I hurry back to the computers and open Craigslist. Under “Services,” I click on “Automotive.” It was yesterday, so I scroll back a day and there it is: “Cheap fast auto repair. Twenty-four-hour service, seven days a week.” I stare at the phone number. Now what? Call? Ask the mechanic if he happens to have a Rita Rollins bound and gagged in his back room?
Kids my age have their own cars. Not me, but he wouldn’t know that. What if I call him and pretend I need a mechanic? He’d give me the address and tell me to drive to his garage. I could take the bus and check out the place from a distance. I wouldn’t have to go up to him; I’d watch the garage until he got tired of waiting for me. Then, when he wasn’t there, I could break in and look for Mom.
This guy is no bumbling hothead like Darren. If the mechanic kidnapped Mom, he might be a murderer, a rapist, or even a psychopath. The back of my neck tingles, and pinpricks of fear shoot through my body. This guy could be deadly.
I input the mechanic’s phone number and look up the Eugene Police Department as well. If I find Mom or evidence of where she is, I’ll need to call them quickly, and if I’m not any closer to knowing where Mom is by the end of the day, I have to call them anyway.
I program the police department number into my phone and go back to Meg. Late-afternoon sun still brightens the day. Looking out the window at the slanting rays should make me feel warm, or even hot. It doesn’t. Instead, a cold certainty sits in the pit of my gut. Mom’s hurt. If this mechanic is criminal enough to kidnap her, he’s bad enough to do almost anything.
One fact is certain: Meg can’t come with me. I wasn’t worried about taking her to Darren’s place because she could stay safe in her little hideout. If Darren dragged me into his apartment, George and Edith were right there, and Meg could get help.
Taking her with me to the garage is too dangerous. Meg and I don’t know the area or the situation—if I got in trouble, she wouldn’t know where to go or how to get help.
Mom’s friend Carly is out of town, and I don’t have her phone number anyway. My friend Lilly takes care of her siblings all the time, so I trust her; plus, she could borrow her parents’ car and come to the library to get Meg.
My phone sits at my feet, plugged into the wall socket. I squat beside it and send a text to Lilly. Could you watch Meg for the next couple of hours? I’ve got something I have to do and she can’t come with me.
Lilly texts back almost instantly. Sorry. I’m at Tanner’s. His parents are gone. Wooooo!!! Maybe next time?
I swallow my disappointment and text back, Thanks anyway.
My phone rests in my hand, still plugged into the wall. Jack is my only option. Should I call him? He won’t be satisfied to watch Meg without knowing what I intend to do. I need time to think, so I keep my phone plugged in and sit back beside Meg.
Tracking the mechanic without a way to call the police would be dumb, so that means my battery needs to be charged. I stare out the window. The sun’s rays slant across the street outside in those long slivers of light that tell me whatever happens needs to happen soon. I give myself fifteen more minutes and hope that’s enough time to charge my phone.
Meg hands me one of her favorite picture books and gives me a sad, pleading look that crushes my heart. She knows that sitting in our favorite window seat at the library on a warm and sunny afternoon is only temporary. For now, this is our home, but it won’t be for long.
I read three picture books and don’t pay a bit of attention to the words. Instead, I ache for my baby sister. Meg’s grown up too much for a little kid. In one week, her face has gone from an innocent first-grader with a sassy grin and twinkling blue eyes to a world-weary girl. A girl with sadness behind her eyes and a smile not quite as wide or as soft as it was a few days ago.
I finish the third book, pick up my phone, and glance at the time. Sixteen minutes have gone by. I’m not worried anymore. Just resigned.
“Time to go, Megsy,” I whisper.
Meg doesn’t even ask me where we’re headed. She gathers the library books, leaving them in a neat little stack on the window seat, and slips on her backpack. We go to the bathroom, get a drink, and head outside. I hesitate on the sidewalk.
