Death's Door

by Byars, Betsy

  “It was somebody’s mom.”

  “Try, please.”

  “She had on a red coat.”

  “Did Herculeah say her name?”

  “I can’t think. My teeth are killing me. Oh, yeah, it was Meat’s mom. She said Meat had gone to the library and she had to tell his mom. That’s all I remember. Can I go now? I keep looking in the mirror to see if my braces are as bad as I think they are, and they’re worse! Betty Jo’s braces are cute, but mine are ugly!”

  “Was Herculeah—”

  The phone was hung up before Mim Jones could finish. She dialed Meat’s number and walked to the window to look at the house, as if that would make the phone be picked up more quickly.

  “Hello.” It was Meat’s mother.

  “I’m so glad you’re home. This is Mim Jones across the street.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. McMannis did not sound pleased.

  “I understand that you were at the school today, Mrs. McMannis, that Herculeah saw you and followed you inside to give you a message.”

  “I don’t know where you got that idea.”

  “From a girl who was standing with Herculeah.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The girl said—”

  “I don’t care what she said. The girl’s wrong. I haven’t been out of the house all day.”

  10

  TRAPPED

  Uncle Neiman grabbed Herculeah by the upper arm. He spun her around to face the door. The suddenness of the movement made her drop her books.

  “What are you doing? Let me—” She didn’t get to finish.

  Uncle Neiman propelled her through the side doors of the school. They went down the steps so fast her feet barely touched the concrete.

  “Stop! Stop!”

  She looked around desperately for someone to help her. Usually the playing fields had at least a few students—someone kicking punts or scoring touchdowns. And there was always someone on the oval track. But today the school grounds were empty. Everyone was in front of the school, starting for home.

  “Let me go! I mean it!”

  Herculeah struggled hard. She tried to wrench her arm free, pulling with all her might, but Uncle Neiman’s grip was stronger.

  “What are you doing? Listen to me. Let! Me! Go!” She jerked with all her considerable strength, but he managed to hold fast. Her head was twisted toward him and she could see the strained cords in his neck.

  “This is kidnapping!”

  He didn’t answer. There was only the sound of his disturbed, uneven breathing. She recognized from the terrible tightness of his grip and his unnatural strength that he was a desperate man.

  “Help, somebody! Hel—”

  His arm went around her neck then, cutting off her cry. Her throat was caught in the crook of his elbow. She could not speak. She could hardly breathe.

  She gave a strangled cry, a plea for air. His grip eased enough for her to speak.

  She said, “Don’t hold me like that, all right? You almost choked me. I’m coming with you. I promise. I’m coming! Look!” She took a few steps forward.

  He lessened his grip on her throat but not on her arm. It was as if her arm was caught in a steel vise. She wondered if the blood were cut off, as the breath had been cut off from her lungs.

  “Where are you taking me? At least tell me where we’re going.”

  They moved through the school grounds and into a side street. That street, too, was deserted except for a dark car parked halfway down the block. One of the front wheels of the car was up on the curb, as if the car had been parked by an amateur.

  Herculeah didn’t dare to hope there would be someone in the car, but still she began to make plans. As they passed the car, she would shove her shoulder into Uncle Neiman’s chest, knocking him against the car.

  That might cause him to let go, and if he didn‘t, she would give him a kick and—and whatever else she could manage.

  They were approaching the dark car. Herculeah readied herself for attack, but she moved along without resistance now, wanting Uncle Neiman to believe she had given up her struggle.

  In a few more feet, they would be there.

  She drew in a breath of determination.

  They were at the car now. She made herself stumble, beginning her shove—

  But Uncle Neiman had a move of his own.

  He released her neck and opened the door with his free hand. He thrust the front seat forward. And in the same quick gesture, he shoved Herculeah into the back seat so hard that she fell sideways and struck her head on the far window.

  For a moment Herculeah was dazed. Spots swam in front of her eyes.

  She straightened slowly, cradling her head with one hand.

  Her mother had once told her that men of little strength, awkward men in everyday life, could become as strong and skilled as athletes when their lives were threatened.

  Herculeah thought that was what had happened to Uncle Neiman.

  Her vision cleared, and she saw that Uncle Neiman was in the front seat, facing forward, his shoulders slumped beneath the red coat.

  She noticed three things:1. Uncle Neiman blocked the way out.

  2. Both car doors were locked.

  3. She was trapped.

  11

  LIAR

  Meat was in the periodical room of the library. It was the first time he had ever been here without Herculeah, and he missed her.

  He glanced across the room at the microfilm machine. He had sat there with Herculeah, shoulders touching as they looked through microfilm. Today he sat alone, turning through last week’s newspapers.

  There had been a lot of crime: a robbery at a 7-Eleven, a shooting at a night club called Chi-Booms, a sniper who shot at the mayor—but none of it seemed to be connected to Uncle Neiman.

  Meat finished and sat staring down at the stack of newspapers. He felt he had missed something. Whatever it was, Herculeah wouldn’t have overlooked it.

