall for time, I thought. Maybe someone will come. I glared back at him. “That bucket of chlorine came in handy, too, didn’t it? You dumped it in the pool to keep people away. No swimmers to look over the fence and see the stolen goods on your patio, or to watch you clearing out your house. You didn’t expect Zola to mess up your plan, did you?”
He ignored the question. The gate swung open and he waltzed us through to the cabana area, still pushing me backwards. Now the rain came down in sheets. A streak of lightning sizzled across the sky, turning the curtain of water to silver streaks. I cringed at the sight of the dark pool, which now looked more like a black lagoon. Nooo. Not there, I pleaded silently.
He stopped suddenly, and I nearly tumbled out of my chair. “I got to think what to do with you to keep you quiet.”
“Why are you doing this? What about Zola?”
“Me and the missus are hightailing it into Mexico. We’ll drop Zola at the border. By the time the authorities find her and figure out who she is, we’ll be long gone. No one will understand her babbling story. We’ll be all settled in, muy feliz, in a palm-shaded casita on the coast.”
The thunder rumbled so loud I had to shout. “But why? Why the thefts? Why run to Mexico?”
“Money, my dear, money. You plan all your life for retirement, but it’s never enough. So to add to the pot, we decided to ‘borrow’ a few goodies from our rich neighbors.”
“You sold that kind of stuff at the swap meet?”
He threw back his head and laughed, making his belly jiggle. Like Santa. An evil, demented Santa. “No, my dear. We never went to any stinking swap meets. We sold everything through a buddy we had helping us. He’s the one who grabbed Zola and stashed her later that night. Then the fool got careless and crashed. We’d hoped to make our nest egg bigger, but Zola and you made us move up our schedule. For that, you owe me.”
I didn’t even want to think what the payment might be. I prayed it wouldn’t land me in the pool. Anywhere but in the water. Memories from the accident came rushing back. Panic welled up in me, and I started yelling. “Stop! Help! Someone help me!”
The sky bristled again with lightning. A split second later, thunder exploded.
“No one can hear you over this storm!” he shouted. “Ours is the closest house. Too bad we aren’t home!” He pushed me out into the rain and parked me near the edge of the pool. My wheels bumped against the curved tile border. Rain drummed the cement. My heart pounded. I feared what might be next. This guy was nuts, for sure.
“You just sit tight, little lady. If you’re lucky, you won’t get zapped by some lightning bolt.”
As he spoke, more sparks flickered and snapped along the fence. Long tendrils of blue light snaked across the wet pavement toward us. I gripped my armrest, bracing for an electric shock. Mr. Tucker let go of my chair.
“Wh-what the Sam Hill?” He turned to run from the blue light, snagging his foot on one of my wheels. Tugging hard, he tried to free himself, but when he did, my chair tipped.
The world turned upside down as I toppled sideways into the pool. Cold water slapped my face, then sucked me under. My nose filled until I blew out a few bubbles and held my breath. My hands twisted under the tie. Finally, I worked them free. Now I had a little more control, but heart-stabbing fear was pulling me down, down toward the bottom. I could sense a throbbing in my ears, like some message was trying to get through. Then I heard it. Relax. Relax. Relaaaax.
I shifted my thoughts from going down to going limp. I felt my body begin to rise slowly. If I could only hold my breath long enough, I might be okay. My eyes stung, and my chest ached for air. I counted. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Still rising. Three, one thousand. Four … Keep going, keep going, I told myself.
When I broke the surface, I gasped. Then I froze in fear. Was Mr. Tucker still there? I held myself still, listening. Fat raindrops thrummed on my back.
Play dead. Play dead, a new message urged.
I didn’t need to tell the lower half of my body to play dead. It was dead. My body stayed limp, my head down and my arms floating out like wings. But how long could I stay this way? Two minutes? Three minutes? Five? Finally, I had to peek. I had to know.
Slowly, I turned my head, peering out through strands of hair. My wheelchair lay at the edge of the pool, dumped on its side. My seat cushion bobbed in the water nearby. Footsteps slapped through the puddles. I saw a figure slip through the gate and heard it clang shut. With my hands doing tiny dog-paddles, I drifted over to the steps leading out of the pool. My eyes stung from the chlorine. My skin prickled like I’d fallen into a bed of cactus. I had to get out of the water. On my own. Then, somehow, I had to get back to my chair. Get it turned upright. Get back into it.
A voice whispered inside my head. You can do it, Ranita, remember? Way back when you were in physical therapy? One of your lessons was about getting back in your chair if you fell
. It was hard, but you did it.
I remembered, and I smiled, feeling Dad’s presence urging me on. Sure, I’d done an exercise like this before. But that was from a nice hard floor. And there was always someone there to give me a hand if I needed it. I never had to do it like this, all alone, from a swimming pool.
My fingertips brushed the rough edge of a step. Good, almost there. I followed the step over to the chrome railing that led down into the water. Once I grasped the cool metal, I felt connected to the world again. My head jerked upward, and I took a big gulp of air. Hanging tightly to the rail, I pulled into a sitting position on the top step. Next, I propped both hands behind me and heaved my body up over the edge and onto the deck. I glanced around to see where I’d landed. The rain had ended, leaving huge puddles of water everywhere. The scent of mesquite and creosote filled the air, and flashes of lightning still pulsed in distant clouds. My toppled wheelchair lay about ten feet away. Not far from it was a lounge chair. Good, I thought. That’s my first goal.
Inch by inch, I scooched across the rough cement on my butt, dragging my legs. Thankfully it was dark, and the deck wasn’t burning hot. Even so, my hands and feet oozed blood from being scraped. When I reached the lounge chair, I grabbed the leg and pulled it along until it was positioned parallel to my wheelchair. So far, so good.
With both hands, I grasped the plastic straps that crisscrossed the frame of the lounge. The chair tipped forward under my weight, but I kept going, hauling myself onto it, arm over arm. Finally, the lounge leveled out again. I lay there for a few moments, panting and giving my muscles a rest. Almost there. Almost done.
I rolled over and pushed myself up. The big spoked wheel of my chair was only a few inches away. Trying not to lose my balance, I tugged at the wheel until the chair rose and righted itself with a clatter. Now for the hard part. How had I done this in therapy? First, set the brakes. Now move the armrest out of the way. Grab the far armrest with the left arm. Got it? Use your right arm to shove your body off, pull, and … over!
Finding Zola Page 8
