A few minutes later, I’m downstairs again and out the kitchen door, heading for the stable, keeping a sharp eye out along the way. A rabbit spooks me when he jumps out from behind a bush, and I gasp, my hand flying to my chest as my heart skips a beat. Shoot! I’m way too skittish today.
When I get closer to the stable, I notice the door is open. My mind starts replaying last night’s events. I don’t remember leaving the door open. But I don’t remember closing it either. As tired as I was, I really don’t remember much of what happened after Warner left with Mom and Dad and Andy.
My nerves are on edge, and I’m aware of every sound as I enter the stable. I jump when Beau Diddly greets me with a long, loud bray, and a nervous laugh jumps out of me in response. I continue walking toward him, glancing around with every tiny noise I hear. Before I reach him, I can see that his stall door is open. That means he could have come in here by himself. But I can’t be sure. It could also mean that Conrad rode him back and just left him to wander wherever he wanted, and Beau found the stall on his own.
When I reach him, I notice his front legs look strange. Running my hand over them, I can feel that they’re covered with something, almost to his knees. It feels like sand. Quicksand! That possibility starts the wheels turning in my head.
Beau could have walked into the quicksand. He could have stopped suddenly when he figured out what it was, throwing Conrad over his head before he backed out. He’s a pretty smart mule.
If that’s what happened and if my crazy uncle landed head first, then he’s as good as dead. There’s no getting out of that stuff once you’re in far enough. What a blessing that would be. But I don’t know that for sure, and I can’t take any chances. I decide to go ahead with my plan. I look around in the stable and find a small paper sack with a few horseshoe nails in it. I dump them on a bench and stuff the sack into my pocket.
Star’s nicker makes me jump again and reminds me that I need to give her and Sunny some oats. After I give them each a big scoop, Sunny gets right down to business and starts eating his, but Star gives me her thank you whinny and nuzzles my shoulder before she turns her attention to the meal. I rub her velvet nose before leaving her stable, and I realize how lucky I am to have her.
I decide to let her eat and have Beau Diddly give me a ride to the woods. It doesn’t take long to find the spot where the Devil’s Cherry bush took root after my dad tossed it on the ground. Since it’s July, the berries are ripe, and there’s plenty of them to pick. As I’m collecting them and dropping them into the sack, I notice how much they look like blueberries. They’re the same size, and the only noticeable difference is their color; it’s slightly darker than blueberries but still a pretty close match.
I keep glancing toward the direction of the bayou to make sure no one is coming toward me. There’s nothing but trees for as far as I can see. Above me, squirrels leap from limb to limb, making me jump with every sound. They’re apparently curious about what I’m doing, and they’re talking about it among themselves, chattering nervously to each other as they watch. Or maybe it’s something else. Can they hear Conrad coming? Perhaps they’re aware of the danger those berries hold and they’re trying to warn me. Or maybe they’re just upset because I’m disturbing them.
It doesn’t take long before I’ve filled the sack. I hop back on Beau, and we head toward the stable. I glance behind me every few seconds the whole way, half expecting to see Conrad at any moment. But I don’t. The only thing I notice is some dark clouds on the southern horizon. It looks like another summer storm is heading in.
It’s only mid-afternoon, and I have time to take care of what I need to do before Mrs. Deffenbaugh starts our dinner. It’ll just be the two of us tonight, so I’m thinking we should eat in the kitchen rather than the dining room. I put Beau back in his stall and head out of the stable toward the house.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Killer Muffins
A STRANGE FEELING OF impending doom is flowing through me as I walk away from the stable. Every sound attracts my attention. The rustle of the leaves in the swelling breeze. The snap of dead twigs as I step on them. My nerves are on edge, and I keep glancing around as each new sound floats through the air and into my ears.
When I get to the kitchen, I find Mrs. Deffenbaugh sitting at the table and reading the latest issue of Reader’s Digest. I walk past her toward the refrigerator, and I jump when I hear her voice coming from behind me. “Are you hungry, dear?”