Cars buzz by, filling the air with the din of traffic all in a hurry to get somewhere. The street is bathed in that soft white light that makes the world seem sleepy—that glowing end-of-the-day look that reminds people it’s time to go home. Time to cook dinner, set the table, and do homework. I shake away the sadness pressing on me and bend down to Meg.
“I found the name of a mechanic.” I run my hand over her hair, pushing a long strand away from her face. “He may be the one fixing Ruby. He may be the one who has Mom.” I take a deep breath and blow it out in a rush. “I’m going to call him and see if I can find out where he works. Maybe that will give us a clue about what happened to Mom.”
Meg looks up at me with dark eyes, but she doesn’t say anything or ask any questions. She knows this is the beginning of more tough stuff to come.
I take another deep breath and tap in the number. It rings and rings and rings. I’m about to end the call when the connection goes through and a man’s voice says, “Yeah?”
I’m too scared to say a word. Instead, I stand in the middle of the sidewalk and watch the traffic whiz by.
“Anyone there?” the voice says.
“I … I saw your ad.” Getting a couple of words out helps the rest of them flow. “On … on Craigslist.” I take another breath and rush on. “I need a mechanic. A … a cheap mechanic. To fix my car.”
The guy laughs into the phone. “Okay?”
I glance at Meg. “I just don’t have a lot of money right now.” The truth. The absolute truth.
“What’s wrong with your car?”
I study the cars parked beside the curb and try to think of a problem that makes sense. “The … the lights.” Words tumble into my mouth. “They click off when I’m driving. Like at night when I really need them.” I pause to gather my story into something halfway believable. “I’m taking off on a trip tomorrow morning, so I can’t wait for a garage to open up.”
“Does anything else go off when the lights go out?” he asks.
Here’s the sticky part. The point where I could tip him off, and he’d know I don’t really need my car fixed. If I mess up and my words don’t make sense, he’ll be alert and wary, and who knows what he’ll do to Mom—if he has her. “I haven’t noticed,” I say. “I was so freaked out when the lights quit that I didn’t check anything else.”
There’s a pause. I don’t know if I should say anything more or just wait. Finally, the guy says, “I could look at it.” He pauses again. “Tell me where you live.”
Now I’m scared. Really scared. I try to keep my voice steady. “I’ll come there. What’s the address of your garage?”
“Look, Miss,” he says, “I’m doing you a favor by coming to your place.”
My hand grips the phone so tight I’m afraid I’ll crush it. “I don’t want to give my home address to a stranger.”
This time the pause is even longer. “Bring it by then.” He gives me the address and directions to get there. I jot it all on the front cover of my notebook. “When are you coming?” he says.
The address isn’t anywhere close. “Maybe forty-five minutes?” I say.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
My hand shakes, and my insides turn watery and loose. I grip the phone tighter and squat next to my little sister. “I need to check out the garage, and I can’t take you with me, Meg.”
Meg’s face is pinched with worry. “It’s too dangerous,” I say. “I’ll call Jack, the friend that bought us lunch yesterday, and he’ll take care of you while I’m gone.”
Meg stares back at me. “No.” She throws down that one little word, bold and defiant. Her lips press into a s
traight line; her eyes blaze with determination. “No, Mattie. You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”
I swallow the sour taste in my mouth. “You liked Jack, and you’ll only be with him for a couple of hours until I can check out the garage.”
Meg’s voice doesn’t waver. “It doesn’t matter that I liked him.” She emphasizes each word, making sure I understand. “If you make me go with him, I’ll kick and scream and cry and people will call the police. Then you’ll have to tell them what you’re doing, and they will stop you.”
“Meg.” My voice is loaded with fear for her safety. “You have got to listen to me.”
Meg looks at me with a ferocity I have never seen. “No, I don’t. I will hide someplace where I can see you, just like at Darren’s, but you are not leaving me.”
I stand and glare at my sister, hoping size gives me power. “I can’t take you, Meg. I don’t dare take you.”
