“You tied Bizzy’s wheelchair to your bike?” Mom shot arrows of disapproving looks my way.
“It was an awful long walk from Beside the Point when your grandmother was convalescing, wasn’t it?” The sheriff’s tone was somewhat patronizing. “If I tell you some classified information,” Sheriff Schmidt said, lowering his voice, “can I trust you both not to share it with anyone?”
I struggled to subdue the skepticism that was fighting to surface on my face. I recalled one of Bizzy’s oft-repeated pearls: If somethin’ don’t add up, you most likely don’t got all the numbers.
“Of course you can,” Mom said, before I had a chance to answer.
“I’ve received two different anonymous tips reporting that people have seen Bizzy around the cannery. Dr. Stuhl said she was muttering something about it when she was partially conscious after the fall—”
“What are you implying, Sheriff?” Mom asked. Her defenses were on alert.
“Mrs. Mortimer, I’m not implying anything. I’m only trying to prevent something more serious from happening to Beatrice. I believe that she knows exactly who is staying at the cannery and exactly why I found blueprints of the town storm drains and the basement of Miss Mora’s place in a tent inside the building!”
I clamped my lips shut. The conversation between Damon and his thuggish friend Randy Maroy replayed in a loop inside my head. I also thought of the dark hole I’d observed within the cannery. Because the sheriff had raised his voice, a few nurses in the hallway turned around to look at us.
“You honestly think a seventy-year-old woman is a part of some plan that involves sewer blueprints? We appreciate your finding Bizzy, but this conversation is over,” Mom said.
“Okay, then. Thank you for talking to me,” the sheriff said in a phony friendly tone, even though it was obvious that he was seething. He slipped a card out of his pocket and held it out to me. “Feel free to call me night or day.” I grabbed it from him and looked at it.
SCOTT SCHMIDT
Sheriff
CRABAPPLE, CALIFORNIA
His phone number was at the very bottom, all in bold.
The sheriff retreated down the hallway. I watched him until he exited through the sliding-glass doors.
“Your father was right about that man,” Mom said, her face hardened. She looked at me. “You don’t have any idea what he might have been talking about, do you?” she demanded.
“No,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“I don’t care if she tells you it’s okay; no more trips with Bizzy tied to your bike, all right?” Mom commanded before turning to walk back into Bizzy’s hospital room.
Dr. Stuhl had joined Dad by Bizzy’s bedside.
“Mrs. Mortimer, I’m afraid you’d be putting yourself at risk if you do anything of the sort. Your elevated blood pressure, in combination with the MRI we did when you arrived, suggests that a stroke is a possibility without any intervention.”
“Can’t you just give me some medicine and send me packin’, then?” I was surprised by Bizzy’s casualness.
“You need to be started on an IV immediately and monitored around the clock for at least the next forty-eight hours,” Dr. Stuhl admonished sternly.
“Been monitorin’ myself for years. I don’t see need for any help on that front, thank you very much.” Bizzy crossed her arms defiantly.
Bizzy hated hospitals, that’s for sure. But I had a feeling her aversion at that moment concerned Drake’s predicted day of departure, now just a little over three days away.
I was still standing in the doorway. I had to figure out how to be alone with Bizzy. Away from Mom and Dad.
“Dad?” I said. “Can you come out here real quick?”
“What’s up?” Dad asked, stepping into the hallway with me.
“I think if you give me a few minutes alone with Bizzy, I can convince her to stay in the hospital,” I blurted. Dad tilted his head to the side and studied me again.
“Well …”
“Bizzy doesn’t listen to anyone, I know … but she just might listen to me. I’d like to give it a try,” I added.
“It’s not a secret she likes you best of all,” Dad said, tousling my hair like he used to when I was little. “All right. But if you can’t do it, I’ll understand.” Dad walked back into Bizzy’s room and announced that I wanted a word alone with her. Mom eyed me suspiciously, but followed Dad out of the room.
As soon as the door was shut, Bizzy’s eyes widened and she tried to sit up straight.
