“Damn cockroach,” Elton grumbled. “The kitchen’s full of them.”
“Keep it down,” Biddle said. “The place belongs to them, too.” Jennifer heard his giggle fading down the hallway.
If she could get Elton out of the way, she could reach the kitchen telephone and try to call Lucas. How could she do it? She shifted position, careful to avoid the lamp cord.
The lamp cord.
Silently she unplugged the cord. She could see, from the glow of the flashlight, that Elton’s back was toward her as he squatted, going through the lower kitchen drawers.
She would have to be fast. She couldn’t make a sound.
Silently, Jennifer got to her feet, grasped the lamp around its neck, slid from the place behind the chair, took two quick steps toward Elton, and brought the base of the lamp down on his head.
Elton fell forward against the drawers. There was a thump, but Jennifer hoped Mr. Biddle would think Elton was after another cockroach. She lowered Elton to the floor. He was breathing steadily, and his head wasn’t bleeding. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but she didn’t have a choice. Maybe he’d come to. What then?
Jennifer knew that Mrs. Trax hung an apron in the kitchen closet, so she pulled it out and bound Elton’s hands behind him with the ties of the apron.
The telephone was on the side counter. Crouching, as though she were being watched, she ran to the phone. Using the penlight in fingers that were trembling so much she could hardly aim it, she dialed Lucas’s number.
As she waited, automatically counting the rings, she began to realize that Lucas wasn’t going to answer his telephone. Wasn’t he there? Was he asleep? Oh, Lucas! You’ve got to answer!
But the phone rang on unheeded.
She had one other chance. She hung up and quickly dialed the operator.
After the third ring the operator answered, and Jennifer whispered, “Let me have the police! Quickly!”
“I’m sorry,” the operator said. “I can’t hear you. Can you speak a little more loudly?”
“The police!” Jennifer’s whisper was only a little louder.
“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.”
“Hang up, please.” The voice, close to her ear, came accompanied by a blinding light as Mr. Biddle’s flashlight was aimed at Jennifer’s eyes.
Jennifer did as he said and threw up an arm to ward off the glare.
The flashlight lowered. She could see Mr. Biddle studying her. “Apparently you didn’t get my little gift,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
“A dud?” he said. “I don’t usually make mistakes like that.”
He waited for Jennifer to reply, but she simply stared at him.
He chuckled. “Looks as though Elton is going to wake up with a very sore head. Did you really think that desperate act would help you?”
Jennifer heard a car pull up outside the house. Rubber sliding against the curb. Neighbors coming home? Another car soon followed. A lower-pitched motor. The tiniest of rattles as the engine shut off.
She wanted to shout. She recognized the sound of Lucas’s car. What was he doing here? Did he know she’d come to the Trax house? And why two cars?
With the curtains over the back window Lucas and whoever was with him would be unable to see Mr. Biddle. Mr. Biddle with the gun in his hand.
The switch to the light over the sink was next to the telephone. If she turned on the light, whoever was out there would be alerted.
“Nothing to say?” Mr. Biddle said. “Well, I suppose you’re right. It’s time for you to join our friend down on the floor.”
Elton groaned and opened his eyes, blinking as though caught in the middle of a dream.
“You’re a liability, Elton,” he said. As he pointed his gun toward Elton, Jennifer whirled, snapped on the light, and dove to one side, rolling under the kitchen table.
She heard a shot and the slapping, splintering of wood near her head. There was a rush of noise that hammered against her ears and sparks that burned black and zoomed into a tunnel. Jennifer whirled into the darkness with them.
She awoke to find herself stretched out on the kitchen floor. In front of her face was the back of a pair of men’s shoes. The shoes took a step away from her.
Jennifer struggled to sit up.
“She’s come out of it,” a deep voice said from across the room.
The shoes—with pants legs attached—turned toward her. Lucas bent down. “You’re all right,” he told her. “Think you can get up, or do you need a hand?”
Jennifer took a couple of deep breaths. The room and the people in it became real, and she remembered.
“Lucas!” she said, stumbling to her feet, wishing she weren’t so off-balance and clumsy. “You’re all right! Did the others—?”
“No shots fired,” he said. He looked toward the splintered table leg and added, “Except for the one aimed at you.”
He reached out a hand, and she grabbed it, steadying herself. “Biddle and Elton Krambo are in custody,” he said. “Elton’s asking to plea bargain already. I think he’ll give the police and FBI quite a bit of information.”
“I have to tell you something!” Jennifer said.