Meg lifts her chin. “I am not a little girl, Mattie. I can call the police if that me … me … me …”
“Mechanic,” I say.
“That mechanic guy grabs you like Darren did.”
We stare at each other, our feelings of love and need so raw I feel naked and exposed. I press my lips together, jerk my eyes away, and dig my phone out of my pack. “I’m calling Jack.”
Meg crosses her arms in such a dramatic way that I’d laugh if I wasn’t so afraid for her. “Go ahead. Call him. But when he comes, I’ll scream and yell, and you know I will, Mattie. You know I will.”
I hit Jack’s number and ignore the anger on Meg’s face and the fire in her eyes.
Jack’s phone rings and keeps on ringing. The sick, sour taste of failure fills my mouth. Why didn’t I ask him for help when we were texting? Why did I wait so long, thinking I could handle finding Mom by myself? Pride? Fear of Jack taking over my life? Jack told me he couldn’t pull out his phone or he’d lose it. If I had a punching bag, I’d beat my fists against it until my fingers were bloody.
Jack’s voice tells me, “Jack. Leave a message.”
How do I explain a need so far out of his normal? “Could use some help,” I say. “I’ll send a text.”
A car drives so close to the curb it startles me. I pull my phone away from my ear and drop my hand to my side. Our chance to find Mom slides away with the sun. If I don’t go to the garage now then I might as well turn us into the police.
Meg hunches forward and glares. “You are not leaving me.”
I sigh, exhausted with her badgering. “You can come part way, but when Jack calls or texts, you’re going with him.”
Meg grabs my hand and drags me down the street until we’re standing in front of the map posted outside the bus station. I tap out a one-handed text to Jack. Can you come and get Meg?
Meg stares up at the routes even though she’s too short to see much. “Where is the garage?”
I give in and show her, running my finger along the streets and bus routes. “It’s out on the fringes of town, but we only need one bus.”
Meg glances around at the bus stops and points when she sees the right number. “Over there.”
Meg races to the right spot, waving her hand at me to hurry up. The bus doesn’t arrive for ten minutes, but we don’t talk the whole time we wait. We just stand, hand in hand, until it drives up and slides into its slot.
The address for the garage is near the edge of town. I don’t know the area, and the farther we travel, the more worried I get. Houses disappear. Stores and shops turn into warehouses, storage units, and unmarked buildings. It’s Sunday, so everything is quiet and deserted. This is an industrial area, not a place where I can yell for help and a small army will show up to rescue me.
I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. My plan is full of holes, what ifs, and maybes. Even if the mechanic took Mom, why would he keep her at the garage where he works? It’s stupid, but what are the alternatives to going there and finding out?
I could call the police—turn it over to people who know what they’re doing—and let them launch the search for Mom. That would be a whole lot easier and way less scary, but it’s late on a Sunday afternoon. They’ll get Meg and me settled with a foster family before they even think about Mom. They might not get a real investigation going until tomorrow, but if I had a tiny scrap of evidence against the mechanic, maybe I could get them to investigate tonight. Wouldn’t they at least stop by the garage and take a look around?
My phone dings. I fumble with the zipper on my pack, pull out my cell, and open a text from Jack. Love to watch Meg. Where do I meet you?
I tap, We’re on a bus to 3940 West Second Avenue in West Eugene, and send it off, holding my phone while I wait for Jack’s answer.
Our bus passes another block, drawing Meg and me closer to our stop and maybe Mom. My cell throbs in my hand. I’m still at Gram’s in Springfield. Mom and Dad drove us over so I’ve got to drag them away or leave them without a car.
Tears spring to my eyes. What if he has to take his parents home or they won’t let him have the car? Why am I so stubborn about finding Mom on my own? I write, Wait a couple of blocks away until you hear from me. I’ll text when I know more.