  Again he glanced at the microfilm machine. He remembered the wonderful moment when he and Herculeah had been going over the news story about the Moloch, and he had been the one to discover the Moloch’s face in the picture. He had pointed it out to her!

  A sudden thought caused him to flip quickly back through the papers. Where was it? Where was it? He spread the paper flat. There it was! There it was!

  He got quickly to his feet. “Can I borrow a dime?” he asked the room. “Will someone please lend me a dime? I’ve got to copy this and I was real hungry at lunch and spent all my—”

  Across the room a woman was reaching for her purse, but the gentleman sharing Meat’s table already had one out. “Thank you, thank you.” Meat ran for the copy machine, leaving a trail of discarded newspaper behind him.

  “I’ll handle it, Mim. You are far too upset.”

  “Yes, I’m upset. My daughter’s missing.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “The woman’s lying, Chico. She was at the school.”

  Chico and Mim Jones were standing at the front window, looking across the street to Meat’s house. Without taking his eyes from the house, Chico spoke.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Herculeah told Betty Warrington she saw Meat’s mother going into the school. She had on that awful red coat. Herculeah followed her inside. And now Meat’s mother claims she hasn’t been out of the house all day. What a liar.”

  “Why would she lie?”

  “Because that’s the kind of person she is—spiteful. Plus, she has never liked Herculeah, Chico. She claims she gets Meat into trouble.”

  “Well, it’s the other way around this time, isn’t it?” Chico Jones moved toward the front door.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He put one hand on her shoulder. “I need you to stay by the phone. Herculeah may call, and it’s important for her to get her mother, not the answering machine.”

  “Chico, I’m afraid we’re dealing with a cold-blooded killer.” />
  “That’s why I’ve got every policeman in the city looking for her.”

  Mim Jones reached out and covered his hand with hers and they entwined fingers as they had done in the old days.

  “I’ll come back and tell you what’s up.”

  Reluctantly, Mim Jones stayed at the window, watching Chico as he looked up and down the street. He did not look like a police detective but like a man who had lost his way.

  She watched as he climbed the stairs to Meat’s house and rang the bell. She saw Meat’s mother peer out the side window, watched her crack open the door.

  “Oh, you’re back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Neiman’s still not here.”

  “Actually, it’s you I wanted to speak with.”

  When she did not open the door the rest of the way, he brought out his police ID. She peered at it, then at his face to make sure the ID was correct, even though she had known him for years.

  “I guess you can come in.” She glanced at the street. “Although a person can’t be too careful with all that’s going on.”

  “I agree.”

  He followed her into the living room and stood at the window. “My wife spoke to you earlier. Apparently there’s a conflict between what Herculeah saw and—”

  “There’s no conflict. I haven’t been out of the house all day.”

  “Herculeah told a friend—a girl named Betty Warrington—that she saw you going into the school and that she followed you inside.”

  “Your daughter was mistaken.”

  “She recognized your red coat.”

  “Maybe she saw someone with a coat like mine. There are coats like mine all over the city. That was a very popular coat,” she conceded.

  “That may well be.”

  Her look sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  At that moment, Meat flung open the front door and burst into the living room. “Mom, I’ve got to call Herculeah. I know! I know!”

  He saw Lieutenant Jones, and his voice started down the scale.

  “You know where Herculeah is?” Chico Jones asked.

  “Isn’t she at your apartment?”

  Meat didn’t like the way Herculeah’s father was looking at him—as if he were a suspect.

  He glanced from the lieutenant to his mother. “Has something happened?”

  The lieutenant spoke. “Herculeah didn’t meet her mother after school.”

  “She was going to,” Meat said quickly. “I asked her to go the library and she said she couldn’t. Her mom was picking her up.”

  “Herculeah was waiting out in front, and she saw your mother going in the school, and she went inside to give her a message.”

  Meat turned to his mother. “You came to school?”

  “No! I have not been out of the house all day. That maniac may still be out there.”

  “Would you mind checking to see if your coat’s still in the closet, Mrs. McMannis.”

  “Where else would it be?”

  “If you don’t mind checking.”

  “I’ll look,” Meat offered.

  He went into the hall and opened the closet door. His mother and Chico Jones waited. There was the sound of coat hangers being moved along the bar, the sound of jackets and coats shoved aside.

  “It’s not here, Mom,” he called.

  “It’s got to be.”

  Meat’s mother joined him at the closet and went through the same search. Chico Jones, his expression grim, watched from the living-room door.

  “And your red rain hat’s gone too,” Meat said, pointing to a vacant spot on the shelf.

  “My hat ...”

  The truth dawned on Meat’s mother slowly. An intake of breath was the only sign she understood. Without turning to face Chico Jones she said, “My brother is a kind and gentle soul. He has never hurt anyone in his life.”

  Chico Jones did not comment.

  “If for some reason Neiman took my hat and coat and went to the school, he did not do so to harm anyone. I firmly believe that. My brother is a gentle, gentle man.”

  “Any man can become dangerous when threatened.” Chico Jones took out a pad and a pencil. “What kind of car does your brother drive—make and model, please.”

