“Was she still there?” Sandra asked, though she was certain of the answer.
“Yes, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the door, and clutching that flashlight like it was a rifle.”
Sandra snickered at the image. “Any idea how much longer it will take for the police to get here?”
He shook his head slowly. “Maybe just under an hour?”
Bummer. “Then I guess we need to keep sniffing.”
“It wasn’t Frank?” Bob asked.
“No,” Peter said, sounding too serious for a ten-year-old. “I need to sniff Billy.”
Bob chuckled. “All right. Let’s go find him, then.” He led them into the auditorium, but Billy wasn’t there. They turned around and returned to the front of the building, where they checked the sound room, the concessions booth, the office, and the restrooms.
No dice.
“He must be downstairs,” Sandra said, annoyed that they were spending precious time looking for the most innocent man in the theater.
“Let’s go check,” Bob said after starting down the steps.
Billy Adams was sitting at the kitchen table eating from a box of Girl Scout cookies. “Want some?” he asked when Sandra traipsed in. Then he saw Peter. “All right, my man! Good to see your mum sprung you!” He shoved an entire cookie in his mouth and crunched loudly.
Bob looked at her suspiciously.
“I told him that we were hiding Peter.”
“Why?” Bob cried, his voice dripping with accusation.
“Because he was outside looking for him! He was going to die of hypothermia looking for a kid who wasn’t missing!”
“Uh, Mom? You’re not making any sense.” Peter’s eyes were huge.
Oh shoot. Not only did she appear to Billy to be talking to her imaginary friend, she was fighting with him. She looked at Billy. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little out of sorts.”
Billy was still holding the box of cookies out toward them. “They’re a little stale, but will do in a pinch.”
“This is indeed a pinch,” Sandra said, trying to offer some levity.
Finally taking the hint that no one wanted to share his old cookies, Billy pulled the box back to his chest and reached in for another dose of Do-si-dos. She pulled a chair away from the table and sat down beside him. She nodded toward the chair across from her. “Have a seat, Peter.”
He looked down at the table, where Billy had a flashlight and a cell phone.
“Does that phone have a light?” Peter asked.
“A-yup.”
“Could I borrow the flashlight then?” Peter held his empty hands out to his sides. “I’m lightless, depending on my mom’s pathetic candle.”
Billy laughed, and a few cookie crumbs flew out of his mouth. “Sure! Help yourself. Now that I don’t need to look for you anymore, I don’t need the backup.”
Peter grabbed the flashlight and sat down, leaning ridiculously close into Billy on his way down, so much so that Billy pushed himself back against his chair. Peter’s eyes widened as he inhaled through his nose and he looked at Sandra with big eyes.
Don’t be ridiculous. If her son named Billy as his kidnapper, she really wouldn’t know whether to believe him. She shook her head slightly.
He looked at Billy. “Could I see your arm?”
Billy laughed. “What?”
“Peter, it’s not him. He nearly froze to death outside looking for you.”
“Exactly,” Peter said to her and then looked at Billy. “Could I just see your arm, please?”
Billy held it out in front of him.
“Can you push up your sleeve, please?”
Sandra thought she might die from the awkwardness.
Billy blinked, obviously confused, and then pushed his sleeve up to his elbow and held out his arm.
Chapter 20
Billy’s arm was nearly hairless. Sandra sighed in relief. Then she slapped the table and stood. “Let’s go, Peter.”
“Huh?” Billy said. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but Peter shook his head wildly, his eyes wide.
“I’ll explain later,” she said. “Sorry to be weird.” Then she headed for the door, with Peter close on her tail.
They were just barely out in the hallway when Bob said, “That was him?”
Peter chewed on his lip. “I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“His arm wasn’t hairy,” Sandra said and started down the hall.
“But he did smell the same,” Peter said, not following her.
“Come on, we’ve still got to sniff Matthew and Otis,” Sandra said, and then realized she had said that far too loudly. Those two could be anywhere, and she couldn’t imagine what they might think if they heard her say such a thing.
“Matthew just went into the bathroom,” Bob said. “I don’t know where Otis is.”
As if summoned, Matthew appeared at the end of the hallway. “Hi, Matthew!” Sandra tried to sound excited. “We found Peter!”
“Great,” Matthew said, making the word three syllables long.
Before Sandra realized what was happening, Peter was standing right next to Matthew, sniffing his hair. As soon as he did so, he recoiled and slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Dude!” Matthew said, indignant. “What was that for?”
“Sorry,” Peter mumbled as he scurried back to Sandra’s side.
She tried not to laugh. Matthew was the only one not wearing long sleeves, and she got her candle as close to his skin as she could. It looked like a normal man’s arm, not particularly hairy. She looked to Peter for confirmation, but he appeared to be too horrified for further investigation.
“Have you seen Otis?” she asked Matthew.
“Who’s Otis?” He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. “Oh, you mean Grandpa?”
Sandra took a deep breath. “Yes, I mean Grandpa.”
His eyelids lifted a millimeter. “Ah, no, I haven’t seen him in a while. Why, where is he?”
“I just heard something backstage,” Bob said.
