I grab my phone to call Erick. It’s DEAD! I must’ve left the stupid flashlight app on.
“The phone booth,” says Grams.
I run to the corner and push the wall. The door pops open and I pick up the receiver. “The line is dead,” I shout. I have to stop saying that word.
“You’ve got to go for help, Mitzy.” Grams is a fright. She’s fading in and out like a signal that’s not quite strong enough.
I nod and smile. “Wish me luck.”
“Take Pye. He can create a distraction.”
Sure, why not place my life in the paws of a psycho-cat.
I open the bookcase door. Pyewacket races past me.
I creep toward the spiral staircase. I don’t smell burnt popcorn, so I assume Jacob never made it to the back room.
Pyewacket’s low menacing growl chills my blood.
Before I can shush the cat, the scrape of a metal door slowly opening and closing interrupts. I close my eyes and replay the sound. I remember hearing the click of a push bar before the scrape, not the twist of a handle. They went into the museum.
I hurry down the stairs and feel my way along the stacks toward the “Employees Only” door. There’s no time to go for help. It’s me or nothing.
I don’t know what’s on the other side of that door, but if there’s any chance I can save my father . . . I depress the push bar as quietly as possible and apply slow steady pressure to the door.
So far so good. The door barely makes a sound.
A furry creature brushes past my leg and through the narrow opening.
I clamp my jaw shut and scream silently. That demon-spawn!
I take a slow breath in through my nose and listen for any clue as to Darrin and Jacob’s location.
Grams pops up next to me and sends my heart into a bucking bronco routine. I don’t have to worry about Darrin getting his hands on me; Grams and Pye will kill me long before he discovers me.
“Don’t even joke about such a thing, Mitzy!”
Oh right, she can hear my thoughts. I’ll let it slide for now. All right, Grams, I’m allowing telepathic communication. Where are they?
She vanishes from my side.
The crashes, thunks, and groans would indicate a struggle. A couple of thuds. Another groan.
Grams reappears. “He’s forcing your father up to the roof. I don’t like this one bit.”
Neither do I.
“Follow me.” Grams swooshes across the floor.
I hurry along and— “Mm— Gr—” I clap one hand over my mouth and press on my bruised hip with the other. I can’t walk through Gutenberg presses, Grams.
“I’m so sorry, dear. I was worried about Jacob and I forgot about— Never mind. Hurry, Mitzy.”
I rub my bone bruise once more and follow her to the back stairs.
The struggle is growing more violent. They’re way ahead of me. Grams, can’t you do something? I’ll never get there in time.
“What can I do, honey? I can’t talk to your dad and I’ve tried to move things, but I’m no Patrick Swayze.”
There has to be something, Grams. You’re made of some kind of energy. I can see you. Pyewacket can sense you—
Where’s Pye?
Grams flies up the stairwell.
I creep up as quickly as I can without making a racket.
“Ree-ooow!”
CRASH!
“Son of a—”
I don’t recognize that voice. It must be Darrin. Good job, Pye. Extra Fruity Puffs for you!
I rush up the steps.
The sick wallop of fists connecting with flesh echoes down the stairwell.
The thud, thud, thud of a body falling down the steps.
I cross the landing and the body crashes into my leg.
Oh dear Lord, please let that be Jacob.
“Dad?” I whisper.
“Mitzy, get out of here. This is my fight.”
I grab his arm and help him to his feet. “Come on, Dad.”
“What a special moment.” A harsh laugh echoes down the stairwell. “Nobody’s going anywhere. Isn’t that right, Jake?”
I look up and see the outline of a gun barrel illuminated in the dim stairwell—pointing straight down the stairs. Straight at my head.
“You know what, Jake? I came back to make sure you went back to prison for life, but imagine my surprise when I discovered your long lost baby girl. How about I kill her first—”
“You’ll never get away with this, Darrin.” I’m just spitballing now, but this is the point in every movie when the good guy gets the bad guy to talk.