“How’d you get the buzzards to stop circling?”
“I told them I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“I owe ya one. Seems like Phillip is set on drivin’ me crazy,” Bizzy said, exhaling loudly.
“Bizzy …,” I started, feeling a lump in my throat. “I’m really sorry about the things I said to you after that night at Drake’s house. When Mom told me you were hurt and I thought something terrible had happened I …”
“Oh, Sweet Pea, shush up now,” she said, her voice rich with sympathy. “It’s okay, ya hear? This is a lot for anyone to handle. I should’ve talked with you first before I called over to Drake’s house.”
“You were just trying to do all you could to save his life and I shouldn’t have questioned you. Besides, if you hadn’t made me stay for dinner, I wouldn’t have found out all the things I did.”
Bizzy’s eyes lit up. “What sorta things?”
First, I explained what Sheriff Schmidt had told me about finding blueprints in the tent at the cannery of the storm drain system underneath Miss Mora’s and of her basement. I then repeated what Drake and I’d overheard Damon and Randy Maroy discussing in the pool house. When I reached the part about the black car and Damon recognizing me from the morning Jodi almost died, I stopped. The fact that it had been Randy’s car made me rethink the entire sequence. He was casing Miss Mora’s Market that morning. My appearance had caused him to speed away.
Did people only believe in coincidences because, otherwise, fate’s grip on all of us would be too horrible to admit?
Bizzy was right there with me, almost instantly. “Dad gum! That’s it! Damon Westfall and his miscreant friend are plannin’ on robbin’ Miss Mora and usin’ the storm drains to get in! They were casin’ the joint that mornin’ of your first specter!” Bizzy’s creased forehead became more wrinkled as she grew excited.
“Which means the accident really was my fault, wasn’t it?” I asked. “By running to Miss Mora’s that morning, I caused Randy Maroy to speed away and almost hit Jodi.”
“You may have hurried things up a bit, Sweet Pea, but it was Jodi’s time no matter what you did. In the end, you also caused her to be saved.”
“I honestly don’t think I can do this, Bizzy,” I said, dejected.
“Oh … a’ course you can, Sweet Pea! Every Hand a’ Fate worth her salt doubts herself now and again and wonders if she’s doin’ the right thing,” Bizzy insisted. “I still do.”
“You do?”
“Every so often, absolutely.” Bizzy inhaled and then let out a long sigh. “The most dangerous people in this world are the ones who are always so certain, straight outta the gate. A thoughtful person is gonna be unsure from time to time. Why, it’s a sign of intelligence.”
“If that’s true, then I must be a genius.”
Bizzy laughed.
“How do you get over your doubts?”
“Each time, I think of the alternative: stand there like a bump on a log and do nothin’ at all? Call havin’ death-specters a gift, Sweet Pea, or call it a curse, but it’s somethin’ and in my mind, we got it for a reason. It doesn’t make sense to me that we should just ignore it when we can help a person. We’re just fixin’ somethin’ that got fouled up along the way.”
As I listened to Bizzy talk in her unusual but logical way, relief that she was okay washed over me.
“How did you fall?” I asked.
“I lost control of the chair on my way back from the ca
nnery. Thought I’d check things out while you were at school.”
“You rolled yourself all the way to the cannery?”
“Actually, I went to Cedar Tree Park right above the cannery first. I guess I didn’t leave enough gas in the tank for the ride home. The doctor’s convinced I’ve got Old-Timer’s.” Bizzy grinned.
“They only want to observe you for a day or so.”
“Honest to goodness, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I got a few scrapes and scratches. Never would have happened if I were ridin’ Dixie.” Bizzy paused. My thoughts returned to Randy Maroy and his threats.
“Don’t we need to tell Sheriff Schmidt that we think Damon Westfall is the one who’s been staying at the cannery?” I asked. “I’m afraid Damon is going to go through with the robbery and hurt Drake to keep him quiet.”
Bizzy began shaking her head violently, gauze bandage and all. “That dad-burned sheriff don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain! Tell him and we might as well broadcast to Damon and his criminal crony that you ratted ’em out.”