Good. Sandra was glad to have a reason to stop talking to Matthew. “Okay, let’s go backstage then.”
“Let’s take the back stairs,” Bob said. “It’s a lot quicker.”
“I’d rather not.” Sandra didn’t want to force her son to skirt a dead body. It was bad enough she was dragging him around like a cop’s bloodhound.
“Fine. I’ll meet you there.” Bob headed for the back of the building while Sandra turned toward the front.
They were barely out of Matthew’s earshot when Peter said, “Why did he smell like a skunk?”
“I’ll explain later,” Sandra said. She would be explaining a lot of things later. They hurried up the stairs and down the aisle of the auditorium toward the stage. Sandra felt a new sense of urgency. If none of the other men had hairy arms, then Otis must be their guy, right? She couldn’t picture it, though. He was a grouch, for sure, but a kidnapper? She didn’t think so. His wife was too sweet to be married to a murderer. Besides, he was a little old to be dragging a preteen through a blizzard.
They found him sitting on a short stool in a dark corner backstage. Bob stood nearby.
“Ah!” Otis cried when Peter shined his new flashlight on him. He held a hand up to shield his eyes. “Point that thing somewhere else!”
“What are you doing back here?” Sandra asked.
“Trying to avoid social interaction,” he said pointedly.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?”
He tipped his head back. “What is there back here that I need to see?”
Sandra nodded toward Otis, trying to urge Peter to go take a sniff. He looked hesitant. Otis was shoved so far into the corner that it would be difficult to discreetly get close to him. And Otis had made it clear that he didn’t want anyone to get close to him—discreetly or not. But she was completely out of patience. “Just do it!”
&nb
sp; “Do what?” Otis asked, immediately suspicious.
Wearing his I-really-don’t-want-to-eat-this-Brussels-sprout-face, Peter took a quick step toward the man and leaned in for a sniff.
Not surprisingly, Otis jerked away from him, but the walls stopped him from getting far. He opened his mouth to lambaste the impertinent child leaning over him, but before he could get a word out, Peter said, “Could I please see your arm?”
“What?! No!” Otis stood up abruptly, and Peter staggered back from him.
Otis pushed past Sandra, but she reached out and grabbed his arm, surprising herself with her assertiveness. “Please, Otis. It’s important.”
His expression softened a little, but then he looked at Peter and his grimace returned. “Why does he want to see my arm?”
“We’re trying to clear you from suspicion,” Sandra said, with an attempt to sound gentle.
Otis’s eyes widened. “Why? Did Treasure claw someone on her way down?”
Sandra frowned. She hadn’t even thought of that. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? Never mind the hairiness; she should’ve been checking for scratches. Now they were going to have to make another round. “Maybe, yes. Would you mind?”
Now seeming overly compliant, Otis pushed both his sleeves up, and then held his arms out for inspection. Peter shined his flashlight on them, and then Otis flipped them over.
No scratches, and very little hair.
“There. Satisfied?” He pulled his sleeves back down. “Now, I’m going to go try to find some solitude in this godforsaken place. Please, leave me be.”
A pang of sorrow shot through Sandra’s heart. This poor man. “Of course. Sorry to have bothered you.”
He flicked his flashlight on and disappeared around a corner.
Sandra looked at Bob. “Now what?”
Bob shook his head. “I have no idea.” He looked at Peter. “What did he smell like?”
“He smelled just like Billy.”
“Really?” Sandra didn’t know what to make of this. “As in they use the same aftershave?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears. “Or the same deodorant, or the same laundry detergent.” He collapsed onto Otis’s stool. “I don’t know,” he said again, and then the tears came.
Chapter 21
“Are you sure that your abductor’s arms were hairy?” Bob asked.
“Give him a break,” Sandra said, her hackles raised. “He’s overwhelmed.”
Bob gave her a patronizing look. “I can see he’s upset, but this is a pressing matter.” He looked down at Peter and repeated the question.
Peter put his head in his hands and mumbled, “I don’t know. I thought so.” They all stayed quiet for nearly a minute, until Peter looked up and said, “Yes. I’m sure of it. They were so hairy. It grossed me out. I grabbed the hair and twisted, trying to hurt him.”
“And did it?” Bob asked.
“Did it what?”
“Did it hurt him?”
Peter looked contemplative. “I don’t know. I was doing a lot of things at the same time to try to hurt him.”
“And he didn’t make any sounds?”
Peter thought about that for a few seconds. “He didn’t say anything, but he did grunt a little. But it was quiet, like he had his hand over his mouth or something—”
“Like it was muffled?” Sandra said.
He looked at her. “Yeah, kinda.”
She looked at Bob. “Maybe he was wearing a mask!”
Bob nodded. “That would make sense. It’s cold out there. Maybe we need to look for a ski mask—”
“Not a ski mask! We’re in a theater! I mean a mask mask.”
Bob’s face was blank. He obviously was the sports angel, not the theater angel.
