She narrowed her eyes and shook her finger at me. "Allie Emerson, shame on you! Kizzy's in the hospital and you bring that boy into her home and did God knows what with him all night long!
I pushed away from the wall. "We didn't do anything!
Nothing happened. I was scared to stay by myself, that's all." I squirmed in embarrassment, mad at myself for caring what this woman thought.
Mrs. Hawkins glared at me for what seemed like an hour.
"I have Kizzy's front door key. I will accompany the law enforcement gentlemen into her house where we will check to see if anything's missing." "I would never steal from Kizzy," I said hotly. "And neither would Junior.
Her lips curled with scorn. "You're not a very good judge of character, Allie.
She whirled and reached for the door.
"You're wrong," I said to her back. "Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean I can't tell whose character is good. And, guess what? It's not yours!
Mr. Hostetler made a little strangled sound, sort of a snort laugh disguised as a cough. Mrs. Hawkins didn't turn around.
But as she marched through the door, I saw the back of her neck turn red.
After she left, Mr. Hostetler droned on and on about "personal responsibility" and "potential" and "making good choices." I nodded my head vigorously, but his words washed over me like crashing waves. All sound, no meaning. Then he said, "Since you don't have a telephone, I'll be sending the school social worker to speak with your mother about this incident.
I snapped to attention. Faye! I'd told her I was at Kizzy's with Carmel. She knew nothing about Junior. She was going to kill me! And what about the women from Child Protective Services? Wouldn't they just love to hear about this little episode?
I bit my lip and swallowed my pride. "Mr. Hostetler, please let me talk to my mother first. It's ... well, it's complicated. Could you give me a couple of days?
He took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Today's Friday. You've got the weekend, Allie. That's it. Now, get out of here.
I thanked him and scooted out of his office. "Talk to your mother," he called after me.
My knees were shaking when I walked down the hall to my Washington State history class. I knew people were saying stuff about me. Like "Junior finally nailed her," or "He'll dump her now, like he did the others." I'd heard it all before, but now they'd be talking about me. My hand shook as I opened the door. The room was dark. A video played on the wallmounted television set. Something about Grand Coulee Dam.
Other than a few curious glances, I was pretty much ignored as I slipped into my seat. Thank God for Movie Friday! I didn't see Junior until later. His car was parked in front of Uncle Sid's house when the school bus pulled up to let me off.
Cory Philpott saw it too. He smacked his lips loudly and said, "Oooo, Allie's got a boyfriend.
As I climbed down the steps, I heard someone mutter, "Don't be a dumb ass, Cory. You're messin' with Junior's girlfriend.
Suddenly, I had what Mrs. Burke calls "a light bulb moment." I knew why people weren't giving me grief. They were afraid of Junior. The thought made me uneasy. That and the fact I had to face the music with Faye. I'd been thinking of possible excuses during the bus ride home. Could I make myself look like an innocent victim instead of a sneaky little liar? Probably not. And, if I compounded the original lie with more lies, I'd trip myself up. Plus the fact that Faye would know I was lying. So, I was back to square one.
These thoughts weighed heavily on my mind as I trudged along the side of the road toward Junior, who leaned against his car and watched me approach through hooded eyes. I stopped, leaving some space between us.
"Hey." I watched his face carefully. Junior was good at hiding his feelings. I couldn't tell if he was mad, sad, glad or something in between.
"Hey," he said, pushing away from the car. When we stood toe to toe, he reached over and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from my pony tail. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. "I gotta go to work." He blinked hard and looked at the ground. When he lifted his gaze back to mine, his gray eyes were fierce. "No way I'll ever be locked up again. I want to thank you for what you did.
I drew a shaky breath. "Well, it was kinda my fault you were in that house.
"Hostetler told me I'm in the clear. That old biddy checked and said nothing was missing." He grimaced like he was in pain. "I knew I should have stayed away from you. You're a good kid, Emerson. Soon as I start hanging around, you get in trouble.
Say what? Was Junior dumping me? Oh sure, he was looking all heart-broken and pretending like it was his fault.