“You don’t need to tell me. It’s pretty obvious what happened, from the moment your voice gave you away and I realized you were coming here no matter what I said.”
“That’s not what I want to tell you. I want you to know that you’re not the only one who knows how to listen. I learned, too. That’s how I knew it was your car outside. The rattle!” She waited a moment. “Well, aren’t you proud of me?”
“Proud of you? For not following orders, for endangering your life, for taking unnecessary risks, for—?”
Jennifer pulled the notes with Mr. Biddle’s handwriting from her back jeans pocket. “Here,” she said. “That note that’s supposed to be from Margo. It’s in Mr. Biddie’s handwriting. I’ve even found evidence for you!”
Lucas pulled out two of the wooden kitchen chairs. “Sit down,” he said. “Carl and the others will be wanting to talk to you when they’re ready. You can turn over your evidence to them.”
“They’ll ask me what happened?”
“Every detail. And when they’re through with their interrogation they’ll chew on you for getting in their way and for doing all the things you did that they’ll think were pretty dumb.”
“But we helped prove that Bobbie didn’t kill Mrs. Trax! That’s what counts!”
Maybe it was the way Lucas looked at her. Maybe it was the overloud echo of her words. Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she faced the knowledge she had forced to the back of her mind.
Lucas handed her a clean handkerchief. “I don’t suppose you have one of your own.”
Jennifer shook her head, and he added, “Bobbie didn’t kill Stella Trax, but I imagine you’ve figured out by now that she did know what Stella was up to. I doubt that Bobbie had been told who was involved in the scam, but I think it will come out that she did help in passing counterfeit cards at the stores.”
Jennifer rolled into a ball of misery, crying until her sobs were only dry gulps. Finally she said, “I knew when I realized that Mr. Biddle had gone to see Bobbie. It all added up.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at Lucas. “But I didn’t really want to know.”
“It’s tough now,” he said, “but you’ll get over it.”
“I don’t think I ever will.”
“You learn to,” he said. One corner of his mouth turned up as he added, “When you’re a cop.”
“I’m not a cop!”
“Have you thought about becoming one? You’re pigheaded and lippy, and you don’t even know what the word patience means, but I think you’re smart enough to learn to do things right.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Think about it. Take a couple of years at Del Mar College, then try the academy entrance exam. I believe you’ve got what it takes.”
“I haven’t got enough money to g
o to college, and I’m supposed to get married after I graduate in May.”
“I’ll ask around. We ought to be able to come up with a scholarship for you. And you’re much too young to get married. Put that out of your mind.”
“Do you really think you have a right to tell me what to do with my life?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about rights.” He actually smiled at her.
“It isn’t just what I want to do,” she said. “What about Mark? I wouldn’t want to hurt Mark.”
“You’ll hurt him more if you marry him just because you think it’s expected of you.”
Jennifer snapped, “Now you sound like a marriage counselor!” But she was surprised to find that mixed with the sorrow and exhaustion was a comforting touch of relief.
“With a part-time job and a scholarship you could manage it,” Lucas said. “Probably even handle an apartment of your own.”
Jennifer didn’t want to think about Lucas’s idea, but her mind swooped after his words like a gull after a fish. “Maybe,” she said aloud, “Grannie and I could—” She shook her head and quickly added, “I’m not saying your idea is any good. I have to give it a lot of thought, and right now I hurt inside and I don’t even want to think about it.”
Three men came into the kitchen. One of them was Detective Carl Robbins. “Young lady—” Carl began, but Lucas held up a hand.
“Jennifer has got some evidence to give you. Biddle made a careless mistake, and it’s going to cost him in the Zeitlinger murder. You might want to congratulate her.”
“Congratulate her! When she—”
Lucas interrupted. “She’ll learn to do it right next time. We’ve been talking about her spending two years in junior college, then trying out for a class at the police academy.”
“Are you crazy, Lucas!” But the detective’s scowl turned into a smile, and he began to laugh. “If she can obey orders for even one week I’ll eat my badge!”
“I’ll buy the ketchup,” Lucas said. “Now treat this future officer kindly, and let’s get down to business.”
Whatever I decide, I hope Mark will understand, Jennifer thought, but she put Mark out of her mind as she tugged her notebook out of her pocket and asked, “Where do you want me to start?”
JOAN LOWERY NIXON has been called the grande dame of young adult mysteries. She is the author of more than 130 books for young readers and is the only four-time winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Young Adult Novel. She received the award for The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore, The Séance, The Name of the Game Is Murder, and The Other Side of Dark, which also won the California Young Reader Medal.
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