“Hands behind your backs,” the male officer said. Handcuffs were snapped around our wrists, and we were led to the police car.
“You don’t understand!” Allie said. “We’re Gormley Academy students, and we’ve just been at a Halloween dance.” She glanced over at me, her eyes lit up, and I knew what she was going to do. “Officer!” she said. “This is Cary Amberson, Charles Amberson’s daughter.”
I groaned. I couldn’t help it. Why couldn’t Allie keep her mouth shut?
All I could think of were Mom’s words: “Whatever you do, Cary, will reflect on your father.”
Chapter 10
Photographers from the TV stations and from the newspapers were at the police station waiting for us to arrive. They didn’t bother Justin, Allie, and Greg, but microphones were shoved into my face and questions were hurled at me like sharp stones.
“How long have you been on drugs?”
“Have you ever been arrested on drug charges before this?”
“Are you getting any kind of treatment?”
I couldn’t stand it. I screamed at them, “None of us has ever taken drugs! And we’re dressed like this because we’re in costume! We were at a Halloween party!”
It didn’t matter what I said. The reporters pushed and shoved and followed us into the station where a detective dressed in a business suit took charge and ushered us into a small room with nothing in it but a plain wooden table and six straight-backed chairs.
The officer who’d arrested us removed our handcuffs. My wrists hurt, and I rubbed them as I glared at him. “You didn’t have to do that!” I complained.
He just shrugged and said, “Procedure,” before he left the room.
His partner remained, standing against the wall near the door to the room.
“Who notified the reporters?” I asked her.
“They listen to the police calls,” she said.
“You said that Charles Amberson’s daughter had been arrested. You did that just so they’d come.”
She didn’t say anything, but the disgust in her eyes as she looked at me was answer enough. Didn’t she understand? This costume wasn’t me!
“There’s no good hashing this over.” The detective was brusque. “Sit down now, all of you. We’ve got things to get done.” He motioned Justin and Greg to one side of the table, Allie and me to the other. When he took his place at the head of the table his suit coat fell open, and we could see his holster and gun.
“I want my parents,” Allie said.
“We’ll call your parents—all your parents,” the detective said. He pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket and added, “Give me their names and phone numbers.”
When he’d written down all the information, he tore the page from the pad and handed it to the policewoman. “Get in touch with them, please,” he told her.
As she left the room he turned back to us. “I’m Sergeant Masterson, and I’m on narcotics detail.”
“We weren’t taking drugs!” Justin said. “Someone planted those in my car and then called you. It had to be the same person.”
Sergeant Masterson held up a hand. “I’m doing the talking now,” he said. “We’ll bring someone in here soon to take your statements. You were all given the Breathalyzer test on the street, but there are more sophisticated tests which can be given here at the station, and I’d like you to take them.”
“What kind of tests?” Allie asked.
“They’re tests which can be done on samples of your urine and blood. They show not only the quantity of any drug that’s in your body but can even specify what type of drug it is.”
“We told you we weren’t taking drugs!” I insisted.
“If you want to prove it, take the tests,” he said.
Someone knocked on the door, and Sergeant Masterson answered it. He spoke in a low voice to the person in the hallway, then turned back to us. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “If you need anything, just knock on the door. The officer outside the door will answer.”
Before any of us could say anything he had left the room, shutting the door behind him.
We sat there quietly, each of us in a muddle with our own thoughts. I couldn’t begin to guess what they planned to do with us, other than have us take the drug tests the detective had told us about. How long would it take for them to get the results from the test and find out we were innocent? What would happen in the meantime? Would we be fingerprinted? Taken before a judge? Put in jail? I tried to remember all the cop movies I’d seen, but my mind was a blank, and I felt a little sick.
Justin glanced toward the door. “I wonder why he left us alone.”
“Maybe the room is bugged,” Allie said. “I bet they’re all in a little room next to ours with a two-way mirror, watching us and listening to what we say to each other.”
“There’s no mirror in here,” Greg grumbled. “You watch too many movies.”
Allie was doing better than I was. At least she could remember the movies.
“I wish I could wash my face,” I suddenly blurted out.
Allie looked at me a little shyly. “They took a lot of pictures of you.”
“I know.”
Allie took one of my hands in hers, and Justin got up from his chair on the other side of the table and stood behind me, his hands massaging my neck and shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Cary,” he said. “You told the reporters that we were in Halloween costumes.”
“I don’t think they listened or even cared. I look like a tramp, and I’ve just been arrested on drug charges. That’s their big story, and the pictures make it even better.”
“People won’t believe it,” Allie insisted. “Most of our teachers were chaperons at the party. They’ll explain about the costumes.”
For an instant I was hopeful, but I realized that any explanations would come too late. The original story would probably be front-page news and on tomorrow’s local TV news, but follow-up stories—if there were any—would be small items, buried in the back pages of the newspapers and ignored completely in the television broadcasts.
“I should have known better than to go along with the stupid idea for these stupid costumes,” I said.