Probably one of his well-practiced dumping techniques put to use after he added the potential dumpee's name to his list.
And, dammit, I wasn't even on his list!
Furious, I shrugged out of my back pack and stamped my foot. "That's bull, Junior! If it hadn't been for you, I'd have run out of that house and never looked back.
Junior reacted to my anger like he always did. He smiled. I glared at him. "So if you're trying to dump me, you better think of another way.
A brow shot up. "You think I'm trying to dump you?" He was either a very good liar or ... could it be I was wrong? It was my turn to look at the ground. Junior cupped my face in his hands and forced me to look into his eyes.
"You're crazy, girl. You know that?
Embarrassed, I pulled away. "Okay, okay. I'm crazy. Now tell me what happened this morning. Did your fake Carmel meet with Revelle?" Without saying a word, he dug a mini cassette recorder out of his pocket and handed it to me. "No way!" I exclaimed. "She taped Revelle?
Junior nodded. "Yeah, she had it in her purse." He rested both hands on my shoulders. His expression was scary serious. "When you hear what Revelle said, you'll know I was right to hide the moonstone." He released me and stepped back. "Gotta go to work. Talk to you tomorrow.
Before he left, he let me use his cell phone to check on Kizzy. Nurse Haugen informed me, "Her vital signs are stable.
"So, is that a good thing?
Deep sigh. "Allie. I believe we've covered this ground before. Stable means exactly that. Nothing has changed." "Has her daughter been in to see her?
With a derisive snort, she said, "She's gone back to Seattle. Said to call her if the old lady got worse. That's what she called her ... the old lady.
After Junior left, I headed for the trailer, dread and anxiety churning in my belly, not knowing what to expect. The CPS woman's car was not in the driveway but maybe they'd dropped in on Faye earlier. I tried to imagine the possible scenarios following these words, "Yeah, Faye, I was at Kizzy's last night, but her daughter wasn't there. I was with Junior Martinez, who's kinda like my boyfriend, but nothing happened. Really. Oh yeah, and the school social worker visitor will be coming to see you because Kizzy's neighbor thought Junior stole stuff from Kizzy's house, so I had to step up in front of the entire student body and say he spent the night with me.
Her reaction would probably be one of two things. She'd collapse on her bed and cry for three days or ... she would take my side and charge into school like an avenging angel. If there was a third option, I knew it wouldn't be good.
Chapter Seventeen
Faye was gone.
My first clue ... the truck was missing. The second clue was the note taped to the front door. The third was the newspaper on the spool table, opened to the "Help Wanted" ads, several of them heavily underlined. I smiled as I read the note. Though it was addressed to me, the words were obviously written for the prune-faced Cynthia and her cheery assistant, Pam. Thank God for Manny Trujillo and his early warning system.
Dear Allie, Even though I'm not feeling well (FIBROMYALGIA!) I've risen from my sick bed to search for a job. I have several hot prospects, so keep your fingers crossed. If you're hungry, there's a nutritious snack in the fridge. I'll be home later to prepare dinner. Your loving Mother.
Part of me was relieved. I'd temporarily dodged a bullet
. The other partthe guilt-ridden partwanted to get it over with. I opened the door, and a business card fluttered to the ground. Cynthia and Pam had indeed paid us a visit. Somebody, probably Cynthia, had written on the back of the card, "Ms. Emerson. Sorry you're not home to discuss Allie's future.
The words seemed vaguely threatening, but I had more pressing problems to deal with at the moment. Cynthia would have to take a number. I tossed the card on the dinette table and checked to see if Faye had lied about the nutritious snack. Carrots. A plastic bag full of carrots, not the baby ones, big giant ones, like the kind you feed to horses.
The air inside the trailer was hot and stuffy. I cranked the windows open, grabbed the carrots and went outside. After checking for Blaster, I sat under the apple tree and turned on the tape recorder. I'd told Junior everything I could remember about Kizzy's family. Hopefully, he'd relayed the information to the wannabe Carmel.
