Twenty Minutes Late

by Caroline Crane

  “All what? It’s only two things.”

  “So far.”

  “Really, Ben. If it’s not Stacie Marr, then it’s just dumb kids. Like the cop said, it’s nothing personal.”

  “Who’s Stacie Marr?”

  “Remember those people who crashed the tennis court? Stacie’s the female half. She stole my boyfriend and her father just got arrested for, uh—and I don’t even feel sorry for her.”

  “For that, she’d commit murder? If you hadn’t swerved, it could have been a direct hit.”

  It could. She hadn’t wanted to think of it that way.

  “If they really meant to hit me—I mean, whose aim is that good?”

  He led her back to the truck and helped her in. “You really believe that?”

  “What else is there? You’re thinking about Kip and whoever took him. Maybe Stacie did that, too.”

  He closed her door and walked slowly back and forth, studying the ground. Under the weeds, it was soft from yesterday’s rain. He took pictures.

  “What’s that for?” she asked as he got in beside her.

  “For the hell of it. The police can tell a lot from tire treads. After they get a little worn they can be as distinctive as fingerprints.”

  “Can you tell anything?”

  “Only that they’re there. You have to have something with which to compare them. And they’re not very clear with all the plant growth. The plants are smashed down, which says that whatever it was came along recently.”

  He turned on his engine, then added, almost as if he didn’t want to, “There are a couple of footprints, too. Both the same.”

  “Do they look male or female?”

  “Big enough to be male.”

  Troy would have helped. That rock must have taken muscle power. More than Stacie had.

  Ben backed out, careful to stay in his own tracks and not destroy the others.

  Now he was going to take her home. “I mean it, just leave me on Fremont with my bike. Go home and have your lunch. I’ll be okay.”

  She didn’t think he heard her, and tried again. “I mean it. If you take me home I’ll only have to come back.”

  Her knee throbbed. She pulled up her jeans to look at it. The knee was red and blue and swollen to the size of a baseball. She covered it quickly and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Please, Ben? You don’t want to make me do the whole trip again. Did you ever try riding a bicycle over that bridge?”

  “No, I have too much sense. The hill, too.” He stopped when he came to the merge onto Fremont. Which was it going to be, Fremont or the bridge?

  “What exactly are you looking for?” he asked.

  She had to think quickly. He mustn’t know she was on the trail of Emerson Santiago.

  “A car. It’s black, two doors, with some big gray spots where the paint came off.”

  What if they found it? Would she have to follow through so he wouldn’t suspect what she was really after?

  “This car,” he said. “It belongs to a friend of yours?”

  “More like a friend of a friend. I’m not planning to do anything. I just want to see where she lives.”

  “There’s no easier way to find out?”

  “It’s a surprise. I want to send flowers on her birthday. But I’m going to need my bike.”

  This was getting complicated. She spun more lies. “I don’t want her to know. I didn’t send flowers on her birthday.”

  “I hope you realize that Fremont goes on for two and three-quarter miles and then it hitches up with the Northbridge Turnpike. If you don’t see the car, are you going on to the turnpike?”

  There wasn’t any Northbridge left, only the turnpike. The bridge itself was long gone.

  “I wouldn’t know which direction on the turnpike, so maybe not. Can we get my bike down?” She pushed her door open.

  He reached around her and closed it. “Don’t you have any sense? The condition you’re in, you could have another accident and I’d be responsible.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you!”

  “You couldn’t. You’d be dead. I’d blame myself.” He drove forward onto Fremont.

  “Then just leave me here,” she said. “You’re not the least bit responsible for me.”

  “Wrong. I am. It’s an old Chinese custom, or so they say.”

  “What Chinese custom? Is this something you invented?”

  “Not me. Either somebody else did, or it’s an old Chinese custom.”

  He wasn’t too wrong about her condition. With all the bumps and bruises, it would undoubtedly be painful riding her bike.

  But she had to do it alone. If he stayed with her, she couldn’t do anything.

  Even so, there were compensations. His handsome profile for one, each time she looked to the left. She couldn’t remember if Troy even had a profile. Of course he did, but it wasn’t memorable.

  They passed Velda Sheehan’s house. Ben paid no attention. He couldn’t possibly guess that she and Maddie had been there.

  He drove slowly, giving her time to scan both sides of the road. Cars passed them and one man shook his fist at Ben’s snail pace. Another stopped to ask if they needed help.

  “It’s nice that some people ca—”

  She almost cried out. It was a mailbox. On her side of the road. It said A. Santiago.

  And there, in front of it, was the car Emerson had been driving. Or one just like it. She didn’t see any people.

  She barely restrained herself from speaking. Ben drove on. Not too far. Please. He asked, “Seen anything yet?”

  “A few things. Houses and stuff. How well do you know Emerson Santiago?”

  There. It was out. He said, “How well do I know him? I only just met him.” He didn’t ask her why. The car crept on. If not for that rock, if she were still on her bike, she could have explored further.

  He eased to a stop. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was her cover story, right there—an old black car that had lost its shine. It stood at the end of a dirt road in front of what appeared to be a house trailer.