Justin pulled his hands away from my shoulders. “You liked the idea. Remember?”
I didn’t want to remember. “How did the drugs get in your car?” I asked.
“I told you, I don’t know,” Justin said. “Don’t you trust me?”
“You told the detective that someone planted them. Why would anyone do a thing like that?”
“You tell me!”
Allie put her hands over her ears. “Stop it!” she shouted. “You’re making everything worse!”
The room was suddenly silent.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, looking at each of them in turn. Allie’s lip trembled, and tears puddled in her eyes. Greg had his head down, buried in his arms, and Justin’s face was still tight and strained with anger. “I’m really sorry,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. It’s just that I’m worried that this might hurt Dad’s campaign.”
Justin grunted in disgust. “Cary, haven’t you noticed? We’re all sick of hearing about your father’s campaign.”
“I didn’t know …” I began. “I didn’t mean …”
“Oh be quiet, Cary,” Allie said and began to cry.
Why couldn’t I wake up and discover that this had been nothing more than a horrible dream? Little kid wishes. I knew that this monster wouldn’t just go away.
Our parents arrived almost at the same time. Justin’s father was so angry and defensive I was afraid he might have a heart attack. He was even more upset when he found out that Justin’s car had been impounded.
I was grateful that Mom and Dad didn’t ask questions, and they didn’t complain about what had been done.
“You must take the tests,” they told me, trusting me completely, so I did.
The others did, too, and afterward I was surpris
ed when we were all allowed to go home.
Before we left the station Mom took me into the ladies’ room where I could wash my face and brush out my hair. She wrapped me up in a coat she’d brought along, and we walked out into the central room of the police station to join Dad, who had given a statement to the reporters. As we crossed the room a couple of photographers took pictures of me, but since I was covered up, with my face scrubbed clean, I didn’t look nearly as interesting.
Once we were safely inside the car I fell apart and sobbed all over Mom’s shoulder. She let me cry, but when I’d reached the point at which nothing was left but dry hiccups she hugged me and said, “Cary, honey, we’re so terribly sorry that this had to happen to you.”
I struggled to sit upright and stared at Mom. “You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one who ruined things.”
“No,” Mom said firmly. “You’re not at fault, and neither are your friends. It’s the situation … the news interest in Charles … in our family.” Her words faded away.
“Those awful pictures of me will be in the newspapers and on television.”
“Maybe not,” Dad said. “I gave the reporters the facts and told them how they could check them out.”
“Sure,” Mom said, and squeezed my shoulders in another hug. “None of you had taken drugs—the tests will prove it—and the story will be nothing more than a false alarm. False alarms don’t make news stories.”
But Mom and Dad had been too optimistic. On the front page of the local newspapers the next morning were blown-up pictures of me being led into the police station in handcuffs. There was the weird hair, the crazy makeup, the ragged black tights. I looked as though I’d been picked up in some alley. The headline over the photo in one of the newspapers read: CANDIDATE’S DAUGHTER ARRESTED IN DRUG BUST. The photo and headline in the other newspaper were just as bad.
The stories were full of “alleged” and “appeared to be” to keep the newspapers out of trouble legally, and they did briefly mention the Halloween dance; but one of the newspapers—the one with the mean political cartoonist—included a statement Governor Milco had made, when he announced his campaign for reelection, about what should be done with juvenile drug offenders. Anyone who read the stories would probably begin thinking of a few other political candidates whose kids had got into trouble and start clucking and shaking their heads, wondering what this world was coming to.
I got plenty of odd looks while we were at church. Some of them were curious; some were contemptuous. All I could do was pretend I didn’t notice, keep my gaze straight ahead, and smile at people I knew, but it was a horrible time to have to live through.
From the moment we got home the family telephone kept ringing, but there were no calls on my private line. I felt miserable about what Justin and I had said to each other and about the way I’d treated Allie and Greg, too.
I called Allie and got a busy signal, so I called Greg, but he was grounded and his dad wouldn’t even let him come to the phone. I wanted to call Justin, but I had already apologized. Why couldn’t he call me?
After a couple of tries I got through to Allie, and I blurted out, “I was terrible last night. I’m sorry, Allie.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “We were all scared. I was never so scared in my whole life.”
We were interrupted by a clattering noise. “Allie?” I asked.
There was more banging and bumping before she answered. “Sorry,” she said. “I dropped the phone.”
I smiled to myself. It was comforting that Allie was still the same. “Why don’t you come over?” I asked. “Or should we go to a movie?”
“Ohhhh, I can’t,” Allie wailed. “My aunt and her family are going to be here for dinner, and I have to help watch her little kids. The two-year-old—Timmy—you’d never guess all the stuff he can get into. Last time they were here he started fooling with my parents’ clock radio and got everything so mixed up you wouldn’t believe it, and …”
Allie rattled on. I kept telling myself that she had a perfectly good reason for not being able to come over, and I shouldn’t take it so personally, but I was glad when Allie finally interrupted herself with a groan. “They’re here,” she said. “I’ve got to go.”