I gnawed on a carrot and listened. After a few seconds of static, I heard the whoosh and gurgle of an espresso machine, shuffling footsteps and a woman's voice ordering a double skinny latte. Revelle was easy to recognize.
He said, "Grande Americano, two shots of chocolate ... no, no, put your money away. My treat.
I suffered through ten more minutes of small talk before they got to the good stuff.
Carmel: (in a breathy, little girl voice) "So, Mr. Revelle, what's this big mystery all about?
Revelle: "How much do you know about your grandmother?
Brief moment of panic! Had I told Junior about Magda?
Carmel: (heavy sigh) "Why are you asking about her? You said this meeting was about us getting rich.
Revelle: "It starts with her.
Carmel: (incredulous squeak) "This is about Magda?
The breath I'd been holding escaped in a gusty sigh of relief.
Revelle: "Magda stole a bunch of money from my grandfather.
Carmel: "No way! You trying to shake me down?" (Sound of chair scraping across the floor) Revelle: "No, no, I'm not after money ... at least not from you. This is about Magda's pendant ... the moonstone she wore around her neck.
Carmel: (snort of disgust) "That gaudy old thing?
Revelle: "What I'm about to tell you, I've heard from my grandfather hundreds of times. You can believe it or not. Your choice.
He paused. When the silence grew unbearable, Carmel said, "What? Tell me!
"My grandfather was a full partner in a successful investment firm in New York. A native of Hungary, he was pleasantly surprised when a young woman, your grandmother, appeared in his building selling the pastries he remembered from his childhood. Pastries with strangesounding names. Kiffles, linzes, beigs, mezeskalacs. Before long, the woman had access to my grandfather's corner office, where he met with his most important clients. Grandfather said Magda would slip silently through the door with her basket of goodies, so unassuming he'd forget she was in the room.
Revelle slurped some coffee. "One day, Magda stopped coming. She'd vanished. Completely and utterly.
Thirty seconds went by before Carmel said, "So she disappeared. So what!
Revelle's voice was cutting. "So guess what else disappeared, Carmel." When she didn't answer, he said, "After she left, the shit hit the fan. Unauthorized withdrawals from wealthy clients' accounts began to surface. Remember, nothing was computerized in those days, so it took a while to figure it out. The word got around. People began to pull money out of the firm. It all but ruined Revelle Investments. It took years to re-build it.
Carmel said, "And you guys blame my grandmother? It was probably some clerk who had access to the account numbers.
"Every employee was thoroughly investigated. Magda was the common denominator. All of the victims remembered Magda's presence in Grandfather's office.
"So, you think she was memorizing account numbers or what?
"There was no possible way she could have accessed personal information. The men were not introduced to Magda. When she passed around her pastries, my grandfather made sure all the documents were out of view.
"Then she didn't do it," the fake Carmel said.
Revelle heaved a heavy sigh. "Here's the weird part. Every person who lost money remembered the moonstone. They thought it strange that a plainly dressed immigrant woman would wear such a thing.
"Probably the only thing she had of value," Fake Carmel said, still defending her fake grandma. She was actually a pretty good actress.
"Each of the men who had money stolen was interviewed separately. Each one of them said exactly the same thing. After Magda passed out the goodies, she stepped back away from the desk where she stood with one hand covering the moonstone.
With a huff of disgust, Fake Carmel said, "Oh, please! Next you'll be telling me Magda used the moonstone to beam information from the files into ... what? Her goody basket? This is too ridiculous!
When Revelle spoke, his voice had changed. It had an eerie quality that caused the hair on the back of my neck to prickle in alarm.
"Oh, Magda used the moonstone all right. My grandfather was first and foremost a Hungarian. As a child, I heard stories about gypsies, their uncanny ability to read palms, tea leaves and other such nonsense. But, when it came to money, he used his head, not his heart. Nonetheless, he was convinced that Magda used the moonstone to read minds; that she somehow accessed the information she needed to make withdrawals.