“No. No, not really. I was going to bake those blueberry muffins for Uncle Conrad now,” I answer as I place my paper sack on the green Formica countertop.
“That’s nice,” she replies. “He’ll be so surprised.”
I open the fridge and remove the paper sack containing Conrad’s blueberries. The bag feels lightweight, and it appears to be only half-full. Apparently, he’s been eating them while waiting for Mrs. Deffenbaugh to bake the muffins. I tell myself that he won’t have to wait much longer.
Mrs. Deffenbaugh is concentrating on her reading and doesn’t seem to notice when I cross the kitchen to the sink and pour the blueberries into it. The garbage disposal springs to life with an angry grinding sound when I flip the switch. Within a few seconds, it has sent the blueberries on their way to wherever garbage winds up.
Back at the refrigerator, I place the empty paper sack inside and close the door. I’ll need it later. Mrs. Deffenbaugh smiles up at me from her magazine when I reach in front of her and pull the recipe out from under the salt shaker.
“If you need any help, just sing out,” she says and turns the page.
I set the oven temperature to three hundred and fifty degrees. The gas jets come alive with their red-orange flames, and I start collecting the ingredients. It doesn’t take long. Once the batter is mixed, I pour half the contents of my paper sack into the bowl and give the mixture a couple of swirls with my wooden spoon. Before pouring the batter into the muffin tin, I go back to the fridge and pour the rest of my Devil’s Cherries into Conrad’s empty sack.
On my way back to the stove, I crumple my sack and toss it into the wastebasket under the sink. I slide the muffin tin into the hot oven and glance at the recipe before setting the timer to twenty minutes. After closing the oven door, I rummage through the kitchen drawers to find a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen.
“I need you to write something for me, Mrs. Deffenbaugh,” I say, as I slide the blank sheet of paper across the table toward her and click the button at the top of the pen before placing it next to the paper.
She lays her Reader’s Digest face down on the table to mark her spot and picks up the pen. She poises it in the air above the paper. “What should I write, dear?”
“Just write this: These are for Mister Conrad. You children leave them alone.”
She starts writing, and I watch the words form on the paper. When she finishes, she raises the pen from the paper and looks up at me. “Should I sign it?”
I give her a nod. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”
She signs her name at the bottom and turns the paper around.
“Perfect!” I say, even though she’s written “childern.” She returns my smile before picking up her magazine and going back to her reading.
When the timer buzzes a few minutes later, I check the muffins. They look perfectly normal and actually smell delicious. I grab a thick potholder and pull the hot muffin tin from the oven, setting it on the stovetop.
After they’ve cooled enough, I pop them out of the muffin tin and arrange them on a square platter before setting them in the refrigerator. As I place them in the fridge, I speak to Mrs. Deffenbaugh over my shoulder. “Now, don’t eat any of these.”
“What, dear?” she replies, looking up from her reading and cupping her hand behind her ear.
I point to the muffins as I’m closing the refrigerator door. “Don’t eat any of these. The muffins. Okay?”
She nods and smiles before turning her attention back to her reading. I don’t know if she’
s heard me or not. I hope she has.
Later that evening, Mrs. Deffenbaugh and I are back in the kitchen, eating our supper. She’s fried chicken and made some of her delicious whipped potatoes and white gravy. The storm is getting closer, and I can hear the thunder rumbling in the distance as we’re eating. It reminds me of the sound of Uncle Conrad’s car when he was coming up the driveway just a few days ago. Thinking about that, and everything that’s happened since then, kind of spoils my appetite.
After dinner, we talk for a while about what a miracle it is that my parents are safe, and how lucky we are that Andy is going to be okay.
By eight o’clock, she’s starting to nod off. I tell her she should go to bed, and I offer to clean up the kitchen. She’s pretty pleased with that offer and accepts it with no hesitation.
After I get the kitchen back in order and the dishes washed and put away, I take the muffins out of the fridge. I position the platter in the center of the kitchen table, along with the note Mrs. Deffenbaugh has written. It looks pretty convincing to me. When I realize I’m yawning for the third time, I decide to go to bed earlier than usual, and I climb the stairs to my bedroom.