“But I already got away with it.” Darrin points the gun at my dad as he taunts me. “Maybe I’ll kill him first. Cops are already looking at you for Cal’s murder, princess. If you kill Jake too, that oughta convince ’em.”
“They know about the sabot, Darrin.” I can barely make out his face in the darkness, but the lack of a snappy comeback leads me to believe this is news to him. “And they recovered the tape from Whitakker’s place.”
His deep, satisfied laugh fills the museum.
My mouth goes dry and my throat feels like it’s closing.
“You shoulda quit while you were ahead, girlie.” He walks down another step closer to us. “You torpedoed your own lifeboat.”
Jacob pushes me behind his tree trunk of a body.
“I made sure ol’ Whit told me the location of the tape before I killed him.”
I shiver uncontrollably. I mean, I was pretty sure Darrin killed the security guard, but hearing him brag about murdering someone makes me a little sick to my stomach.
“Once I take care of you and your patsy of a daddy, I’ll take this handy key” —he jingles a key ring— “and pick up the tape from Whit’s safe deposit box. The last bit of evidence that can clear your pops will be gone. He’ll die a murderer.”
He steps down. “And you’ll be that pathetic millennial that committed murder but then got so ‘emo’ that she offed herself.”
“Let her go, Darrin. Your beef is with me.”
“Always the hero.” Darrin spits on the stairs. “Why do you think I set you up, buddy? Because I knew you were too stupid to figure it out and too weak to fight back.”
The museum lights start flashing like a disco.
You go Grams! If that’s you . . .
“Prison changes people.” Dad shoves me down toward the ground and lunges at Darrin.
“No!” I scream.
Everything flashes before my eyes like a stop-action movie.
The pulsing lights show me bits and pieces.
The gun fires.
Fur flies.
“Reeee-OW!”
Pyewacket’s furry form falls slack on the stairs.
Jacob has one arm around Darrin’s neck, slowly choking the life out of him, while the other hand struggles to control the gun.
Another bullet fires, narrowly missing my head and embedding in the brick.
The lights stop flickering and stay on.
The welcome sound of heavy-soled boots running across the concrete museum floor races toward me.
“Up here,” I scream.
Darrin and my dad tumble down the stairs past the still-unmoving Pye.
Sheriff Erick lunges up the stairs two at a time and pushes me out of the way just as the wrestling duo hits the landing.
“Freeze!”
My dad comes up with the gun and aims it at Darrin’s head.
“Dad, no.” I’m shaking uncontrollably. “Please, Daddy. Please don’t do it.” I can’t stop the tears.
“Go ahead, Jake. Pull the trigger.” Darrin’s words are filled with the bravado of a man who knows his life is a heartbeat from ending.
Sheriff Erick moves his aim from Darrin to my dad. “Jacob, drop the gun. Let us handle this now. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Deputy Paulsen shoves past me to even things up. “Don’t move, scumbag.”
I can’t believe she’s aiming at my d
ad too! And still pulling cheesy one-liners from eighties cop movies! I wipe my tears and prepare to tackle her.
“Come on, Jake. You know you want to end this once and for all.” Darrin baits my dad. “You know you need to settle this score.”
“You might be able to frame me for murder, Darrin, but you can’t actually turn me into a killer.” Jacob spins the gun around and hands it to Sheriff Erick, grip first.
Darrin lunges up.
My dad’s knee connects with Darrin’s face in a bone-splintering crunch.
Darrin cradles his face with both hands. “My nose! He broke my nose!”
Grams appears. “Good job! That’s my boy!”
“Step away, Jacob.” Erick nods his head toward me. “Both of you, clear out.” He moves closer to Darrin. “Darrin MacIntyre, you’re under arrest for the murders . . . ”
Murders. Plural. That’s all I need to hear. I smile through my tears and shove past Deputy Paulsen to hug my dad.
Erick and Deputy Paulsen cuff Darrin and drag him off, to the cheers of my Ghost-ma.