Fake Carmel snorted. "Okaaaay," she said, drawing the word in disbelief. "Let's assume this really happenednot that I ever heard a word about it from my motherbut, oh, well, if it's true and you don't want the money paid back, what do you want?
"My grandfather spent a life time looking for Magda, but she changed her name and moved across the country. And she was smart. She made small withdrawals from a lot very rich people on the chance they wouldn't notice. Revelle Investments wasn't her only target.
"Let's cut to the chase. Why am I here?" Fake Carmel said.
Revelle chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "The moonstone, of course. Magda was small potatoes. Think about the potential, Carmel. Think big.
I could hear him breathing.
"Imagine being able to look into the minds of the rich and powerful, learning their secrets, their weaknesses.
"So you could ... blackmail them?" Carmel said.
"No, that's too dangerous. What I have in mind is a consulting firm. Picture yourself as an advisor to the power brokers of the world. For an exorbitant fee, of course." Revelle chuckled again. "Which they would be willing to pay because we'd be privy to information they couldn't get anywhere else.
"But, wouldn't they want to know how we got it?
Revelle said, "Trust me. The wheelers and dealers of the world only want to win. That's all they care about.
"But maybe my grandmother was all, you know, some supernatural chick who knew the secret of how to use the thing. It might not be as easy as you think," Carmel said.
"There's one way to find out.
Carmel sighed. "I suppose you want me to get it from the kid ... Allie.
Even though I was expecting it, I jumped at the sound of my name.
"She knows you. Right?
"Yeah. She's my mother's little friend.
"Who has the moonstone," Revelle finished. "Why did your mother give it to her?
"Hell if I know," Fake Carmel said. "Probably because she didn't want me to have it.
I listened intently as Revelle instructed Fake Carmel how to get the moonstone from me. It felt weird, like I was eavesdropping on my future. Totally removed, yet an integral part of a whole.
I turned the recorder off and leaned back against the apple tree. I thought about the moonstone and how strange my life had become since it entered my life. There was so much I didn't know. Would the moonstone's magic work only for me? If that was true, I would gladly hand it over to Revelle, knowing his greedy plan would fail.
But then I thought about Kizzy; how she'd fought through layers of pain and unconsciousness to whisper
her urgent message. The prophecy said I was meant to have the moonstone. Not Revelle. I would do everything in my power to keep it out of his hands.
* * * *
I must have dozed off, because I awoke to the sound of wind chimes and found Trilby hovering above the ground directly in front of me. She was dressed in a flowing pink thingy that kept floating upward, revealing bright, red, bikini panties. She glowered at me and slapped angrily at the billowing garment.
"About time you woke up," Trilby snapped. "I haven't got all day, ya know.
I sat up and stretched. "Nice outfit. They give you that in heaven?
Trilby plummeted to earth with a grunt of surprise, her pink gown fluttering and settling around her like it had a life of its own. "Everything's color-coded up there. White's the biggie but you have to earn it." She said that with finger quotes and a sneer.
"Why are you here? I passed the three tests.
Trilby scrunched up her face in concentration and thought for a long moment. "Why? I was sitting in class listening to a lecture from this short dude named Saint Arthur. When he gets upsetwhich is most of the timehis big old wings ruffle up and flap like crazy. Anyhow, I got bored and started flirting with the class assistant, Micah. I mean this guy is seriously hot! Long, golden hair. Big, furled wings. Talk about your heavenly host!
I giggled. "So it's okay to hook up with guys in heaven?
"Don't know yet. I'm still on the first floor. First floor's like pre-heaven, and let me tell you, there's no hanky-panky going on there. And you know what pisses me off?
Without waiting for my answer, she said, "I have to get at least a C average, or the elevator doors won't open and I can't get rid of this damn dress until I get to the second floor.
She used her thumb and fore finger to pluck at the distasteful garment, one side of her mouth turned down in disgust. I'd forgotten how easily Trilby's mind wandered. "So you're here to tell me..." I prompted.
"Oh, yeah, you're in danger. They sent me to warn you.
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