Meg sits beside me with her backpack on her lap. My phone hums with another text from Jack. What are you planning? Please don’t do anything crazy okay? Promise?
My whole makeshift plan is crazy, so what can I say? Before I tuck my phone in my pocket, I tap the icon for my service plan to see if the minutes I bought have been added. The information make me feel sick to my stomach. My call minutes are down to nineteen, and my texting stands at thirteen. The long calls to the hospital, dead-end ones to the garages, and even the one to St. Vinnies ate up more time than I thought, plus I’ve been texting like I had unlimited time.
I slide my phone in my pocket, and stare out the window. The minutes on my cell plan will cover a few more calls and texts, but then what? If the company doesn’t add more time in the next few hours, we’re in deep trouble.
Before I’m ready, it’s time to get off the bus. I pull the cord, even though I want to stay in its safety—riding right through the night and into tomorrow—just so we never have to face what’s coming.
Meg and I step off the bus in front of a row of self-storage units, all with bright orange doors and surrounded by a tall ironwork fence. Across the street is a tire shop, a plumbing store advertising a sale on sinks, and a place to rent tools. None of the businesses are open.
“Are you sure this is where you want to go?” says the bus driver.
I turn to face her. “Thirty-Nine Forty West Second Avenue?”
The driver points down a side street. “Should be down there,” she says, “but it’s pretty odd for you to get off out here this late on a Sunday afternoon.”
I paste a smile across my face. “Mom’s waiting for us at a garage.” The truth, sort of.
The bus driver waves, pulls the door closed, and drives away. Meg and I stand on the sidewalk, holding hands. I study the storage units, hoping to see someone unloading a truck or digging through their stuff. Each orange door is shut tight, and there are no cars or people or movement in any direction.
I have never felt so lost and alone. Last night outside the library didn’t even feel this bad. At least then there were people walking by, cars driving on the streets, and businesses that stayed open later into the night. Here there is no one. The rest of Eugene is so far away that Meg, me, and the mechanic down the street—a guy who might turn out to be a kidnapper—could be the only people left on Earth.
We walk a block away from the main road before I get so nervous I can’t take another step. What if this is not the mechanic that worked on Mom’s car? What if I’m endangering Meg and me for nothing? I was wrong about Darren, so I could be wrong about this guy too.
“Let’s get off the sidewalk, Meg.” I glance around, look
ing for a route to the garage that doesn’t put us out in the open.
A string of plain metal buildings lines both sides of the street. There are no lights in the windows facing the asphalt parking lots and no doors standing ajar as if someone was inside.
Signs hang over the doorways with names of businesses. Some doors are narrow and others are wide, as if they lead to a garage or a warehouse where big trucks come and go. A few businesses take up the whole building, but others have multiple signs tacked over individual doors. If we get on the same side of the street as the garage and stay closer to the building walls, we won’t be quite so visible.
I point across the street. “Over there, Meg.”
Meg and I clasp hands and run across the street and through the paved parking area in front of the building. We don’t stop until we touch the metal wall. I let go of Meg’s hand, turn around, and lean my back against the building. Meg imitates everything I do. I stay there a moment, catching my breath. We’re far enough away that we don’t need to slide along the wall, so we walk, sticking close enough to the buildings to keep ourselves out of open view.
I check the numbers over the doors as we pass them. Thirty-eight forty. Thirty-eight fifty. We keep moving from business to business until I see thirty-eight ninety in big block letters painted over a doorway. I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s been almost an hour since I called. The mechanic is waiting for us.
My plan isn’t to confront him. That would be foolish—maybe even suicidal—and could put Meg in terrible danger. All I want is to see Ruby so I know this is the right mechanic. Then I can call the police and let them handle the dangerous stuff.
We move across the front of the building to a narrow driveway separating buildings thirty-eight ninety and thirty-nine hundred. I study the parking areas in front of the next two buildings. No Ruby.
Sleeping in My Jeans Page 16