“But we’ve got to stop them from robbing Miss Mora!”
“Oh, we will, Sweet Pea. They said they aren’t plannin’ on robbin’ for another two weeks. If we’re gonna tell the sheriff, we gotta assemble a shut ’n’ open case for him. We got no proof right now. If those dang fools are gonna go after Drake, they’ll go after you, too. I ain’t leavin’ that to chance.”
“The cannery fire is supposed to happen on Tuesday,” I lamented. “What if the two are connected?”
“That’s precisely why I gotta get out of here. You and me have a lot of work to do!” Bizzy wheezed, out of breath. I took one of Bizzy’s hands between mine, just like she does.
“You have to stay, Bizzy.” She looked confused. I continued. “You have to get better and you can’t do that at home.”
“A wounded deer leaps the highest!” Bizzy said.
“What?”
“It’s another Emily quote.”
“No offense, Bizzy, but Emily Dickinson probably didn’t know what an embolic stroke even was.” I pressed on both sides of her cold, wrinkled hand with my own hands. Bizzy’s eyes moved back and forth in her sockets like they were on a working typewriter ribbon. I forged on. “If you don’t stay here, you’re going to give Dad a heart attack.”
“My own son treats me like I’m an invalid! And I ain’t leavin’ you to fend for yourself in this. It’s too big.” She put one of her hands through her mound of white hair.
“What if you didn’t have to?” I said. “I’ve been thinking about it. Jodi can help me keep track of Drake while you’re here.”
“That isn’t supposed to be the way—”
“I know I can’t tell her about being a Death Catcher, but she’ll help me if I ask her to.”
“It don’t seem right. When Washington crossed the Delaware to attack the Hessians on Christmas Day, I’ll tell ya one thing—he wasn’t watchin’ from the riverbank! Why, he was standin’ up in that boat with his troops!”
“I know we’re not supposed to involve anyone else, but if I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life, then I want to do certain things my way.”
Bizzy grinned and began to shake her head softly.
“Well, now, Miss Hedgehog … I can’t argue with that! Been doin’ things my own way since birth.” Bizzy sighed. “I guess if I tagged along right now, you’d just be draggin’ me from pillar to post, and I’d be slowin’ you down,” she admitted. “You can trust Jodi?”
“I know I can.”
“Well, all right then. I’ll stay. The last thing we want to do is give your father a heart attack.” There was a pause as Bizzy looked down in her lap. “I was gonna wait till we had some real privacy at home, but if I am gonna stay here, then there’s one thing I need to discuss before you go.”
“What?” I asked.
“Do you know anything about a book called The Last Descendant?”
I honestly hadn’t thought about the book I’d stolen from Agatha’s cottage in weeks. I pictured it resting on my nightstand.
“I took it from Agatha’s cottage right after she told me we could never go back.”
“Well, Sweet Pea, I ain’t ever been good at followin’ instructions. I visited her on my way back from the cannery.”
My jaw dropped. “Was she there? What did she say?”
“She weren’t too pleased to see me, but I told you I’d find out what Vivienne le Mort was after and I wasn’t gonna let some old crotchety grave keeper stand in my way.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She was sure you stole a book from her called The Last Descendant.”
“She was?”
“I said I didn’t know anythin’ about that. But she somehow knew you’d taken it. And she said if you could see words on the pages, then you were meant to know what Vivienne le Mort was after. She said, otherwise, it weren’t her place to tell.”
“I don’t understand …”
“Agatha Cantare is convinced, Sweet Pea, that whatever it is Vivienne le Mort is after … that book explains it.”
My mind raced as I thought of what I’d learned in The Last Descendant. Then it hit me. I’d seen Drake’s death-specter a few pages from the end.
I’d become so distraught over Drake, I’d stopped reading.
I never finished the book.
Persuasion
I couldn’t wait to get home to read the last pages of The Last Descendant, mad at myself for not getting to the end. But before I did any reading, I had a few items of unfinished business to take care of.