  “I guess so,” she said. “I can’t see it very well.” Tree branches hung in the way. “Can you see if it has gray splotches?”

  “Nope.” He backed a little and nosed into the driveway.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking to see if it has gray splotches.”

  “But—this is private property.”

  “If it’s somebody you know, they won’t mind.”

  “What if it isn’t her?”

  “Then you can say we were turning around. Or you can tell them you were looking for gray splotches.”

  “Maybe I’ve seen enough. It does look like her car, I mean the outline.”

  “I’m sure you’re aware that cars come off an assembly line. No outline is unique.”

  He was frazzling her brain. “The gray splotches might be unique.”

  “Let’s take a closer look.” He turned his wheel and plunged into a grove of bushes next to the road. From their leaves, she thought they were lilacs.

  “Ben, are you out of your mind?”

  “That’s what most people think. Join the club.”

  She couldn’t see anything from there and hoped he hadn’t scratched his truck driving through bushes. There were farther apart than they looked at first.

  Where the bushes ended, a dense growth of trees and underbrush began. It formed a strip that went down the length of the driveway. Beyond it was a meadow of dry grasses and a dotting of cedar trees. The meadow reached all the way to a stone wall that seemed to hold back a dense forest. Deep in the meadow, she could barely make out the crumbled foundation of a house.

  “Feel like walking?” he asked.

  “Not much.”

  “You’ll have to if you want a better look at that car.”

  She didn’t want a better look at the car. She wanted to go back to A. Santiago, but not with Ben. />
  “You could sneak through those bushes and take a picture with your BlackBerry,” she said.

  “Nope. This is your mission. I’m only along for the ride. And,” he added, “the Chinese custom.”

  As long as she was stuck with it, she might as well find out what she could. She had been snooping at Olive’s house to learn more about Uncle Jake, even though at the time she hadn’t known he was Uncle Jake. She had seen him driving a car that might be this one.

  Ben reached to help her out. Her knee hurt more than ever. She clutched his arm.

  “Would you rather not?” he asked.

  That was considerate of him. But she wasn’t going to wimp out. “As long as we’re here.”

  The first tree they came to was covered with poison ivy. They circled around it to the next one, a pine with branches low enough to hide them.

  She felt she was missing something. “My backpack. It’s in your truck.”

  “Why, you want to take notes?”

  “Um—not exactly.” It was not even the sandwich she needed so much as a mirror and makeup for rescuing her face.

  He propped her against a tree and went back to get it. Why this sudden helpfulness? Even though he couldn’t guess what she was really after.

  He returned with the backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “Ben, you’re too nice. Is this part of the Chinese custom?”

  “Maybe I’m just nice.”

  “I’m sure you are. But what’s the custom?”

  “I don’t know if it’s authentic, but let’s say I saved your life. The truth is you saved yourself by swerving but you were vulnerable there in the road. So I came along and rescued you and now I’m responsible for your life.”

  “All of it? Forever? That’s a big responsibility.”

  “I think that’s how it goes.”

  They pushed through bushes and brambles that grabbed at their clothing. At his new denim jacket that smelled of new denim.

  She felt bad about that. “I didn’t mean to get you so involved.” In fact, she didn’t even want him involved.

  He only grunted. Not only was he in it with her, he supported much of her weight and carried the backpack.

  Now that they were closer to the mobile home, she could see it more clearly. “I just thought of something. Davy said his uncle lived in a ‘sort of’ house. He said it was long. Wouldn’t you think that could mean a trailer?”

  “I wouldn’t think anything.” They had reached a point where the strip of woods ended. From there it was open meadow right to the stone wall.

  “Want to go on?” he asked. “If you’re trying to stay anonymous, we’ll have to sprint.”

  She could see gray patches on the car. No question it was Lina’s.

  “Or,” he said, “You could knock on the door and say hi.”

  “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “If you know her well enough to send flowers on her birthday.”

  “I want to surprise her.” She tried to imagine sending Lina flowers. But she did want to know more about the Uncle Jake connection.

  She looked for signs of life at the trailer. All the blinds were closed. In back of it, an umbrella clothesline was partially visible, with laundry hanging from it.

  “It looks so domestic. All that laundry. I asked Davy if Lina has a husband. That is her car. Unless it’s his and she borrows it. But even so—”

  “Make up your mind.”

  “About staying? I—guess so.” If he didn’t mind.

  He put his arm around her waist and stepped forward. She could only limp and she hadn’t counted on the meadow grasses growing in hummocks. Several times, she turned her ankle and would have fallen, if not for Ben.

  Much of the stone wall had collapsed but enough remained to offer some concealment. A woodbine with bright red leaves grew along the top of it. It would make an extra screen. He helped her over the fallen stones and they sat among dry leaves on the forest side.

  From there she could see the whole back of the trailer and the side where the entrance was. She could see that the clothesline held two sheets and some things that looked like men’s underwear. She made her hands into binoculars for a better focus.

  “Don’t you have real ones?” he asked. “I would think that’s standard equipment for a spy.”