“He’s got a key to Whitakker’s safe deposit box. Make sure you get that!” I shout to the departing law-enforcement duo.
I squeeze my dad once more, drop my arms, and slowly approach Pyewacket’s twisted shape.
I reach out my shaky, grateful hand to touch his brave, motionless body. And I pass out.
Chapter 29
Bright sunlight warms my cheek and I stretch my arms. As I luxuriate on the soft mattress beneath me with the cozy comforter over me, for a split second, I believe it was all a horrible dream.
But the image of precious Pyewacket on that staircase—
I sit up and look for my dad. “Grams! Grams! Where is everyone?”
She fades in right next to me and I jump.
“Your phone is fully charged and it’s on the bedside table. Silas said to call him as soon as you got out of bed.”
“Where’s my dad? Did they arrest him?”
“No, dear. Bless his heart. He came in and whispered to these four walls that he was going down to the station to view the tape. I’m sure that was for my benefit, but that was hours ago.”
How could I have slept so late? I grab my phone and press. It’s after noon. I’ve been asleep forever.
“You were scared out of your wits, honey. You needed a good—”
I point to my lips. “The crisis has passed, Grams. Standing rules apply.”
“Of course.”
I call Silas.
“Good afternoon, Mitzy. How are you feeling?”
“Who cares about me? Where’s Pye? Can I see the body before he’s laid to rest? Is there a pet cemetery in Pin Cherry? We should have a service. Maybe the sheriff will give him some kind of medal.”
I do not appreciate my attorney’s hearty laugh.
“Actually, Mitzy, we all care about you a great deal. And I’m afraid Pye did take a bullet for you and Jacob.”
My eyes well up. I never should’ve called him a demon spawn. “He’s dead? That poor, sweet kitten.”
“Not exactly. Robin Pyewacket Goodfellow has certainly given one of his lives, but it appears it was not his ninth. He’s heavily sedated at the Pin Cherry Harbor Animal Hospital. You may visit him anytime.”
I can’t help but cry. That irritating furry fiend saved my stupid life. I sniffle loudly and continue, “What about my dad? Where’s he?”
“It would seem that VHS tape players are not as plentiful as they once were. Sheriff Erick has requested one be brought up from the big city. However, Twiggy heard about the dilemma and claims she can acquire one, post haste. Your father and I are enjoying a late repast at the diner and awaiting the arrival of the required tech.”
I hang up without replying.
I look down at yesterday’s skinny jeans and cashmere sweater. I don’t know where the blood came from but it’s oogy and I want it off me. I search through the pile of clothes on the floor of the closet and find an acceptably clean pair of jeans. I pull them on and shove my finger in to tuck the pockets down.
I pull out the black button gift from Pyewacket. I turn it over in my hands. And I suddenly know exactly where this button came from—
“Navy peacoat!”
Grams swooshes down. “Where did you get that?”
“The amazing Pye brought it in from the alley. I’ll bet you Twiggy’s next paycheck that this is a button from Darrin’s coat.”
“You better give that to the sheriff.”
“Right after breakfast. I don’t think I can see him on an empty stomach.”
“Honestly, Mitzy.” Grams rolls her ghost eyes.
I shrug and pull on my boots as I hop through the secret door.
I run down the spiral steps two at a time and . . . flip over the chain at full speed. “Twiggy!”
There’s no reply.
Grams hovers next to me. “She came in early, but then she had to run off to get the tape player thingy.”
Curses. I check my face for gum or other floor souvenirs and resume my rapid run—now it’s more of a limp—to Myrtle’s Diner.
I push open the door of the diner. There’s my dad—alive and well. The scent of golden, delicious french fries envelopes me. This is my idea of heaven.
My dad is out of the booth before I can take another step. We meet in the middle and hug like we haven’t seen each other in twenty-one years.
Tally claps and sniffles.
“Breakfast or lunch?” Odell calls from the back.
I’m pretty sure that’s not onions making his eyes water. Boy, I’ll never get used to how fast news travels in a small town. “Both,” I say with enthusiasm.
