Scarlett, who had been sitting on the floor in the far corner of the room, scooted over.
“What’s happening?” she said.
“You told me to come up with an idea. Well, I’ve got one. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s worth a try.”
Right at that moment, Henry yawned. A second later, Scarlett did the same. And then so did I. It made me a little nervous. It could have been the fact that it was the middle of the night and we were all tired. But it bothered me that we had all yawned at the same time. I was worried that the carbon monoxide was now slowly seeping into the room. I thought it best not to say anything, at least not yet. We had to keep moving. We couldn’t allow ourselves to fall asleep. Just to be safe, I asked Henry and Scarlett to build a wall of books in front of the air vents. Since we had already jammed books into the vents, this would give us a second line of defense. We wouldn’t be able to stop the gases completely, but we might just be able to delay them long enough to make our escape.
I knew that Wentworth would be stopping in relatively soon. Once he had tampered with the furnace and had gathered the entire Sam Solomon series from the main floor of the library, it was safe to assume he’d be back. He couldn’t risk having us survive and being able to identify him. As for me, I needed to explain my new strategy to the others and to have us execute it as quickly as possible.
“Here’s what I think we should do,” I said. “It was something that Sam Solomon once had success with.” I walked to the door and waved my hands as I explained. “I want to build a wall of books all the way around the door, in a semicircle, as high as we can stack them. Then I want to take some of those loose wooden shelves off the bookcases and build a roof for our book wall. We’ll place one end of each shelf over the door. They can rest on the top of the molding just above the door. Then the other end of the shelves will rest on the wall of books we’ve built. Finally, we pile as many books as we can on top of those shelves.”
“I don’t get it,” Henry said. “That won’t stop Wentworth. He’ll walk in, see the books, and just knock them down.”
I smiled. “And what do you suppose will happen when he does?” I said.
At first neither Henry nor Scarlett could picture the scenario I was describing. A moment later, Scarlett saw the light.
“When he knocks down the wall of books,” she said, “all of the books on top will come crashing down . . . right on him.”
“I doubt if it’ll knock him out,” I said, “but if it buys us enough time for us to slip past him, run upstairs, and escape, then it’s certainly worth a try.”
Henry was all in. He immediately started stacking books around the door. “It just might work,” he said. “When Wentworth sees that wall of books, he’ll figure we’re up to something, and he’ll bust through for sure. Charlie, you did it again. At least, I hope so.”
“Me too. Let’s get to work.” For the next several minutes we built our wall. By standing on the table, we managed to construct a wall nearly nine feet high. Then we took some of the long wooden shelves from the bookcases and carefully placed them on top. Finally, and what proved to be the most difficult chore, we piled the heaviest books we could find on our makeshift roof. We found some old Webster’s dictionaries from the 1930s and ’40s. Man, were they heavy. In some cases, it took all three of us to lift them up and place them on our makeshift roof. And then we sat back and waited.
In order for our plan to succeed, Wentworth would have to make a return visit. If he didn’t, and if he had successfully rigged the furnace to emit the deadly vapors, all our plans would have failed. But I was certain that he wouldn’t leave without making sure that there was no one left to identify him. The fear of what might be seeping through those vents made the minutes that passed seem more like hours. I tried to engage the others in conversation to take their minds off of the obvious but also to make sure that none of us fell asleep.
Thirty minutes later, I was starting to get worried. Scarlett was complaining of a headache, and Henry was holding his stomach. These were early signs of carbon monoxide poisoning. We had to hold on. We had to beat this. If anything happened to either one of these people, I would never forgive myself. The only reason they were here was because they were worried about me. They could just as easily have stayed home and avoided all of this. I decided at that moment to take on the role of cheerleader. I had to keep their spirits up. I had to make them believe we would prevail. But to be perfectly honest, I was starting to lose hope myself.
Then suddenly we heard something right outside the room.
“This is it,” I whispered. “Not a sound.”
I motioned for Henry and Scarlett to join me up against the wall next to our fortress of books. When Wentworth pushed through, we wanted to be out of the line of fire. We needed to sneak past him before he realized what had happened. When we heard metal against metal, we knew it was him. He was using one of his burglary tools on the lock. Seconds later, we heard the door open and then his voice.
“Hey, what’s going on here?”
Then, just as we had hoped, he pushed through the wall of books. And right on cue, the wooden shelves full of oversize books came crashing down. We stepped back out of the way to avoid being hit ourselves. One of the dictionaries plunked Wentworth right on top of the head, knocking him to the floor. We heard him groaning. This was working. This was actually working. We were going to pull this off, I thought. And then suddenly, my hopes began to fade. I saw the door slowly closing and I couldn’t reach it in time to catch it. With the lock now broken, if the door closed, we wouldn’t be able open it. I couldn’t believe we had gotten this far only to fail. But at the last second, I had an idea. I began kicking books in the direction of the door. And just as the door was about to close, one of the books wedged itself between the door and the frame.