  “I’m not spying!”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “I’m really not. In fact, I wasn’t even planning—in fact—I’ve never seen the inside of a mobile home.”

  “You could ask for a guided tour.”

  “If she did all that laundry, where do they get their water?”

  He picked a stalk of meadow grass and chewed on it. “Where any house does. In a place like this, it’s very likely a well. Why? You need water?”

  “I’ll see in a minute.” She opened the backpack and took out her cosmetic case.

  The damage was worse than she thought. She needed a whole bath. She cleaned off as much of the road as she could and applied pressed powder. Refreshed her lipstick and eyebrow pencil. She always carried a full supply of makeup and now was glad. She wished Ben hadn’t seen the “before” picture.

  He settled back against the wall, chewing on his grass and gazing into the forest. Through the trees, some patches of sky showed where the ground sloped down to the Vanorden Kill.

  The silence bothered her. She knew he didn’t care for small talk, but she couldn’t help herself. “Do you think you’re going to like Southbridge High? It must be hard changing in your senior year.”

  “It’s hard either way.” He didn’t look at her, but stayed fixed on the woods.

  “Are you planning on college?”

  “MIT, I hope.”

  “I hope so, too.” She hoped Kelsey hadn’t messed it up for him. Kelsey might argue that he had messed it up himself. Maddie insisted he wasn’t responsible for what he did. How could he not be? It was very confusing.

  Her eye caught a flicker of motion at the far side of the trailer. She ducked behind the woodbine.

  It was Lina, carrying a laundry basket. “She does live here. Now I know.”

  Lina wore a red sweater and an outsize pair of jeans. She set down her basket and began pinning more clothes to the line.

  They were small things this time. Much too small for Lina. Possibly rags. Cree squinted and wished she had real binoculars.

  Ben asked, “Is that your friend?”

  “I don’t want her to know I’m here. She’ll think I’m spying.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I’m really not, but she’ll think I am.” It was too complex to explain. Luckily, he didn’t ask.

  Where did Uncle Jake fit into all this, the man who didn’t seem to know Olive but said he’d known her for years? From the shape of his face, she had the impression that he would be slender. She couldn’t see how big the men’s underwear was. Too much else was in the way.

  Lina finished hanging her wash and left. Cree glanced at Ben to see if he wanted to leave, too. He seemed content, lounging against the wall in warm sunshine. The sky was a deep, clear blue and insects buzzed in the meadow.

  It seemed natural to talk, and so she did. “I love autumn, don’t you? I just don’t like what comes after it. But I only have two more years of riding my bike through blizzards. After that, I’ll be in New York. I don’t care what happens, I’ll be there.”

  He took the grass from his mouth. “You ride in blizzards?”

  “Not blizzards, really. They close the school for that, but other kinds of weather. High wind is the worst. But it’s either bike or walk and biking gets me there faster. I hope it’s not too broken.”

  “Even wet weather can be slippery,” he said.

  “I manage. Except when it freezes. If they really cared, they could move the school closer to my house.”

  “Where would they put it?”

  He couldn’t be serious. Did he think she was? “Maybe that’s why they don’t.”

  She reached i
nto her knapsack. “Would you like half a peanut butter sandwich?” It was thoroughly mashed, with jelly seeping through the bread. “Not very appetizing, but it’s all I have.”

  She unwrapped it and wished she had a wet washcloth for her sticky hands. And her messy face.

  Once Grandma had given her some moist towelettes, if they weren’t dried up by now. She found one in the bag and applied it to her face.

  He took the half sandwich she offered and didn’t seem too disgusted. If it weren’t for her, and the Chinese custom, he could be at home having a real lunch.

  “Is your mother home?” she asked. “Is she expecting you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does she work? I mean outside the house.”

  “Ossining. She’s a clinical psychologist.”

  “My mom works in Ossining, too. She sells real estate. I’m sorry about the sandwich.”

  “A bit squashed,” he said, “but not bad. Thanks for sharing.”

  “Wait, you have a little smudge of jelly.” She opened another towelette.

  The smudge was on his cheek. She moved closer to reach it.

  She was touching his face. Actually touching him. She was about to retreat when he caught her hand. “Thanks.”

  “Oh—you’re welcome. I didn’t mean to intrude. Maddie said you don’t like to be touched.”

  “It depends.”

  “Oh what?”

  “Maddie doesn’t know everything about me.”

  He was very close. His chocolate eyes studied her face. She hoped she didn’t have jelly stains.

  “Am I a wreck?” She knew she was. “I fell on my face.”

  “Does it hurt?” His fingers brushed her cheek. He took the towelette from her and dabbed at her face. “Tell me if I’m hurting you”

  He was, a little, but she couldn’t say it.

  His closeness made her nervous. It was a good kind of nervousness. “Your jacket smells like new denim. Is it new?” She leaned over to breathe it in.

  He handed back the towelette, took another piece of grass, and chewed its end. “Who owns this place, do you know?”

  She hadn’t thought about it. “Why, are we trespassing?”

  “We could be.”