Dad puts his arm around my shoulder and we slide into the booth across the table from Silas.
“Any news on Darrin?” I ask as I blindly reach for the steaming mug of coffee Tally set on the table.
“Nothing official, but I believe it would not be premature to say that Darrin MacIntyre will never again experience life outside of a prison cell.” Silas nods appreciatively and takes a sip of his coffee.
“As it should be,” growls Jacob.
I lift my mug and get a nose full of whipped cream. I pull back and look down in confusion.
Tally smiles from across the restaurant and says, “Half coffee, half hot chocolate, topped with fresh whip. I thought you could use a little pampering.”
I smile gratefully as I wipe the whip off my nose and come at the delicious smelling beverage from another angle. After I manage a couple sips, I give a big “thumbs up” to Tally. “Perfection.”
She giggles and scurries to the orders-up window.
The rest of our wonderful, celebratory meal is spent discussing who was more awesome in our fight for our lives against Darrin.
As I lick the salt off my fingers, I say, “Obviously, the award goes to Pyewacket, hands down.”
“Hands down,” Jacob and Silas say in unison.
There’s a beep, and Silas pulls his phone out of the pocket of his wrinkled brown suit.
I stare at the cell phone and smirk at my own private joke. For some reason I expected Silas to have a miniature rotary phone in his pocket, or maybe a Morse code thingy.
“Text from Sheriff Harper. Looks like they’re ready for us.” He slips the phone back in his pocket and slides out of the booth.
Jacob drops several crumpled bills on the table, and Silas lays a crisp twenty next to the pile.
We walk down to the station in anticipatory silence.
Jacob holds the door for Silas and me.
Sheriff Erick waits for us in the—area designated for such a purpose.
“Good afternoon,” he says.
“Hey Erick.” I grin.
His cheeks flush, but I can’t tell if it’s from irritation or embarrassment.
“How’s Darrin’s face?” I couldn’t care less about that jerk’s broken nose, but I enjoy bringing it up immensely.
Erick shakes his head. “He’ll live.�
�
“That’s a shame,” I retort.
“A real shame,” echoes my dad.
The television and VHS player are set up in the station’s small conference room.
I look around at the bland wood paneling and the chipped veneer on the table. I bet this room has seen some things. More than its share of donuts at the very least!
Jacob pulls out a faded blue chair for me and we settle in to watch the day his life turned to—crap.
Sheriff Erick dims the lights. “There’s no audio.”
We stare at the wiggly screen.
“Give it a second for the tracking to adjust,” says Erick.
Whatever you say. Like I know anything about tracking.
The image stabilizes and I can see it’s a small office. Nothing stands out in the black-and-white image.
The door, which is at the top of our screen, blasts open and a scared little man with thick glasses walks in with his hands up.
The dashing Darrin has a gun shoved in the guy’s back.
My dad shift in his seat.
A young, handsome Jacob is next to appear in the pantomime on the screen. The guy in glasses points up at the camera and my dad aims—
The screen goes black.
My dad’s shoulders slump. Silas turns to shake his head in our direction.
“There’s more,” says the sheriff.
The screen comes to life again with footage from a completely different angle. Looks like the store manager wasn’t as stupid as Darrin assumed. And the security guard must’ve planned to blackmail him all along.
The new angle seems to be from a camera on the desk across from the safe.
Darrin shoves the manager down on the ground and holds the gun to the back of his head.
The manager shakes violently with fear.
We can’t see the safe open, but we see zippered bank bags being handed up to Darrin.
The bags stop.
Darrin roughs up the manager, shoves him to the side, and looks into the safe.
Suddenly a large hand appears at the bottom of the screen.
It’s hard to tell, but from this perspective it looks as though the manager might be reaching for the phone.
Darrin grabs something and the manager gets flung up against the safe.
“Close your eyes.” There’s no emotion in my dad’s words.
Fries and Alibis Page 16