Knowing how to write in a way that convinces a person to believe something is important, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be good at it, Mrs. Tweedy. You say it’s all about using evidence to build a case, but I usually end up sounding wishy-washy. Still, I realized that if I were going to reenlist Jodi to help me watch Drake, I would have to do some major persuading. I needed a better method. So I decided I would leave out the facts that didn’t bolster my case and invent some that did.
First, I broke the news to Dad and Mom that Bizzy had agreed to stay in the hospital for the next two nights. I could see the relief on Dad’s face. Mom looked at me sort of like I was an alien.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I told her that she should stay.”
“And she listened to you?” Mom responded doubtfully.
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right,” Mom said, shaking her head. “You two have some sort of special bond.” Mom was acting like she was mad at me.
I rode home with Dad, convincing him I needed to stop by Jodi’s to pick up a homework assignment.
The bell attached to the door of Miss Mora’s Market dinged as I walked into the store.
“Hello, Lizzy!” Miss Mora said. “How is Bizzy doing?”
“She’s going to be fine,” I said.
“I’m so glad.” Miss Mora came out from behind the counter, wearing her red apron with her hair in a long braid down her back. “Are you looking for Jodi?”
“Is she home?”
“Just walked in a few minutes ago. Go on up.”
I took the wooden staircase up a floor to Jodi’s. The cramped two-bedroom apartment was decorated with dozens of pictures, and overlapping floor rugs covering the well-worn hardwood floors. Bookshelves filled with records and numerous volumes on topics that included traveling and gardening lined the walls. Jodi complained about not having a TV, but I viewed the Sanchez home as a treasure trove of riches waiting to be discovered.
Jodi was lying on the floor, reading one of Miss Mora’s old Life magazines from the 1980s.
“Hey!” she said, getting up. “Heard you left class early. What happened?”
“Bizzy’s in the hospital again,” I answered. “She fell, but she’ll be okay.”
“She’s had a tough time lately,” Jodi said. She sat in a shabby Barcalounger in the corner and I plopped in the armchair
facing it.
“I have a favor to ask you,” I said.
“Anything,” Jodi responded.
“I need your help stalking Drake again.”
Jodi put her hand up instantly. “Whoa, wait one second. Lizster, I know you may still be hung up on him, but that’s going to lead nowhere good. As your friend, I feel like it’s my duty—”
“Before you say no, hear me out,” I interrupted.
Because Bizzy and I hadn’t yet discovered what was going to get Drake to the cannery that fateful morning, we decided I would follow Drake’s movements as best I could for the next three days, with Jodi’s help, to gather clues. We could easily swing by the cannery both Saturday and Sunday on our bikes. With daily trips, we’d be able to keep track of any changes there, as well. Bizzy had insisted that if we couldn’t figure out what would cause Drake to visit the cannery, our best backup plan was to nab Drake right before he got there.
I told Jodi about Sherriff Schmidt’s discovery in the cannery of the blueprints to her mother’s market. But instead of telling her Damon and Randy weren’t planning on robbing the market for another couple of weeks, I said they were going to do it on Tuesday morning, when the cannery explosion was supposed to occur.
“Damon and his friend are going to rob us?”
“I think so,” I said. “But if we go to the police, it will just be my word against theirs and they’ll come after me or Drake. I have no proof. We need to catch them in the act to make sure they end up where they can’t hurt Drake … or me, I guess.”
Jodi’s mind was already working. “In the meantime, I’ll make sure my mom changes the combo to the safe,” she said.
“So you’ll help me watch Drake and Damon? You think it’s a good plan?”
“I’d help you even if it was a bad plan, Lizzy.”
When I arrived home, Mom said dinner would be served in a half hour. I told her that I wasn’t hungry and went straight upstairs. Sitting on my bed, I took The Last Descendant from my nightstand. I hadn’t held the leather volume since I’d seen Drake’s death-specter.
My whole world had turned upside down since then.
The Death Catchers Page 18