“Come on! I have an idea!” Sandra took off for the front stairs, assuming they’d follow. She was moving so fast that halfway down the stairs, her candle went out. This wasn’t exactly a surprise. It had already melted down to a nub. She stopped and waited for Peter and Bob to catch up. Once Peter’s light reached her feet, she got going again.
“Where are we going?” Bob asked, but she didn’t want to expend the energy it would take to explain.
She hurried down the hall and then paused in front of the costume room door. She looked both ways to make sure no one was watching. They were on the brink of solving this thing, and she didn’t want the killer to know. No one was watching, so she ripped open the door and ushered them inside before closing it behind them.
“That’s it!” Peter cried, too loudly.
“I thought it might be,” Sandra said, feeling quite proud of herself.
“What’s it?”
Peter shined his light around the room, breathing deeply through his nose. “What is that?”
“What are you talking about? What is what?” Bob was losing patience.
“The smell. It’s the same smell as Billy and Otis.”
“I don’t know what it is,” Sandra said to Peter. “It’s some kind of soap smell. Shine your light over here.” She headed for the far corner. “I have an idea.”
Peter followed her with his light.
“Come here.” She reached the pile of animal costumes and picked up the top one. Sure enough, it was damp. “It’s wet!” she exclaimed. She held it up so Peter could see it.
He reached out and touched it, and then yanked his hand away as if it had stung him. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Sandra dropped the furry monstrosity back onto the pile.
“Is that a bear costume?” Bob asked.
The costume had a small straw hat sewn onto the top. “Smokey the Bear costume, I think,” Sandra said. “And when I saw Billy come in from outside, he was wearing a giant red plaid coat. It was huge on him. I wonder if he took it from in here, because it was warmer than the coat he’d worn tonight.”
Bob, suddenly twenty feet away from them, held up a green box. “Or the man just uses Irish Spring soap.” Bob brought the box closer to Peter, who didn’t even need to lean in to smell it.
“Yeah, that’s definitely the smell.”
“You know what this means,” she said.
“That Peter’s kidnapper wants to prevent forest fires?”
She laughed. “Look at the angel being funny.”
Something like pride flickered across Bob’s face, but then vanished.
“It means that we still don’t know if it was Billy or Otis who grabbed me,” Peter said. “Either one of them could have put on that costume.”
“It means more than that,” Sandra said. “It means it could have been a woman.”
Peter groaned. “I am not going around smelling all the women.”
“You don’t have to, now that we know what the smell is. We can let Bob do it.”
“Me?” Bob looked incredulous.
“Yes, you. You’re the only one of us who’s invisible. Invisible sniffers are far less obvious, and far less rude.”
“Angels don’t have a very good sense of smell,” he tried.
“And angels aren’t supposed to lie, either.”
He closed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it. Let’s—”
A scream sounded through the walls, sending an icy shiver down Sandra’s spine.
Bob vanished.
Chapter 22
Peter got to the costume room’s door before Sandra did and reached for the handle. He twisted it, pushed, and then twisted the other way and pushed again. “It’s locked.”
“Shine your light on the doorknob.”
Peter did, and she turned the small lock. Then she turned the knob and pushed.
Nothing happened.
“Told you. It’s locked.”
She didn’t see how this was possible. She turned the button the opposite way and pushed. Still nothing. She took the flashlight out of his hand.
“Hey!” he protested.
She scooched down to examine the lock as she turned the knob. From t
his viewpoint, she could clearly see the latch bolt sliding in and out. The door wasn’t locked. But it wasn’t opening either. Someone must have put something against it on the outside. She stood up straight. “Maybe Bob locked us in.”
“Why would he do that?”
She had no idea. “To protect us, maybe?”
“But wouldn’t he tell us?”
“I would think so, but he was in a hurry to see what that scream was about.” Trouble was, she wanted to see what the scream was about too. She turned the handle, lowered her shoulder, and drove her body into the door. This did nothing to the door and hurt her shoulder.
“Let me try.” Peter pushed her aside with this hip. He tried the same exact maneuver and got the same exact results. Then he stared at the door as if it had offended him. “We’re trapped.”
“He must have locked us in.” She wasn’t sure this was true, but it was more comforting than the alternative.
She tried to act nonchalantly. She didn’t want Peter to know that their current situation was killing her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the killer, and it wasn’t that she was afraid of being locked in an Irish Spring factory: it was killing her not to know who had screamed and why. There was action on the other side of the door, and she, Sandra the secret sleuth, was missing out. “You’re Mr. Soccer. Can you kick it down?”
His eyes widened with excitement, and her maternal instinct overrode her curiosity. “Don’t kick too hard. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
He backed up a few paces and then stared at the door for so long she wondered if he wasn’t going to try it.
“You don’t have to, you know.”
“No, I will. I want to. I’m just trying to think how to do it. Kicking a door is nothing like kicking a ball. It’s more like karate. And I don’t know karate.”
The kid had a point. “You’re right. Maybe it’s a bad idea.”
“No! I want to do it.” He backed up a few more steps, and then started running toward the door. Just before he reached it, he abruptly turned away and walked back to where he’d started.
“It was a bad idea. I was just brainstorming. You don’t have to do this—”
The Showstopper Page 8