The rain is ticking on my window while I’m getting into my pajamas. I suddenly remember the Voodoo powder Fabien Laveau gave me. I check my jeans pocket and feel the small pouch. I remove it before tossing the jeans back on the floor. I open my nightstand drawer and place the pouch inside. The wind is whistling outside my window, and the house is making creaking noises. Lightning flashes through the night sky as the thunder follows right behind it. It’s kind of spooky, especially since it’s only me and Mrs. Deffenbaugh here tonight. At least I hope we’re the only ones here.
I lie on my bed for a while, listening to my transistor radio, but the soft music turns to an angry static buzz every time the lightning flashes. My thoughts wander, and I’m thankful that everything has changed. I smile when the images of Mom and Dad come into my mind. I can see them smiling back at me from their hospital beds, wearing those silly hospital gowns, and looking a little beat-up. But they’ll be fine in no time.
Their image changes to Andy’s. Like Mom and Dad, he’s smiling at me from his own hospital bed with Warner sitting in the chair beside him like a guardian who would protect him to the end no matter what the cost. Since Warner isn’t home yet, I’m guessing he decided to spend the night at the hospital. It makes sense for him to stay, since he would have to turn around and go back in the morning to pick them up anyway. Plus, I’m sure Andy feels better with him there.
My jaw drops open when I suddenly realize that something else has changed, too. With our parents alive, Conrad’s plan to kill Andy and me would accomplish nothing. He wouldn’t inherit anything. This realization gives me a bargaining tool I can use if he ever shows up again, since he has no reason for killing us now. Another weight floats off my shoulders. It’s true that I’m not totally out of the woods yet, but after tonight, my parents will be home. Then I don’t have to worry about Conrad ever again.
I’m getting drowsy, so I turn off my radio and flip the switch on my lamp. A moment later, my heart jumps and I turn the lamp back on. I hurry toward my door and check the lock. My suspicion was correct; I hadn’t locked it after all. The click of the lock is a reassuring sound in my ears. After a quick exhale, I’m back in my bed, the light is off, and sleep is taking me away.
I’m in the dining room with Andy and Uncle Conrad. There’s a huge, silver pot in the middle of the table. It’s filled with a black, bubbling liquid. Shark fins are slicing the surface with a hissing sound, and they continue moving round and round. Ribbons of steam swirl out of the pot and turn into tiny horses that fly above it in a circle, like a merry-go-round.
Conrad reaches his real hand into the air and a paper sack appears. He places the sack over the pot. His claw hand comes forward and slices the side of the bag open. Blueberries come rolling out and fall into the pot with tiny plopping sounds. The steam turns blue and the horses stop flying. They fall in slow motion, into the pot, struggling to swim.
The liquid in the pot turns to a deep red as Conrad laughs. He leans back in his chair, and slides his hand into his pocket. The last horse sinks below the surface with a terrified look on its face as the clicking of the lighter fills the dining room.
The flash of the lightning wakes me up. The dream image is fading from my head, but the clicking is still coming into my ears. Click! Click! Click!
My eyes are still sleepy when I glance toward my bedroom door. Confusion fills my mind. The door should be closed and locked. But it isn’t. It’s standing wide open. Lightning flashes again. My breath rushes in when I see the dark silhouette of a tall man standing in the doorway with one hand in his pocket and a metal claw where the other hand should be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Cellar
I’M PETRIFIED, FROZEN IN MY bed and barely breathing as I stare at the figure. The next moment, the clicking stops, and the man stumbles toward me.
He’s standing over me now, weaving from side to side. He bends down, staring into my face. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and the stench of his sweat-soaked shirt.
“Time to finish our game,” he whispers.
My legs tremble beneath the covers, and I pull the bedspread up to my chin. I want to scream, but I can’t remember how. Suddenly the sound comes exploding out of me. “Help! Mrs. Deffenbaugh! Help me!” The moment the words fly out of my mouth, I know it’s a waste of breath. She’s in bed at this hour, and she’s already taken her hearing aid out. Her room is too far away. There’s no way she can hear me.