I stepped over the pile of books, threw the door open, and motioned for the others to follow. We ran out of the archives, through the basement, and up the stairs to the first floor. I reached into my pocket and dug out my trusty flashlight. I pointed it all around and began searching for the door we had come in through.
“There it is,” Henry said.
We sprinted to it, made our way down the hallway, and then before we knew it, we were outside, and under the most beautiful starlit sky you could have imagined. We were free. The plan had actually worked.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s find our bikes and get out of here.”
But before we were able to escape and enjoy our freedom, we heard footsteps from behind. It was Wentworth. He was in full gallop.
“Split up,” I yelled. “He can’t catch all of us.”
We immediately ran in different directions. I was hoping that our hunter would accept the fact that he was licked and would just hightail it out of there. But when I looked behind me, my greatest fears were realized. Wentworth had chosen to chase me. These were always the times when I would wish that I had a smaller, sleeker frame. I was a lot younger than my pursuer, but the extra weight was a real handicap. He was gaining on me. And when I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck, I knew it was over. I only hoped that either Henry or Scarlett would find help in time to save all of us.
“Gotcha,” Wentworth cried as he grabbed my shoulder. He pulled me down to the ground. “Hey, kids,” he yelled out. “I got your little friend here. You better come back or you may never see him again.”
“My friends are smarter than you think,” I said. “They won’t come back. They’re headed to the police station as we speak.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
I figured that if I could keep him talking for the next few minutes, it would buy enough time for my partners to get help. I could only hope that they’d be able to contact the authorities in time. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move next to one of the Dumpsters. It had to be a person, but it was too dark to tell who it
was.
“Looks like your friends aren’t as smart as you thought,” Wentworth said.
Oh no! Why had they come back? I appreciated their loyalty, but right at that moment I would have preferred if they had exercised a little common sense. There was no way this guy was going to let any of us go. Our only chance now had been dashed. It was as good as over. I watched as the figure emerged from the shadows. And then, as it got closer, I soon realized that it wasn’t Henry . . . or Scarlett. It was Eugene.
“If you know what’s good for you, friend, you’d better let that kid go,” Eugene said.
But before Wentworth could respond, another figure appeared from behind a pillar. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Gram.
“Don’t make me come over there, pal,” she said. “It won’t be pretty.”
Wentworth began to laugh. “You don’t scare me. You old codgers oughta head back to the home.”
Eugene smiled and pointed up over our heads. “What about them? Do they scare you?”
Floodlights suddenly lit up the scene. And a half-dozen police sharpshooters, perched on the edge of the library roof, were poised and ready.
“It’s all over,” Eugene said.
Wentworth threw his head back and dropped his arms to his sides. And then from behind every bush and parked car, uniformed officers appeared. They rushed their suspect and ordered him to the ground.
“He might have a gun in his pocket,” I yelled out.
One of the officers immediately checked for weapons. “He’s clean,” the patrolman called, and proceeded to handcuff his prisoner.
“And you’d better not go into the library without gas masks,” I said. “It’s full of carbon monoxide. He did something to the furnace to make it leak.”
I watched as one of the officers pulled out his radio and called for a hazmat team to join the party. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Henry and Scarlett in the company of police. I was so glad to see they were safe.
Eugene walked up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Looks like you were right all along about the library, Charlie. I should have listened to you.”
“Yeah, but none of that would have mattered if you hadn’t shown up tonight,” I said. “So how did you figure out we were here?”
“Well, after staking out the bookstores unsuccessfully for a couple of hours, we decided to call it a night,” he said. “Then about twenty minutes later, I got a call from your grandma. She apparently went up to your room to check on you when she got home. She found the bed empty and knew something was up. We figured you had gone to the library. Then we both came over here, and when we found your bike in the bushes, we decided to call in reinforcements.”
“I’m sure glad you did,” I said.
Gram walked up and joined the conversation. “If you kids hadn’t gotten out by yourselves, these fellas were prepared to rush the building. I don’t mind telling you we were awfully glad to see the three of you come running out of there.”
As the police escorted Wentworth to a waiting squad car, he stopped and stared at me.
“Hey, kid, don’t think you’re a hero or anything,” he said. “You did me a favor. This is gonna work out even better. Now I’ll have my day in court, and everyone will know how Sam Solomon killed my grandfather. I ought to thank you.”
An officer tried pulling Wentworth away, but the criminal continued to babble.
“I’ll tell the world about it. Radio, TV, YouTube. You’ll see. The name of Sam Solomon will finally be disgraced . . . forever,” he shouted. “And justice will be served.”
We watched as the police loaded their prisoner into the backseat of a squad car.
“What’s that all about?” Eugene said.
“I’ll tell you on the way home.”
After sharing our story with the police, Henry, Scarlett, and I jumped into Eugene’s hearse, along with my grandmother. And for the next few minutes, we brought both of them up to speed on what we had learned from having spoken to the suspect. We told them about the actor who played the role of Sam Solomon, Peter Wentworth, his ill-fated contract with the producers of the series, and his grandson’s pledge to destroy the memory of the literary hero. We told them about our near-death experience in the library archives and how we created a fortress of books that helped us escape.