I held the phone in my lap and tried to use mental telepathy. Call me, Justin! Call me right this minute!
It didn’t work.
Delia had come over, as had Robert, a lawyer, and Dad’s campaign managers, and a few other people I’d never met. They shut themselves up with Dad in his office, and that was the last Mom and I saw of him for over two hours. Every now and then the phone would ring, but Dad would answer it.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, munching on what was left of my frozen marshmallow cookies and reading the Sunday comics when Dad came into the kitchen to get a drink of water. I could see the exhaustion in his face.
“The telephone calls are about me, aren’t they?” I asked him.
He put down his glass and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Honey,” he said, “there are a lot of busybodies in this world. We aren’t going to pay any attention to them.”
“But they won’t vote for you.”
“We’ve worked out a statement to give to the media. It will explain everything.”
“You’ve been working on it an awfully long time.”
“That’s not all we’ve been doing. There are many aspects to a political campaign.” He stretched and rolled his head, trying to ease the tension in his neck. “And to investigations. We’ve got a private investigator looking for Cragmore’s former superintendent, but so far there’s no trace of him.”
Mom came into the kitchen and smiled when she saw Dad. “Oh, good,” she said. “Have they gone?”
His answering smile was wry. “Unfortunately, there’s still work to do.”
“Would they like coffee?”
“Thanks, but Velma sent a pot of coffee in about half an hour ago.”
“Maybe I should feed them. What do you think? Sandwiches?”
“No,” Dad said firmly as he walked across the kitchen. “Let them get good and hungry, and maybe they’ll leave.”
I laughed, and he looked at me with surprise. “That’s not a joke,” he said. “I mean it.”
Dad paused at the door and glanced back at Mom. “Laura,” he said, “they told me I appeared stiff on camera, that I needed to … ‘loosen up and lighten up.’ That’s the way they put it.” He looked embarrassed, and his voice dropped as he said, “Do you think I seem stiff? Do I make a bad appearance?”
Mom ran to Dad, gave him a quick hug, and said, “Of course not, Charles! Don’t listen to them.”
“They’re paid to be my advisers.”
“I don’t care. Don’t try to change your personality to please them. Be yourself.”
“They pointed out that many people base their vote strictly on how the candidate comes across on television.”
“You come across as a man with intelligence and dignity and honor,” Mom insisted, “and my opinion counts, too.”
“Thanks,” Dad said. He gave her a grateful smile and left the room.
I went upstairs. Maybe I should call Justin and try to make up. Maybe Justin had been trying to call me and couldn’t get through. Yes. That had to be it.
As I opened my bedroom door I stopped. Something didn’t feel right.
One set of the pale blue curtains that edged the windows hung neatly, but at the far window they’d been drawn together, covering the window. I hadn’t left them like that. Someone had been in my room.
I held my breath and looked and listened.
Someone was still there!
Chapter 11
In the mirror that hung over the chest of drawers I could see the door to the walk-in closet. It was open just a crack, and as I waited I thought I saw it move.
I didn’t even bother to shut the bedroom door. I just tore down the stairs, yelling at the top of my lungs. I made so much noise that if
anyone had tried to follow me I couldn’t have heard him.
Everyone in the house came running, and while I tried to explain what had scared me, Dexter broke from the group and took the stairs three at a time.
“We should call the police,” Mom said.
But Delia shook her head. “Do we want more bad press? Cary said she didn’t see anyone. Just because the curtains were out of place …”
Velma interrupted her. “I didn’t touch those curtains.”
Delia ignored her and asked, “Why don’t we wait and see what Dexter finds?”
Dad and a couple of others had already started up the stairs by the time Dexter leaned over the upper railing and beckoned to Dad. “No one’s in the house now,” Dexter said, and the way he emphasized now showed us that he thought someone really had been in my room.
Mom and I looked at each other. I could tell she was as frightened as I was. She and I ran upstairs, the stragglers following.
As we entered my bedroom I caught a glimpse of Dexter tucking something under his white coat, behind his back. He moved so quickly I couldn’t tell what it was, but I thought it looked like a gun. What would Dexter be doing with a gun?
Dexter pointed to the far window. He had pulled the curtains wide, and we could see that the window was open. “I’m pretty sure that someone was in this room,” he said. “It looks as though he made a quick getaway when Cary began yelling.”
Dad poked his head out the window and drew back inside. “He could have climbed up the oak,” he said. “I didn’t realize the branches came so close to this window.” He checked the other window, which was locked, and faced me. “Cary,” he said, “if you want a window open, it would be safer to open this one.”
“I didn’t open either of them,” I said. In Dallas we go from air-conditioning to heat to air-conditioning, and there are very few days on which we open windows.
“The glass was cut,” Dexter said. He pointed to the top of the sash where there was a neat round hole, about four inches across, directly under the lock.
“Why didn’t the security system …?” Mom began. She interrupted herself. “Oh, of course. We only turn it on at night.”
A Candidate for Murder Page 9