As my scream fades, I hear his low laughter coming through the darkness. “She’s not going to be able to help you, sweetie pie.”
“Don’t call me that!” I yell as my anger starts to share space with my fear. “What have you done to her?”
Even in the darkness surrounding us, I can see him shaking his head. “I’m afraid she’s eaten some bad muffins.”
The thunder crackles outside my window. Oh, God! I’ve killed Mrs. Deffenbaugh.
“Now,” he says, as he throws my covers off and his metal claw hand snaps closed around my wrist. “Let’s take a little walk.”
“No,” I yell at him, struggling to pull my hand away and trying to open the pinching claw with my other hand. “Get out of my room! How did you get in here anyway?”
He leans toward me, smiling, breathing his liquor breath in my face. “You’re so stupid to leave the key in the door after you lock it. It’s easy to push it out of the keyhole from the other side. And if you’re smart, like me, and you slide your handkerchief under the door before that, the key drops right in it. Then you just slide it out and unlock the door.” His smile fades suddenly, and I feel his claw grip tighten around my wrist. “Now let’s take that walk.”
I try to pull my arm away, but the claw hurts more when I struggle against it. “No! I don’t want to take a walk.”
He jerks me out of my bed. “It doesn’t matter what you want.”
“Wait! Wait!”
He doesn’t stop, but I manage to grab my fuzzy pink robe from the foot of the bed before he starts pulling me across the floor. My feet are trying to keep up, but his strides are too long, and he’s walking too fast.
“Our parents are alive, Uncle Conrad!” I yell.
He stops. When he turns to face me, he’s weaving from side to side. His stinky breath is still finding its way to my nose, and my wrist is starting to hurt from the strong pinch of his lobster-claw hand.
“That’s not going to work,” he says.
“No! Really. They’ve been found. They’re alive! It won’t do you any good to kill us now.”
Lightning flashes through my window and illuminates his face. He looks horrible. His beard is scraggly, and his hair is messed up. But beyond that, beyond his physical appearance, there’s something dark and evil glowing in his eyes that’s even more frightening.
“You’re lying. You can’t trick
me with your lies. I’m not stupid, you know.”
I hear his raspy breathing as he slowly sways in front of me. Without saying another word, he turns around and heads toward the door. With the death grip he has on my wrist, I have no choice but to follow him down the hallway and toward the staircase, trying to keep my balance as he pulls me along.
My hand holding the robe flies to my mouth when we enter the kitchen and I see Mrs. Deffenbaugh. Oh, no! She’s sitting in her chair, slumped over the table. My eyes quickly scan the muffin platter and count how many are left. Eight. Oh, God! She’s eaten four of them. Conrad drags me through the kitchen and toward the hallway leading to the cellar door.
I don’t want to go down those steps. I hate the cellar. It’s dark and scary, like a grave. I decide I’ve had enough, and I slump to the floor, refusing to walk any further. Suddenly, the pain in my wrist eases as his metal fingers release their hold on me. I rub my arm with my other hand, and the pain retreats a bit.
Sitting on the floor, I manage to shove one arm into my robe before he grabs my ponytail with his claw and gives it a hard jerk. The pain explodes in my head. “Stop it!” I scream. “Please, Uncle Conrad. Let me go!” I start to cry.
“Shut up, kid,” he snarls. “I’ve had just about enough out of you.” He drags me along the smooth hardwood floor by my ponytail. I realize it would be less painful if I try to walk.
“Okay. Ouch! Okay. Just a minute. Let me get up.”
He stops dragging me. I stand, and my bare arm somehow manages to find its way into the other sleeve of my robe. He pulls me again, and I stumble along behind him until we reach the cellar door. He turns the knob, and the hinges creak when the door swings open. I pull back, trying to dig my toes into the hardwood floor, but it’s no use. The waxed surface is too slippery to get a foothold, and he’s much too strong. Despite my best efforts, we start descending the steps into the darkness waiting below.
Lost in the Bayou Page 13