When police later searched the residence of Jonathan Wentworth, they found the majority of the items taken in the burglaries, along with most of the cash, not to mention a box full of the SS cards. Wentworth pleaded not guilty, but it didn’t matter. This was a slam dunk for the prosecution. Even the defendant’s court-appointed attorney encouraged him to cut a deal, but Wentworth would have none of it. He was on a mission . . . and the world would know about it.
However, a funny thing happened at the trial a few months later. As Wentworth had hoped, the case drew the attention of the press—even the national press. But his plans to destroy the good name of Sam Solomon backfired. Instead of discrediting the hero, the trial actually stirred interest in not only the book series, but the radio drama. Dozens of radio stations from across the country began running the series. And many Sam Solomon books, some out of print for decades, were brought back and, for a time, even made best-seller lists. It was a renewal . . . a renaissance for America’s greatest detective. As for Wentworth? At least he wouldn’t have to see it. He was eventually sentenced to a long stint in a federal prison. Besides the burglary convictions, a jury also found him guilty of attempted murder. His plans to do us in by tampering with the furnace were taken very seriously by law enforcement officials.
There was one more little matter that needed to be settled. It had to do with how I snuck out of the house without my parents’ permission. I had to thank Gram for stepping in and bailing me out on this one. She told my parents that she had invited me to join them on the stakeout. My folks didn’t like the fact that Gram had given me permission without telling them first, but they eventually got over it. And then we had to deal with two other sets of parents—Henry’s and Scarlett’s. They were equally upset that their kids had up and left in the middle of the night. But when it was explained to them that they had taken action to save me from danger, their folks went easier on them. Their parents didn’t approve of their tactics but understood their need to answer the call and rescue a fellow classmate.
• • •
A couple of days following the arrest, things began to quiet down at school. But they soon heated up as opening night of the play approached. Mr. Miles was now in full panic mode. He scheduled a series of two-a-day rehearsals to help us catch up. When Scarlett reassumed her position onstage, it was clear that she hadn’t missed a beat. Henry, on the other hand, was a bit rusty. And I had forgotten most of my lines. Since I was just an understudy, I guess I hadn’t really put my heart into the memorization, even though Mr. Miles would continually remind me of how important it was to be ready for any theatrical emergency. I then took it upon myself to get serious about the role of Nick Dakota. It was the least I could do to thank Mr. Miles for dropping everything and helping us set a trap for Wentworth. We couldn’t have done it without him.
At dress rehearsal on Friday night, the nodder, the hisser, and the slacker were up to their old tricks. Stephanie was as irritating as ever. She decided that it might boost morale if she pointed out everyone’s mistakes. She soon discovered that her input was not appreciated. We could thank Henry for that. Brian the hisser’s insistence that he stand no closer than six feet from anyone else onstage threw Mr. Miles’s blocking directions for a loop. And Patrick the slacker appeared relatively nonchalant about things even though opening night was only a day away. Mr. Miles seemed concerned about the slacker’s attitude. After all, this was his leading man. He should have been taking dress rehearsal much more seriously. Besides Scarlett’s portrayal of Rebecca, the role of Nick Dakota was by far the most important. By 10:00 P.M., we h
ad somehow fumbled our way through the performance, but not without a meltdown or two from Mr. Miles.
Less than twenty-four hours later, we found ourselves stage left peeking out between the curtains at the capacity crowd in the auditorium. Most of the kids were rattling off lines under their breaths. I asked around if anyone needed help rehearsing. Most of the actors were in their own little worlds. The moms who had volunteered to make costumes had done a masterful job. Everyone was dressed to the nines. When Mr. Miles entered the greenroom, he appeared as nervous as an expectant parent. And that nervousness soon morphed into total panic when he took a head count and discovered that one of his actors was missing.
“Patrick! Patrick! Where is my Nick Dakota? Has anyone seen Nick Dakota?”
He was met with a sea of shrugs. Mr. Miles spotted one of the moms, who was moving a prop onto the stage.
“Mrs. Nelson,” he said. “Patrick Walsh is missing. Can you call his house and see if he’s there?”
Mrs. Nelson nodded as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began dialing.
I suppose we should have anticipated this. The slacker’s attendance record was legendary. Maybe he never planned on showing up tonight. That may have been why he was so cool at the dress rehearsal. He knew he’d never have to face this audience. But how could he just ditch? This wasn’t just another day at school. It was one of the most important nights of the year. Even Patrick wouldn’t just blow it off—or would he? If he had, that meant only one thing, and I couldn’t even bear the thought of it. I couldn’t make myself say it. I wasn’t ready for this. I needed more warning. I hadn’t concentrated on learning my lines the way I should have. Maybe the kid was stuck in traffic. Maybe he had gotten the date wrong. Maybe he was in the parking lot. Or maybe he was never coming at all.
“Mr. Miles?” Mrs. Nelson said. “There’s no answer. Maybe he’s on his way.”
Mr. Miles began wringing his hands. He appeared to be in deep thought. A moment later, a determined look appeared on his face.
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