  “Oh, Neiman doesn’t drive.”

  Lieutenant Jones looked up at her, his pencil still poised over the paper.

  “He can’t. He’s blind as a bat.”

  12

  BACKSEAT DRIVER

  “I probably shouldn’t have done that,” Uncle Neiman said. He mumbled the words as if he were talking to himself.

  This was the first time Uncle Neiman had spoken since he and Herculeah had left the school. And Herculeah had not spoken since she had recovered from the hit on the head. She didn’t intend to either.

  It was as if Uncle Neiman’s whole goal had been to get her inside this car. And with that accomplished, he was out of ideas.

  Herculeah’s head still hurt, and so did her throat. But she had put the pain out of her mind.

  Her arms were folded over her chest in a pose of defiance. Her teeth were clamped together. She was tense with anger and rage. There were many things she wanted to say, intended to say, but she would outlast him, force him to speak first.

  Herculeah had passed the long moments judging her chances. She could shove Uncle Neiman’s seat forward, perhaps causing his head to strike the dashboard, but how would she get out of the car?

  He was too big for her to squeeze around.

  She could slip over and hit the horn, maybe even yell her head off at the same time.

  There was nobody to hear her.

  Herculeah had quietly rolled down her window so that she could call for help if anyone appeared. But that was a just-in-case thing. On a side street like this, she couldn’t count on many pedestrians.

  While Herculeah was sitting there with the cool afternoon air blowing on her face, doing nothing to cool her rage, Uncle Neiman spoke again. Since he was facing forward and speaking to himself, she didn’t hear his exact words.

  “Did you say something?” she asked, her voice cold. To gain control, she was imagining herself an important person with a driver.

  He turned his head and said over his shoulder, “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Of course you shouldn’t have done it! It’s kidnapping,” Herculeah said. “You can go to prison for kidnapping.” She took pleasure in repeating the word.

  “It wasn’t kidnapping.” He made a gesture that included most of the car. “Kidnapping doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Except that’s what it is.”

  He was silent for a moment, apparently too upset to speak. He slumped forward. Herculeah thought he was going to cry. She didn’t have to harden her heart against his tears. Her heart was as hard as it got.

  “You won’t get away with it. My dad is a police detective and my mom’s a private eye.” All the things she had wanted to say before now came out, giving her a sense of satisfaction.

  She was in control! Backseat driver!

  “I know,” he said. Uncle Neiman almost sounded morose now. “I talked to your mother yesterday morning.”

  “Yesterday? So that was why she sent me to look for the red-headed man—” Herculeah broke off.

  “Your mother couldn’t help me though,” Uncle Neiman went on as if she had not spoken. “But when I heard your name, well, my nephew Albert is always talking about Herculeah. Herculeah did this, Herculeah did that. He’s bragged about all the mysteries you’ve solved until I know them as well as you do. And, well, you just seemed like my last hope.”

  Herculeah glanced at the back of his head. Her eyes focused as intently as if she were looking directly into his brain.

  She took in his short neck protruding from his sister’s raincoat. She saw his wide ears—Meat’s ears—under the brim of his hat. He lifted one hand, and she saw his knobby wrists protruding from the cuffs.

  “Help you with
what?” Herculeah asked, curious in spite of herself.

  “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

  “Well, that’s obvious, and they almost did kill Meat! And Meat’s my best friend!”

  “I know, I know.”

  “So who’s doing it?”

  Herculeah leaned forward. Gaze level, her gray eyes watched the back of his head. She didn’t want to miss a word of this.

  He shook his head. “That’s just it. I don’t know. And don’t tell me I must know. That’s what your mother said. I do not know.”

  He gave a helpless shrug, and then threw back his head in such despair that the red hat dropped into the floor of the back seat. He covered his bare head with both hands.

  “Oh—Oh.”

  “Oh, I’ll get it,” Herculeah said.

  She reached down and retrieved the hat from the floor of the car. She hesitated a moment and then put the hat back on his head.

  “Thank you.”

  He adjusted the hat, pulling it lower over his face. Then he turned and peered at her from beneath the brim. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “I’m not doing anything for you—not one single thing.”

  “There’s no one else.”

  “I’m not going to help a criminal.”

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  “You’re a kidnapper. That’s criminal.”

  “It’s not kidnapping. I just need you to do something for me. I’m going to let you go. You know that. I drove to the school to get Meat, but he wasn’t there. He’d gone to the library. And I can’t go to the library. I don’t even know which library. And look at me!”

  He gave a gesture of despair at his clothing. “And I can’t be out on the street. That man could be anywhere.”

  Herculeah didn’t speak for a moment. Neither did Uncle Neiman. The silence seemed to fill the car, along with the fear. Herculeah was surprised that her hair hadn’t frizzled.

  “I’m not saying I’m going to do it,” she said finally, “but what do you have in mind?”

  “I need you to get some money.”

  “Rob a bank?”

  “No, my bookshop’s not far from here, and I always keep money in the safe.”

  “So you actually think I’m going to go into the store, open the safe, and bring you some money?”